1. Should you put tomato sauce on your fried eggs?
2. When making instant coffee, should you put the milk in first or the boiling water?
3. When making the bed, should you do the hospital corners?
4. Should you colour-coordinate your clothes pegs with the clothing when hanging out the washing?
All these questions deal with different subjects, but all have the answer in common: it's up to you and why even ask? If there was to be a hastag before that question it would be #pointlessquestion. By the by, it should be hatch-tag, because the # is a hatch, not a hash. This is a hash:
Also, a hash can be short for hashish, but I couldn't be bothered seeking out an image of that. I could possibly have posted a picture of a dog turd and attempted passing that off as a picture of hashish. Years ago, whilst sitting on a bench outside the Sacred Monkey Temple a little way out of Kathmandu, my friend and I were approached by what appeared to be South East Asia's answer to Tommy Chong, who waved his hand in front of us - that hand containing a white handkerchief and his shall we say, wares. I recoiled in disgust as I actually thought he had a big dog turd on his hankie, but then he leered, 'Hashish, sisters? You wish to buy?'
Addressing those four scenarios above:
1. It's up to you. Sometimes it's the only way to make them palatable if they're too hard in the yolk department.
2. It's up to you, but although I don't drink instant coffee if I can avoid it, putting milk on the coffee beans prior to the boiling water is the work of Satan's barista. If you are going to make me the demon's brew that is instant coffee, I cannot emphatically enough state my edict that you NOT put milk on the beans first. If you do this, fuck you and your entire bloodline.
3. If you want to do hospital corners, do them. If you don't, don't.
4. Again, that's up to you. If you must colour-coordinate your pegs with the washing, I would suggest you get a life.
3. If you want to do hospital corners, do them. If you don't, don't.
4. Again, that's up to you. If you must colour-coordinate your pegs with the washing, I would suggest you get a life.
Yeah, there was a question on morning television today all about whether or not to buy the boss a present for Christmas. People actually discussed this as a panel. Seriously. We have electricity prices that a Rockefeller would balk at paying. There is a toupee-wearing Oompaloompa apparently intent on tweeting us all into World War Three as he goads some petulant, unstable brat-to-the-9th-power in North Korea. The Government is discussing ridiculous welfare reforms that take away people's basic dignity and autonomy, and benefit nobody except their buddies at Indue (manufacturers of the cashless welfare card). People are homeless. Children rock up to school having had no breakfast. But no; let's talk about whether or not to buy the boss a present at Christmas.
Look, again, it's up to you. It depends on the workplace, and your relationship with the boss. Is it an affable one? Then why not buy a token gift, if that's what makes you feel good? The last boss I had before leaving The Big Smoke was awesome, and an exchange of gifts was a tradition throughout the eight years I was there. By the same token, I have worked for people to whom I would happily have gifted one of those glitter bombs. Or maybe a stink bomb. Or maybe a jack-in-the-box, only instead of the funny little figure, I would have a booby trap comprising a boxing glove (stuffed full of iron horseshoes) on the spring, all wound up and tense, whereupon removal of the restraining lid would spring out and sock the miserable recipient right in the miserable face.
That's my take on this pressing question, which apparently has the potential to bring down the government *cough - sarcasm - cough*. Want to buy a gift? Go for it. Don't want to buy a gift? Don't.
Look, again, it's up to you. It depends on the workplace, and your relationship with the boss. Is it an affable one? Then why not buy a token gift, if that's what makes you feel good? The last boss I had before leaving The Big Smoke was awesome, and an exchange of gifts was a tradition throughout the eight years I was there. By the same token, I have worked for people to whom I would happily have gifted one of those glitter bombs. Or maybe a stink bomb. Or maybe a jack-in-the-box, only instead of the funny little figure, I would have a booby trap comprising a boxing glove (stuffed full of iron horseshoes) on the spring, all wound up and tense, whereupon removal of the restraining lid would spring out and sock the miserable recipient right in the miserable face.
That's my take on this pressing question, which apparently has the potential to bring down the government *cough - sarcasm - cough*. Want to buy a gift? Go for it. Don't want to buy a gift? Don't.
In closing, I'd like to issue this memorandum to the cocksmoking bureaucrat who has come up with the notion of reusing graves after twenty-five years (pursuant to conditions) to create space.
Date: 12 December 2017
From: Bingells
To: Cocksmoking bureaucrat
Re: Your idea
Your idea is noted and rejected. Please consider the beauty, character and soul of the ancient headstones, even those crumbling and mossy. ESPECIALLY those crumbling and mossy; they have history and a story to tell. Like many, I take pleasure in strolling through the older sections of cemeteries and reading headstones, being reminded of who was sacrificed in the battle of the Somme, or who died in infancy from pneumonia, or who died protecting their child from a marauding thief (as is the case of one of the graves in the cemetery of my home town). When I visit my home town, I make a special visit to where the remains of my parents and brother are resting together. I think of them. Occasionally I smile. Occasionally I wipe away a tear. Sometimes I even say hello, and if my children are with me tell my mother these are the grandsons she didn't get to meet. Whimsical and fanciful, I know. Now to you, you cocksmoking bureaucrat: you try and dig up my family's grave, then you just might need a grave yourself. Capisce?
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