Wednesday, 15 August 2007

The conversations you only have with certain people

There are conversations which I have had recently which could only ever have been held with certain of my friends, acquaintances and other beings. To illustrate my point, here are some transcripts of typical recent conversations. Some may have been slightly paraphrased, but the essence of their being remains true. Your guesses, please, to the identities of the following non-Me characters:

X: Sex, sex, sex, sex. And more sex. And did I mention sex?
Me: My ears! My poor little ears!
X: Sorry, geek.

Me: Look Y, it's going to rather difficult to cost these options if they don't yet exist.
Y: They do exist.
Me: Where? Can you show them to me or explain what they're going to look like?
Y: Well, they're like trains.
Me: They are like trains? Really? How? Could you explain that to me, please?
Y: You can get different types of trains, but they all go to Clapham Junction from here. They might carry different numbers of passengers, but until that bridge is completely finished, we can't get to the battle. So now can you cost those options?
Me: It's nothing like a train, is it? It's like, we're trying to help these guys to articulate what they want to do and justify it. It's nothing to do with trains, ravines, or going to war. And I can't generate a remotely believable estimate of what it's going to cost to do something if you can't explain to me what it is that we're going to do. If it was a train, that'd be fine. I can find out how much they cost, but it's not a train, is it?
Y: Hey, hey, hey... Calm down.
Me: I'm perfectly calm. I'm just trying to explain my position that I cannot cost what you cannot describe, and without costs, we have no business case, and we're supposed to be writing a business case in six weeks, and if that's not going to happen, we need to expose that as early as possible.
Y: I think it shows something about our respective stages of life that you're on your fifth coffee and getting wound up about these trains which are going to the same place though perhaps at different speeds, whilst I'm drinking hot chocolate. Have you tried yoga?
Me: Yes. I have. And I have enjoyed yoga. I don't think it's entirely appropriate for the environment in which we find ourselves at the moment and right now, kick-boxing has a greater appeal.
Y: Perhaps I can explain it differently. It's like a car...
Me: Give me strength...
Z: Send t'buggah t'Yorksher and we'll fix that rubbish....

Me: Owt on the box?
A: I don't know... I know, "Deal or No Deal?"
Me: Superb. Why not?
Some time later
A: Aaah - she's got box 22. It's the 250, I bet.
Me: Well, you have a one in twenty-two chance of being right.
A: There's always a big number in box 21 or 22.
Me: No... there... isn't...
A: Yes there is. That guy last week, he had box 21 and he dealt at 26k. if he'd held on, he had 100k in his box. See, they should listen to me. Then they'd WIN.
Me: I can feel my brain dribbling slowly out of my ear.
A: Skkechew. Cheshuuuuuum. Sorry.

Me: B? Yo, B!
A long gap ensues whilst B's brain slows down sufficiently to enable answering the mundane or the bleeding obvious
B: Yeah...?
Me: That bloody dog's stolen the bread again.
B: F*ck. We should do something about that.
Me: Like kill the dog?
B: It's an option, but I was thinking more of stopping the dog from being able to reach the bread.
Me: Yeah. Our problem is that the relative sizes of dog, which is big, and height of counter, which is low, enable the dog to get the bread off the counter, so I reckon our choices for the solution are: a) reduce the height of the dog, which can be achieved by either changing the dog for a shorter one or adapting the current dog so it can no longer reach the bread, for example making it shorter by removing its lower limbs; b) cripple the current dog by removing a couple of legs; or c) increase the height of the worksurface so that the unmodified dog can no longer reach the bread.
B: Hmmm... I think you might be slightly overengineering the solution. I was thinking more along the lines of a breadbin.
Me: Well, I don't think it solves the real problem of the dog/counter height problem.
B: But it'll work.
Me: Damned practicality - no elegance....

C: Dood! I bought D from Amazon and it has the gayest cover in existence. You could have warned me...
Me: Moron. Amazon has images. I have zero sympathy for you.
C: Speaking of images, are there any photos of the lesbianism?
Me: Have you no work to do?

E: Hey, nice blog. Come visit my website so I can flog you some T-shirts.
Me: Thanks. No.

F: Breakfast time!
Me: What time is it? looks at clock 6am!? Go away - I'm trying to sleep.
F: Give me breakfast.
Me: No.
F: You WILL give me breakfast or I'll make sure you're awake...
Me: Sod off.
F: Lick, lick, nibble. BITE.
Me: Pain searing through my right nipple Owwwwwwwwwwwwuuuuch!
F: Now flying through the air OK, OK, I'll try someone else...
Me: Gibbering slightly in a state of shock Did that really happen? Eeeew - that's SO wrong...

Me: Right, tea. Where's my sodding mug?
G: There it is.
Me: Excellent. Good, Tea bag. Mug. Kettle... water. Need water.
G: Singing badly in the background Fire is the devil's only friend... dah dah daaa da dah. And as I...
Me: Has that bloody thing boiled yet? Milk... milk. Need the..
G: Milk? Here.
Me: Excellent, excellent. Food. Need some breakfast. Toast...
G: Bread.
Me: Excellent... Makes toast. Eats toast What time... crap. Is it raining? Runs out of the house.
G: I need an umbrella. Where did I leave my umbrella?
Me: Commuting well and truly sucks.
G: I hate commuting.

Me: ...and there's this WET SPOT MACHINE.
Me: Really.
Me: OK, I'll see if I can get a picture.
H: Oh yes! We need pictures. It is clear that regardless of how sexy or otherwise this WET SPOT MACHINE is, we need pictures of the WET SPOT MACHINE.
Me: But, But... I'll look like a train spotter.
H: Tough. You'll just have to look like a train spotter. We need pictures.
Me: OK folks. WET SPOT MACHINE. In pictures.
H: WET SPOT MACHINE!!!!!! My life is complete.
Me: Please believe me when I say I'm not a train spotter...

Answers on a postcard, please.


DJ Kirkby said...

E is def a spammer as he has visited my website.
x is a friend?
F is hell cat!
H is Anna Mr?
Note to self, *make notes about But Why's posts as there seems to be the occasional quiz...*

Rob said...

But it was a REALLY gay cover!

But Why? said...

yup - right on all counts.

Rob - how on earth did you recognise yourself?? I thought that one was rather subtle...?

Gary said...

"Send buggah Yorkshire..." thats copyright that is, ah'll ave me lawyers on job fust thing in morning.

rob said...

I've added the non-pastel version to my facebook library :P

Pixie said...

And now I'm blushing!!!
And I can identify a few, but won't to preserve their /my dignity!

Anna MR said...

I see someone else has spotted me as H already. I was rather hoping I'd be the first person ("Sex, sex, sex, and more sex...."). But this doesn't seem to be the case. Sigh.

Lovely to have become a character in your blog, though, Ms Mutta.


But Why? said...

I cannot begin to explain the depths of my delight at making you blush. But I'll try. Imagine the depth of the Mariana trench at its lowest point. And then add just a few more metres. It's somewhere near that much. Such a delicious form of justice...

It's very lovely to have you as a character in my blog. And I am indeed very grateful that you gave me cause to display the picture of the WET SPOT MACHINE on my blog, despite the suggestion that I might have a tendency towards train spotting, which I strongly deny. I think it looks rather striking against the pale green background. Most pleasing, indeed!

But xx

But Why? said...

I have no doubt your services are worth every penny!

There is a non-pastel version? Why didn't you buy that one? I don't understand - so very illogical...

But xx