For those not convinced that we’re two seperate people, here is me with my very best friend, Trillion larking about earlier on. She may kill me for posting these.
Thelma & Louise
Awwwwww
I’m very lickable, apparently
Now, this may look a bit thingy AND whatsit, but she was actually giving me a peck on the cheek and licking my face in order to cover up my unsightly hairy mole. She said: “If you think I’m being photographed with THAT, you can go ninnies!”
Annual leave is a precious thing: you don’t get much and it’s painful using up annual leave if you just fancy a day off.
I’m not one for taking sickies – I don’t think I’ve ever done it – but since I’m currently using ten days annual leave for a spot of moonlighting, I might be tempted to chuck a sickie if things are quiet and I fancy a day off to spend with a friend to go to the zoo.
But not being an expert in these things, what “24 hour thing” is best to come down with?
Bad back
This is best saved up for when you want up to a week off. Don’t waste the bad back for just one day.
Something I ate
Possible, but you still have to look rough on your return to work. It might help to smell a bit too, so perhaps go without your morning shower for that nice waxy skin and hair. For best effects, it’d be best to fast on the return to work day too.
Head cold
Tricky one to pull off unless you’ve actually got a bit of a cold or bad hayfever, but you might as well just take a proper sick day and spend the time in bed till you feel better.
Flu
Yeah right.
Hair tumour
Well, why not?
Stephacockaliticus relapse
You have to plan ahead with this debilitating disease. First off, you have to have some “hospital appointments” to build up to a closed-door meeting with your line manager in which you burst into tears and confess to being Stephacockaliticus positive. For full effect, tighten the throat muscles and grunt, then thrust a copy of Herge Smith’s Stephacockaliticus and you: don’t die of mispronunciation into your manager’s hands. Run from the room with your hands over your face; head for the lavs and splash face with water, while rubbing soap in your eyes. Return to your manager’s office and if they mention the foaming eyes, snort and mutter “early sign… downhill from now on… sniff … remission…”. Leave it there for a couple of months, then phone in sick one day. Enjoy day at the zoo in bosom of close friend.
Semliki Forest Virus
One for the molecular biologists and biological scientsts here. See if you can get away with saying that you’re infected with a simian or avian retrovirus. The ones that carry cancer genes are the best. Basically, as part of their growth cycle, certain viruses pick up bits of normal genes encoding growth factors and receptors and stuff from their hosts. When they infect another host cell, their genetic material does its stuff and produces massive amounts of mutant growth factors that start the transformation of the cells into cancer cells. Something like that anyway (we’re going back 14 years into my memory here).
Tina: “Sorry, can’t come in today, I’ve got a terrible bout of erythroblastosis virus from the poultry counter at Tesco. The doctor says I should rest up and be thankful that it wasn’t Rous sarcoma virus – there’s a nasty lot of it about at the moment and I’d be laid up for at least a week with that”.
Boss: “That’s fine, Tina. Come back when you feel better. Oh, and have a nice day at the zoo, you skiving twat”.
(Could’ve been worse, I could’ve used the “I’ve got the Coomassie blues and I’m not feeling up to it” – good old biochemistry jokes are the best)
Any good suggestions from anybody? We wouldn’t have to do this if we were allowed a couple of short-notice “can’t be fucked” days. It’s their own fault. Fuckers.
Of course, people with kids get time off for all sorts of bloody crap: school sports days, parent’s days, mother’s day (which is supposed to be a Sunday, but the fucking schools always do something the Friday before), kiddie sick day, kiddie doctor day, kiddie needs new shoes day. Bastard leeches.
Hey lady, you lady
cursing at your life [and me]
You’re a discontented mother
and a regimented wife [and you’re a fuckin’ potty-mouthed shopping list-obsessed bitch cunt]
I have no doubt
you dream about the things you never do [like eating potatoes]
But I wish someone had talked to me like I wanna talk to you
Oh, I’ve been to Georgia and California and anywhere I could run
Took the hand of a preacher man
and we made love in the sun
But I ran out of places and friendly faces
because I had to be free [and I’ve got something broken inside, apparently]I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me…
Please lady please lady
don’t just walk away [come back and visit again to see how blogging’s supposed to be done]
Cause I have this need to tell you
why I’m all alone today
I can see so much of me
still living in your eyes [I used to be really fat too]
Won’t you share a part
of a weary heart that has lived a million lives [Trillion?]
Oh, I’ve been to Nice and the isle of Greece
when I sipped champagne on a yacht
I moved like Harlow in Monte Carlo
and showed them what I’ve got [from the shops there]
I’ve been undressed by kings
and I’ve seen some things that a woman ain’t s’pose to see [on another woman]
I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me…
Hey, you know what paradise is?
