Saturday, October 15, 2005

Alpha Male 

Hands up if you enjoy people sneaking up behind you and jabbing their fingers into your ribcage, before exclaiming “Hey, you’re really ticklish, aren’t you?”

I don’t see many hands raised. Maybe you’re suspicious. Are you afraid that if you lift your arms very slightly for just one moment, some hilarious pillock is going to take advantage and give you the tickling they think you’re asking for? I don’t blame you.

Creepy Keith from Accounts does it all the time, tiptoeing furtively around the building, twirling his imaginary moustache like he’s the dastardly Baron Von Thigh Slap, funniest man alive. What will that old rascal do next with his crazy index fingers? Oh look! The King of Comedy has just buried them deep into your ribs! Again!

“Fuck off Keith!” you howl as you fly through the air. “Do that once more and I’ll stab you with this, erm…” - when you land you reach for the nearest object to hand - “…and I’ll stab you with this yoghurt.”

Stella, your eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, is hooting with joy. “Oh Keith!” she cackles, “that was genius!”
You’re fuming, mentally preparing official complaints, resignation letters, and she’s rolling around in stitches, helplessly bashing her broom for mercy. What must she be thinking?
“Go on Keith! Do it again while they’re not expecting it!”

Which, of course, is to miss the point completely. Because you’re always expecting it, flinching whenever he ever comes near you, you’re permanently on edge.
In one sense, it’s a blessing in disguise. It’s nature’s way of telling you that this person can’t be trusted, not just in matters pertaining to tickling, but in other ways too. For tickler, read unfunny control freak who only wants to have power over you. Danger! Trouble ahead!

And to think of it: you could so easily have become friends with Creepy Keith, or someone like him, he seemed so, well, interested in you, and tactile too, forging ahead, maybe even falling in love, blinded with gratitude, out of the frying pan, into another frying pan, discovering only when you were starting to singe - what’s that burning smell? Oh! It’s me! - that they were in fact just some unfunny control freak who only ever wanted to have power over you.
Perhaps you did.

Kid, trust your instincts. You’d be far better off without him.

In Ticket Stub Temple Of Coolness news, on Thursday, me and Girlfriend joined Röyksopp in Manchester for one of their nights out. They were very good indeed, all dressed up like Kraftwerk, and beating the living daylights out of their gadgets. Cööl.

Then last night, the holiday gang met up for daft vodka drinks and that. Thank goodness Long Tall Wanda was at an Elvis party. Last time we met, I kept thumping her on the leg as a way demonstrating my affection and she duffed me up. They’re healing over now though. We hatched plans for future escapades.

Everybody’s got to have them, and today mine is to try and work out why volcanic clouds of steam keeping erupting from my Toyota Nosebleed at inopportune moments. I think I’ve got an idea.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Copyright(c) 2004-2010 by Tim, A Free Man In Preston.
It kind of goes without saying, but this is my blog. I own it.

Slightly daft MP3 disclaimer: All MP3's are posted here for a limited time only. Music is not posted here with the intention to profit or violate copyright. In the unlikely event that you are the creator or copyright owner of a song published on this site and you want it to be removed, let me know.