Friday, June 16, 2006

I Will Survive 

To our horror and dismay, Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, once sang - with heartfelt sincerity - the whole of I Will Survive during a team meeting, all fourteen verses of the Leonard Cohen original, and the possibility that she might do it again has kept us on the edge of our seats ever since. Smart move.

This morning, in the middle of a motivational pep-talk on how to get back our get up and go - each of us is a profit centre, not a loss centre, and we need to raise our stock at the county fayre, or something; I hadn’t even realised mine had gone - she uttered the dreaded words “You may say that I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.”

There was a collective clenching of buttocks, and Mike scattered his custard creams all across the conference table, watching helplessly as they spilled in slow motion to their certain biscuity deaths on the laminate flooring.

“For fuck’s sake!” he yelped involuntarily. “I bloody hate that song.”
Stella looked perplexed. Terry grimaced. I focussed very hard on my chocolate hobnob and bit my lip.
“Whoever wrote that pile of crap wants taking out and shooting,” Mike ranted.
We have to bring our own in these days, for meetings and suchlike.

In tennis news, our asses got whupped.
After a gruelling straight sets defeat, Stella declared through gritted teeth that it was only a bit of a laugh anyway, and I gasped along in agreement, too furious to speak, and out of breath, the cheating jumped up yob bastards.

The draw for the next round was made over the crackly bing bong this lunchtime: Death and Pestilence will face Bill Surname CEO and Morticia from Goods Received And Recently Departed, which is just too bad, because Bill Surname always wins the tournament every year, rain or shine, no matter what.

“That’ll wipe the smile off their faces,” said Stella, putting on a silly voice to imitate Pestilence’s lapdog falsetto. “‘Well piss on my hostas! Match point so soon!’ She knows what she can do with her 'soft hands', the stupid cow.”

“Chalk dust my arse,” I grumbled, and Stella agreed.

Powered by Castpost

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.