Source: United We Stand (no online content)
Behead those that insult Twomowers!
"You may be just a lemon but he'll think you're a peach"...
...so go the great words to a great chown I've got shuffling around my i-pod called An Apple for the Teacher which was a 1939 smash for Bing Crosby and Connie Boswell. It's basically about arse-licking (in the sycophantic sense obv, not in the rimming sense there's no way Bing would have been involved in that caper) which cleverly brings me round to this month's hot topic: licking the boss's arse. Shithouse trick or just part and shit parcel of life in British Industry as we know it?
Let's face it we've all done it at least once in our lives. With the obv exception of those that have always been self-employed and of course the permanently unemployed, such as all scousers: naaaaaaaa hahahahahahah unemployed scousers - as Willie 'Violet' Carson would say "it's a cracker", scousers on the dole hahahah, it's always funny and always will be. Like farts are still funny after years and years of people farting and trumping and letting polly out of prison, it's still fookin hilarious just like scousers blobbin' on is still funny all these years since boys from the black-stuff with Yosser 'sparky' Hughes. And you know what else is funny - eh? eh? eh? A fookin scouser, with a fookin job aaaaaaaaaargh hahahahah - fookin FAF. Still. Today and forever more. It's all down to the old mathematical simultaneous equation: 'noise from arse =piss da pants funny' & 'scouser (+) or (-) employment = piss da pants hilarious'.
Anyways most of us at some time or other have done a bit of what is known in the workplace arena as brown-nosing and hey - what's wrong with it, after all it makes worklife a lot easier. It usually pays well in the earliest part of da "gig" - the interview. Model employee turns up in a brand-spanking suit, shirt and tie from Ciro Citterio's and his dad's shiny brogues. He wants that job and when he gets it he wants to please. He wants the boss to know that the right choice has been made. 'I won't let you down sir' is the message. It's so fookin predictable that if you went to Fred Done's I bet Lynch you any money he wouldn't take a bet Turpin on it. If there's a ladder to climb then is there any harm in charming that snake of a boss? You could always treat work like a stage where you're acting a part. It's not really you; it's the career man you're playing. Think about it, Martin Platt airi t really a perv nor is Richard Madely a Tesco wine thief. They were just acting. Make the wrong noises at work and they might start looking at what you do all day, scrutinising your mistakes. If the job turns out spite and it's clear dare's no prospects the tie might be gone, the brogues may now be gollies and the polyester shirt has been replaced by a t with the logo "lazy twat - wake up at half-four" but nevertheelliot there's still no harm in being nice to the gaffer now and then, no point in upsetting him you might need a reference one day. 'An apple for the teacher' is still as relevant today as when you first started arse-creeping at primary school. Leave the sniping, rocking da boat and having a pop to those lefty shop-steward types. Especially if the shop steward is Glaswegian - it shits the boss up every time.
It's Friday, It's 5 to 5 (in the fooking morning) and I'm cream-crackered Jack
I've got this mate from down Wivvenshawe way called John but let's call him Jack to protect his identity. Wivvenshawe Jack is always on the blower right away if he hears owt and lately he's been keeping me up-to-date with the antics of a mate of his sister's mate who happens to be involved with subversive activists who are going round daubing nasty graffiti about wanting United's new owners to die. It's really made me think about the act of hating quite a lot. Can a lover of fellow man (I mean the species, not blokes, I'm not a gay-boy or owt) like me, hate someone so much that I want them to suffer death. Or when we say or think 'I wish he/she was dead' do we really mean it? When we say "took off and die" to fellow man what do we mean?
Anyways Jack got first hand news when the ice-skating rink outside O.T. got tagged up recently with a message wishing death on Malcy, trouble is he was straight on the phone forgetting it was 3 in the morn waking every fooker in da house up. Then he was on the phone again a few weeks later saying the O.T. station had been sorted, I said "Jack it's 5 in the morn" and he says "I know but I had to ring to tell ya that the gang's been infiltrated by anti-Crackerjack militia wishing death on former presenter Peter Glaze" Poor Pete, I'd have gone for the Bolton twit Stu "crush a grape " Francis any day.
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Article published with permission from the author (makes a change)... Any spelling mistakes or typos are either twomowers' or the OCR-software's fault. Nowt to do with us.