It’s a lie
A fantasy we created about people and places
as we like them to be
But you know what truth is?
it’s that little baby you’re holding
And it’s that man you fought with this morning
the same one you are gonna make love to tonight
That’s truth that’s love
sometimes I’ve been to crying for unborn children
That might have made me complete
but I, I took the sweet life
I never knew I’d be bitter from the sweet
I spent my life exploring
the subtle whoring [and the not so subtle – Trill]
that costs too much to be free
Hey lady I’ve been to paradise
but I’ve never been to me…
I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me…
I’ve removed this post out of respect for visitors to this blog. The comments can stay as a reminder that I should never piss about with people who take the time to vist and comment here.
When you have your lunch at your desk, you expect a bit of privacy. It’s bad enough that you usually end up answering the phone, colleagues’ questions, or responding to e-mails while you burn your mouth on your hot and tasty soup, but why do people expect to talk to them socially? If you wanted a social lunch, you’d go the pub or a cafe, wouldn’t you? At work, you just want to get your faced filled and have some time to yourself to surf the internet in the five remaining minutes of your break. Is there a polite way to completely ignore somebody? Or do you just tell them to piss off?
There are three types of lunch (or “dinner” as we say oop north):
Lunch at work
Lunch at home
Lunch with friends
Lunch ootanaboot
Actually, that’s four..
Lunch at work
If you’re normal, you get about half an hour for a lunch break, usually taken at your desk where you throw much of your food over your keyboard. The following is a pictorial representation of the typical contents of my lunch bag:
Added to this is usually a yoghurt and lots of fruit. Just right to get you through the day and to keep your bowels in tip top condition. Of course, Bachelor’s minetstrone cup a soup has the added bonus of not only representing all the five major food groups, but also contributing to the government’s “Five a day” fruit and veg programme. Well, there are about five bits of dehyrdated onion, carrot and green stuff in there.
Lunch at home
This usually consists of something like something on toast (sardines, egg, etc), a sandwich, or maybe even a bowl of cereal.
Lunch with friends
Usually try to make this a bit nicer by having nice bread, or stuffed pittas with a bit of salad or something like that.
Lunch ootanaboot
This can be anything, but is usually more substantial to provide enough fuel to go shopping, traipse about and shit like that. Lunch ootanaboot can also include a pudding if you go to Cafe Concerto in York (just near the Minster, and very nice it is too) and maybe even a milk shake (strawberry).
Lunch at work – the return
Working in a female-dominated environment, the types of things that women have for their dinner (oops, slipping into northern there) is baffling. Remember, you’ve got up to half an hour to prepare it, scoff it, chew and let it reach reach your stomach before getting back to business of saving the NHS.
Today I was thrilled to see somebody preparing bruschetta with mozzarella and fresh basil:
I’ve also seen women gorge themselves on delights such as:
Pasta
How close did Tina come to killing somebody on her way home from work today?
Would the dickhead on the pedal bike have been protected by his helmet had he been hit head-on by two tonne of Nissan because he was driving on the wrong side of the road through Manchester City Centre?
Fucking cyclists do my head in. Bunch of retarded, self-righteous, up their own arse, FUCKING, WANKING, TOSSPOT, CUNTS!
How do they get away with using the roads (atrociously) without having to get insured? Seriously though, walking head on into rush hour city centre traffic is suicidal in anybody’s book, but riding a bike? I shouldn’t have swerved. I should have let the stupid tit hit me and I’d have sued his (or his widow’s) fucking arse off – if there had been anything left of it. I hope a bus got him. BLAM!
And then there are the nobheads who find it impossible to use the correct lane at a roundabout. And also the fucktards who find it impossible to to stay on their side of the road, who drive straight at you when negotiating the slightest curve in the road.
Buses are by far the worst though. Hate them. Or perhaps caravans are….
This is a sort of Sniffy experimentals for everyone to try out on their PC keyboard at work – for the type of person that’s chained to their desk, even over dinner (lunch). Or for those who are chained to their desks at home, it might work there too.
Let’s just say, I wish I’d had my camera with me at work last week when I decided to clean my keyboard. The shit that came out of it could’ve been used to keep the garden birds going throughout the winter months. DIZZZGUSSSTING!
In fact, one of my colleagues once told me that some proper scientists had shown that people’s desks at work are so filthy that, if they found that many bugs and nasties in a food outlet, they’d shut it down permanently. How nice. The thing is, keyboards are so difficult to clean that you’re probably better off with a disposable one. Or an emotiboard that only types out “I’m dirrrrty, I’m really dirrrty. You love it when I’m dirrrty” when it gets too fluffy or manky.
This is my home PC’s keyboard:
It’s quite flat, a bit like a laptop keyboard I suppose. I’m pretty much chained to my desk at home, but I don’t tend to eat while at my computer (except the odd ginger nut or fig roll). But still, this delightful selection of vileness fell out from between the clicky buttons when I gave the board a bash:
Although I don’t tend to eat at my desk at home, I do have a habit of clipping my fingernails here and those fucking little clippings fly all over the bloody place – yes, that’s what those little white bits are. There was also enough of Max in there to clone him. Then again, the DNA would be contaminated with bits of my fingernails and the resulting chimaera would be either a very furry me, or a curly-haired Max.
