Tuesday, 24 January 2012

What are you doing?


I am seething with hatred.

After having spent the weekend in a place the internet forgot, I feel that I have had my tentacles clipped, resulting in a state that only an enraged one-legged squid can empathise with.

Added to this is the fact that I have a duty to be bound to a desk and made to work.

Some specimen somewhere has decided that all partitions should be removed so that everyone can see everyone else's faces and hear everyone else’s conversations.

this'd be worf watchin'
The thinking behind this current state of affairs is beyond me but it has resulted in me being dipped, like a lice ridden sheep, into the conversation of those around me.

I can now confidently say, with some confident confidence backed up with a hint of confidence, that football is the most puerile conversation topic in existence.

It is a game. A GAME. A play thingy. By definition a game is a distraction, a non event, something without consequence or impact to the wider world.

Is your life so utterly without meaning or significance that all you can think of to discuss is the result of other people’s hobbies?

I’m sorry I have to go now and watch live knitting online. Then shoot myself in the face.

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