Hungover and Bored.

 In my ongoing effort to bring you the latest in bleeding-edge journalism*, I’ve managed a bit of an exclusive.
 Someone -  and it’s definitely not me, in any way at all - was recently asked by my boss (coincidentally) to think of some ideas for advertising after-work deals at a local bar.
 “Take your five-foot-seven, brown haired, brown eyed, 71 kilo ass out there and think of some slogans!” is what that person’s boss said to him. Him not being me.
 “I’ve been working out, I’m probably down to about 70 kilos,” I pointed out, “but alright.”

*I’m legally required to point out that the actual phrase used to review my attempts at journalism was “bleeding awful.”

…Anyway, here’s what I got.

[Nameless bar on Portwall Lane. No, not the Portwall Tavern. Two doors down.]

Deals
10am - 7pm
Tuesday - Friday
Come on in!
“It’s between 10 and 7 somewhere!”
Most places, actually. If you think about it.
Hell, New Zealand is only 12 hours different, and that’s the other side of the planet.
So, half the planet is within twelve hours, pretty much everywhere is going to be somewhere on that nine hour curve.
You know what, just come in and buy some drinks.
Seriously.
We’re dying in here.
Boredom. Paranoia. The whole deal.
Last week things got so bad we had to eat one of the slower, chubbier kitchen porters.
It was him or us, but I can’t get the screaming out of my head.
“Why are you doing this to me?! Oh God! It hurts!”
“Why are you hitting me with a can of soup when there are SO MANY knives literally right behind you?!”
That’s just the kind of smart-ass attitude that’ll get you killed when the staff have nothing to do for months on end.
You should probably take note of that and not point out the typos on our business cards.
You want one of our business cards?
Hello?
…Hello…?

Be Grateful You Can't Be Bothered.

 Several months ago, I was involved in a discussion with a few other guys about the best way to take a piss in the kitchen sink.
 Perhaps that's inaccurate.
 I was involved in a discussion with a few other guys about the best way to take a piss in a kitchen sink. We weren't all using the one sink. That would be weird.
 Anyway, the sole, unlucky female in the room looked at us all aghast from start to finish. The men barely noticed. There was not one single moment in the conversation when any of us considered it odd to talk about urinating in an appliance that was patently not intended for that purpose. We all just assumed -  correctly, as it turns out -  that all guys pee in the sink when we're drunk and don't want to walk far.
 This is an example of the universal laziness of man, and it's something I really feel we should celebrate.
 Granted, laziness holds us back; if we took one generation out of the population, or even half a generation, and told them all to focus on nothing but curing cancer for the rest of their lives, I think cancer would probably be eradicated.
 Most people think that sounds hard, and they'd be right, so in that context, laziness is scuppering us.
 But the more astute will notice that I'm talking about MALE laziness, which is a very specific condition, and ultimately one that's keeping the plate spinning, globally speaking.
 Men run the world. This is probably, on balance, a bad idea. Men are arrogant, simple creatures who are easily distracted and football boobies playstation lager.
 Sorry. Men are arrogant, simple creatures who are easily distracted and disinclined to reason things out. The entire Cold War, in all honesty, could be read as a 50-year global dick-swinging contest between two countries, until it was ended by Rocky IV. [My grasp on history is shakier than I'm willing to admit.]
 Recent events in the middle east show all too clearly what can happen when a man is given all the power, and then allowed to rule for years. Ego takes over. Male ego. If Gaddafi were a woman (go ahead and really picture that, see what happens to your libido) she would care less about shows of strength and more about having nicer shoes that the other despots. Not that she'd be branded a despot, as she wouldn't kill dissidents or rivals out of male insecurity, she'd just give them the silent treatment and say mean things behind their backs.
 I'm caricaturing, of course, but you get my point. Men are too fucking male to be allowed to rule, as has been pointed out a million times before.
 So what's prevented a nuclear holocaust so far? What has ensured that the world has staggered on as long as it has? Same thing that makes us piss in the sink. Laziness.
 This whole train of thought started when I saw a video on youtube of a guy who'd built himself a fully functioning set of Wolverine claws. Steel, retractable claws housed on his forearm, just like the comic character.
 Whenever someone sends me a link I tend to ignore it, but in case you were curious, here's the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0cs9j7HT-g&feature=player_embedded
 And for those, like me, who skipped the link out of sink-pissing laziness, here's what happens: A guy has built his own mechanical Wolverine claws. He uses them to stab a box a few times.
 Even the box looks unimpressed.
 I'm not kidding. I've done more damage to a cardboard box by sitting on it before now. You could stab worse holes in it by awkwardly sticking three chopsticks between your knuckles, and at a fraction of the cost. It's the least impressive thing involving cardboard since the HMS Two Ply sank, seventeen seconds into her maiden voyage. [Citation needed.]
And this is where the laziness saves us all. This guy is clearly some sort of nut job. If anyone ever told you in conversation that they were nearly done building steel claws for themselves, you'd know they were lying, because the sort of people who build steel claws for themselves have NEVER LEFT THEIR MOTHER'S BASEMENT.
 It's terrifying. This guy could actually start work tomorrow as a mugger, or a rapist, or a murderer, because who would argue?! If someone with steels blades erupting from their arms tells you to hand over the cash, you hand it the fuck over.
 Except this guy couldn't do any of that, because, thanks to male laziness, he obviously didn't bother to sharpen the claws. Thanks to lazy workmanship, he struggles to take out a cardboard box, a target far less resistant and fast-moving than even the fattest toddler. (I'm not saying fat toddlers are easy to rob, but my exhaustive lollipop collection proves that they are.)
 This is why we should celebrate our laziness. Men can't fuck up the world too badly because even though we're shallow, juvenile, borderline psychotic retards, we're too lazy to get off our asses and do any real damage. We can all brazenly walk the streets without getting attacked by supervillains armed with heat rays, but it's only because the guys who were working on heat rays got bored and probably went for a wank.
 Thank God.