In the background of the top photo, you can see my fucking useless cordless optical mouse that drives me up the wall with its uncontrolled, “Devil-in-my-mouse” psychotic dancing. Useless piece of shit.
So, if you’re sad like me (I’m very sad apparently), get your digicams to hand and give it a go. E-mail your photos into me here at Cakesniffers and I’ll see about doing a Connie-esque montage (or is it a collage?) to delight and disgust you all with…
I’m off to find some old shopping lists to regale you all with!
Mind games are great. The combatants do battle against each other without war ever really being declared. There are no rules of engagement, just acts of mental insurgency that are deployed to undermine the enemy’s will until they finally surrender to the superior strength of the ultimate victor.
Or at least that’s how it’s supposed to be.
If you’re a little bit mental, you tend to play mind games without your opponent even realising it. This is the state of things in my house, in which I am the paying guest of my ageing parents.
I clean the bathroom. I always clean the bathroom; they never do it. Each time I’ve put the last bit of crap back in there after cleaning it, I swear through gritted teeth that I’m going to hold out and wait till they pull their arthritic fingers out and do it themselves. I’m ashamed to admit that I lasted three months this time, but I had to admit defeat and go clean the fucker just now.
Crap job. But at least I had the satisfaction of doing the first big massive poo in the clean pot. WINNER!
Blogs by women
I’m not sure what to make of that new blogroll. I got myself added to it, but I don’t know whether it’ll bring (m)any new visitors. Having had a look at a few of the blogs on the list, I’m not sure Cakesniffers will be cup of tea for many of those girls. Since we don’t really cover politics, travel, feminist issues, art or other such shit, I’m not sure we’ll be particularly appealing. When I say, “we don’t cover” those things, I mean we don’t cover them seriously – we just take the piss out of them. (See how “we” shares the responsibility for any offence with cakesniffing regulars?)
Who on earth can be bothered writing political commentaries?
And this sort of thing from “Trying to soar”:
today’s shopping trip
Ok, we just got back at 2pm. We’ve been gone 4 hours, shopping! LOL
I love grocery shopping (hate paying for it though!) I love to cook, and with my new lifestyle, it opens things up alot for me/us. Here’s what I bought:
Farmer’s Market:
(4) 2 ft long zucchinis (2 for $1!!!!) [- courgettes]
(4) yellow squash
(1) eggplant [- aubergine]
1 lb greenbeans
(2) beets1 head romaine lettuce
seasoning for jamaican jerk *anything*
Supermarket(s):
Spaghetti squashgreen pepperstomatoesonionsgreen onionsbottom round
Need I go on?
There are a few contributors to this blog, and here’s how they describe themselves: “We are chicks trying to soar with the Eagles. We’re low-carbing and flyladying our fannies away (literally). “
What the fuck does “flyladying our fannies away” mean? Do people in America not know that “fanny” is another word for “twat”?
And it doesn’t matter what your diet is made up of, if you eat all that in one day, you’re still going to be a big fat bloatmonger.
All rise in court to hear the case of the Crown against April pissoff for the brutal murder of her fucktard nemesis “Scott”, aka Fuckwit.
April pissoff:
She confesses to being fed up and a woman, but what else?
The charges were brought against April (above) after the body of Fuckwit was found in the kitchen of her house, an undisclosed address in British Columbia (that’s in Canada, where they have bears and snow and fish and things).
Arresting officers of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police took a statement in which the accused said: “I thought he was a seal pup, so I clubbed him to death”. She then changed her story after being overheard saying “…he’s too fucking ugly to even resemble a seal pup. I could however club him to death and claim I thought it was a distressed beached whale“.
When questionned by defence lawyers, April’s account of the events leading up to Fuckwit’s death became clearer: “I thought my house was being broken into by a whale so I clubbed it to death. I did wonder why its screams sounded like pleas for help, but I was too scared for the safety of my cats, and the children were asleep in their beds too”.
The defence drew upon some compelling evidence to help April’s cause.
Exhibit A: Fuckwit as a child
Fucktard
April also pleaded that she had suffered years of abuse from her nemesis: “Three fucking minutes. That’s a waste of my fucking time. Everybody always laughed when I told them that my daughter was the result of my Nemisis three minutes of fame. Fucking pathetic tosser”.
When questionned about whether her nemesis was any good around the house, April answered succinctly:
C – Can’t
U – Use
N – New
T – Technology
She went on to describe him as a “Fucking, lame-ass fuck”, and continued her convincing performance by stating that, “I swear I should have done him in right after I had the baby and blamed it on postpartum”.
On hearing April’s statement, and on seeing the evidence put forward in her defence, Judge Cakesniffer stepped in to dismiss all charges against the accused.
The coroner’s verdict was changed to “mercy killing“.
CASE DISMISSED.
The Snoring Dog 