Office Party

It's the Festive Season.

I work from home.

I have suddenly been struck by the FESTIVE URGE.


YOU WILL NOT DENY MY FESTIVE LUNGS!!


I work from home, for a company of two people.

As such, I lack particular scope for office parties.

I KNOW YOU PEOPLE HAVE THEM.

I CAN SMELL YOUR FURTIVE OFFICE PARTY PLANS!

I CAN HEAR YOUR VAGUE PLANS FOR COMPLEX UNDERWEAR!


This is your mission:

I wish to attend office parties this year.

All London-based offers accepted.

I can arrive in a range of outfits, from Skater-DeathBoy to Besuited-Management-Type to EVIL CLOWN.

I wish to go to office parties*.

I promise to behave utterly disgracefully. If getting kicked out is an option you want fulfilling, I'm your fucking man.

Fancy the idea of seeing a man drown himself and the managing director in some kind of obscure punch-and-stripper-related suicide pact? I'm your fucking man!

If you're lacking a sufficiently rude and obnoxious guest to liven things up and later disavow - I'm your fucking man!

I can, if utterly necessary, on request, turn up and be polite and interesting without attempting to have sex with local shrubbery. It is within my power. I just think you'd be missing out on the Full Experience(tm).

I'm THAT committed to this whole... me... partying... ... ... concept...

Best of all, if you can secure me an invite and I can arrive completely seperate from you, thereby distancing yourself from any possible blame, IMAGINE THE FUN!


So yes.

Do me a favour.

I fucking DARE you.

Invite me to your office party.


* 1,000,000 Extra points if you're in the medical profession.

** If you are in my band, you are HONOUR FUCKING BOUND to invite me to your office party. Or be fired. Again. Jason.

fallapart

on a different note, I wrote this last thursday.

I couldn't do anything less ragged, it just wasn't in me.

the stream-of-conscience distorted lyrics were inspired by having spent the day listening to Clinical Torment.

so, this is for chad. sorry if it seems inappropriate. I only know how to express myself one way. incoherently.

fallapart - deathboy (too much for me)

retrospective

fallapart
data recovery
fail or falter
hey boy
break
daggers
Let Me Show You


'spose the reason I'm not in bed now is 'cos I really do write this bobbins for me.

just one more play.

now, if only I could finish reconstructing the album.

reprise

fallapart - reprise

albums

ifyouunderstoodiwouldnthavetospeak

raverboy

sociopathic

previous reading

boxesoftricksandtraps

self hatred for fun and profit

riding the biorhythms

godkiller

music to crash cars to (1.0)

invisible

a very technical boy

deftunes

technochildren

self assessment

I'm going for a cigarette, then some fiction and bed.

I'm supposed to spend tomorrow rotating a 3d model of a ferrari in whorish ways, then hopefully entertaining AJ + Andi in the evening.

Eeeeee, 'e doesn't half get the arse on, doesn't he, that deathboy?

"how're you gonna run the universe if you can't even answer a few unsolvable problems?"*


*made on a miggy, in octamed.

hmm.

while I think about it, would there be any interest in a "deathboy - the lot (so far)" CD?

I think I have a CD's worth of mp3s now (actually, more like two), and I could probably whack on some pictures and a really self-indulgent "director's commentary".

If I did it, I'd be asking about 20 quid (40 yanqui bucks) per CD, because a) you can get it all for free, so if I'm charging, I might as well ask for something more than the mechanical costs and b) it'd pay off some credit-cards and buy some new kit I really want for making new stuff with, and it might be a CDR (might be a silver disc if I got enough interest), but I'd at least silk-screen it and scribble some abuse on each copy.

let us know.

'cos I don't have enough bollocks to do with my time trying to reconstruct the new album ;)

mp3 CD

I probably didn't make it clear enough as I was several sheets to the wind:

If I did this mp3 CD, I mean "a CD full of mp3s"

So I mean about 200 tracks for 20 quid.

now I have to go and argue with the prince of wales about a british leopard rehousing project in my mind.

fucking shit.

Had a parcel not-delivered to me last week, the latest in a string of not-deliveries.

I know I can hear our doorbell when it's rung, and I also know it wakes me up if I'm asleep, so I'm rather confused as to how people keep making all the trouble to come to my door then not manage to attract my attention, and depart, leaving me a little "we couldn't deliver to you, so your shit's going back to the warehouse" card.

So last week, despite my being in, a couple of christmas presents for family went back to the post office place.

I realised last night that the card says they only keep it for a week.

They failed to deliver it on a tuesday, and I turned up to collect it today, tuesday.

It's been sent back.

So now I'm gonna have to pay for it to be sent to me again, possibly missing christmas post.

Am I a complete fool for thinking that "we hold on to it for a week" would mean it should have still been there today?

Motherfuckers.