A formula for business IT professionals
FYIThe complexity, length, difficulty and, in your mind, security of any given password is directly proportional to the chances of it being written on a Post-It note on my screen.
Just thought you'd like to know.
posted by Peter The Great @ 9:49 AM
9 Comments:
Never mind yer Post-It notes! How long do you reckon you’ll last in Madchester? Will you be adopting the nasal whine and losing your job so as to make the audience feel more at ease?
The scrotes from the Victorian Society are coming tomorrow to assess the authenticity of my dining room.
Having spent a considerable amount of time and money on this exercise, any criticism is likely to result in a brutal assault. The only thing I’m missing is the ragged maid-servant with the look of fear in her eyes, but I’ve got a couple of hours free later tonight to go cruising and see if I can address that issue.
Remember… “This van, Sir, as well as being economical, is the ideal size for murdering prostitutes.”
My computer logon password is a combination of 26 letters and numerals. It does not refer to family, friends, pets, hobbies, or anything personal.
Barry, I'll be your maid-servant. You supply the costume and I promise I'll fill it beautifully xxxx
Oh Anonymous. First you love me, and then you want to dress up for me! To appeal to me, though, you’ll need some other attributes:
1. You’ll need moods that change with the weather, so we can have awkward, silent moments as and when required;
2. You’ll have to be frequently confused about your own feelings, to really turn the screw; and
3. You’ll need to play your game hard and dispassionately. A good starting point (if you're a novice) is Eric Berne's "The Games People Play".
If you can meet those criteria, then we’ll be cooking on gas and we should be able to damage each other properly.
Meanwhile, those w*nkers said that my candelabra were too modern (1920s) for the rest of the room. I felt like clumping one of them with an ashtray. Now as I think about it, I don’t know why I didn’t… He could have joined the gas man in the cellar.
A link to photos of today’s display and Anon’s outfit to follow. I feel mad.
Pete – more posts, please! And where’s Butterfly? I miss her.
Darling Barry, I feel that we see eye to eye on so many things - or if we don't we could have so much fun fighting about it.
Of course, I don't make any effort to fit into the criteria of others but for the record, my last 'special friend' turned grey almost overnight after we met and he has now retreated to retirement in the countryside an emotional wreck, nursing the fear and loathing of all women that I instilled in him. Does that help at all?
Re the Victorian Society, how very Cluedo - I think it was Barry, in the conservatory, with the dildo. But then I never win at Cluedo.
I still love you Barry xxxxxxx
You appear to have enough admirers as it is. Really I think you just want me to put pressure on Mr the Great to post more - a task which I will happily partake in. So...posts or the spam continues, P-man.
I'm all in a scurry sorting out job things. This is the lie I am passing onto the rest of the world. I've actually just spent a few days playing guitar hero in my pyjamas with the excuse that it's my last few days of freedom before work starts on Tuesday. I also did imaginary online shopping and spent £400 imaginary pounds on clothes. Unfortunately nothing has coalesced into a more tangible form - although this is probably largely due to the fact that I've only had an imaginary job up until now and so any real life money has been...imaginary?
I have two halloween parties to go to and not even a maid-servant costume. Bugger.
Also, you may see my angst-blog if you pass on an email addy so I can invite you :)
Posts please Peter! Else I shall start making bad jokes about you and the Royal Mail.
Butterfly – you’re my girl!
We all know that the only way to attend a Halloween party is to turn up blind drunk, dressed as Jesus and speaking in tongues. On a similar theme, I went to a fancy dress party a few years back as Lord Lucan. To play the part properly, I went to the pub ‘round the corner and never actually crossed the threshold.
While you’ve been playing Guitar Hero, I’ve been alternately relieved by the absence of knee bother and then sorely tried by its presence. In the words of the consultant, “there are times that you will be tested by the pain, and doubt my diagnosis”. My word, he wasn’t wrong yesterday afternoon. There were pills and bottles all over the shop. Come to think of it, I don’t feel at my best now… but I think that’s the early flight today. My liver must resemble Patrick Swayze’s pancreas.
My e-mail address will follow, under private cover. Are you nervous about the job? If so, you might like to consider buying a re-activated firearm in a local hostelry to ease yourself through any awkward, first-day moments.
Now, Anon…
I don’t have a conservatory, as I’m in a state of constant conflict with Town Planning on a number of unresolved issues. That, and the fact that my patio is as uneven as Fred West’s. However, you are correct in the hypothesis that self-love with a large dildo is one of my favourite fantasies, followed closely by taking a warm, soapy enema from a busty Latino prostitute. These pleasures don’t come cheap, which explains why the lessees are begging for mercy and bank manager after bank manager has to be disappeared.
I think we see eye-to-eye on many things, but I pause at your use of the term “special friend”. Surely the aim of the exercise is to ensure that, apart from lust and daydreams, there is no friendship or real bond with your romantic partner? When things inevitably unravel, it is right and proper – certainly in South Croydon – for only an empty husk to be left, along with violent mood swings and an overweaning sense that you’ve wasted each other’s time.
I’m sorry to hear about your partner. Not that you split up, of course… I’m sorry that he’s gone to the countryside. Bad things happen there, as twenty minutes in front of Deliverance (or Country File) will demonstrate.
Would you really dress as a ragged pauper for me? I’m genuinely interested. Mind you, I'm feeling feverish as well.
Right, enough of these light thoughts. I’m off to sit on the lake for the afternoon.
Without the friendship and bonding with your romantic partner, how can there be the bitter, empty husk left to despise the world when things do unravel? If you only have lust and daydreams, they can easily be replaced by furtive glances at students or anonymous flirting over the interwebs. Honestly, Barry. I would have thought you knew these things.
Sorry to hear about the knee. I have purchased my firearm and would consider granting you the same compassion one might grant a racehorse in the same position. But I'd only do that to a racehorse if I had good insurance for compensation. So maybe we should discuss your will first, although by the time the terms of that are sorted I'm confident the pain will be gone, making the whole exercise pointless. Then we can both feel as though we've wasted each other's time and be subject to violent mood swings.
Maybe you don't need the romance after all.
Ah Barry, I've given up on partners (particularly those who would rather become badger botherers in the sticks) and am, as you say, only interested in lust and self gratification for the foreseeable future. My use of the term 'special friend' was in place of the less palatable (but more truthful) term 'husband'.In which case you will probably note that any concerns regarding romance or a 'special bond' are most certainly redundant.
I would be happy to dress up for you in any manner of your choosing - although when deciding on a costume please take into account that I am quite large-busted.
In the meantime, I've bought a new Rampant Rabbit and called it Barry.
xxx
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