This Week In The Office XXII

Act 1: INTRO-STYLEE BIT

Hellooooooooooooo……….(ooo, ooo, oooo, ooooh, ooooher, how queer!)

Sorry to welcome you in such a gay manner.

Anyway, on with more interesting material. Welcome to this week’s “bumper” issue of TWITO. Yes, BigAl has finally whipped (hypothetically) the peasants that surround him into a frenzy of such dynamic proportions that he is scared, nay, defecating in his (cavernous) pants at the mere thought of having to write it all up.

Ok, so I exaggerated. So what?

It seems this week that the entire world has erupted in a cataclysm of all manner of weird and bizarre behaviour. So much happened this week that I actually don’t know if I physically have the energy to type it all up. So what I’ll do, my friends, is pick the tastiest, meatiest morsels of fatty Fat Bat twatness just for you, the dear reader’s enjoyment. Where to start? Ah, to hell with order, I think I’ll just take the random approach.

Act 2: FOCUS ON…. CRIMINALITY (I MADE THAT UP…AND I’M REGRETTING IT ALREADY), MY ROAD, AND CHINESE WHISPERS

This is straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, because this only happened yesterday. Well, what to say? The most exciting event of the entire year so far took place yesterday in my very road. Yes, yesterday afternoon the most dramatic criminal act that our dainty little village has ever witnessed took place. But it is not the criminal act itself that I wish to focus on. No. Oh dear God no. You see, as nice as it was to see such an enthusiastic police reception (I think the entire Surrey police force squeezed themselves into our road), the event gave me the opportunity to witness first hand the Chinese rumour effect that happens in a close knit village like mine when something even approaching exciting takes place. So this, edited and exaggerated slightly for your viewing pleasure, (it wouldn’t qualify as a form of media if it weren’t exaggerated slightly) is what happened. (Warning: may not be absolutely accurate in any way, shape, or form)
It’s about 3:00pm. A quiet, innocent little road in South East England has seemingly been overrun by a veritable boat load of police; Dog handlers, Armed Police with big guns, small guns and, umm, flimsy looking black sticks, area cars, panda cars, transport vehicles, riot vehicles, C.I.D, F.B.I, M.I.5, M.I.6, I.R.S, P.M, M.P, coroners, doctors, ministers, counsellors, psychiatrists, psychopaths, psychotherapists, therapists, rapists, the army, the navy, the airforce - everyone, well, they are all there. They have blocked both ends of the road, and alarmingly, all of them seem to be standing around, chatting, and moreover doing very little. I see this little lot out of my front room window. Almost at the same moment, my grandmother (bless ‘er) who lives down the road, phones my house to alert me to the presence of the authorities. Oh bones, thinks I, they’ve misunderstood the title of the website again. I decide that a breath of fresh air might be in order, and thus journey out the front of my house, where I am greeted by a small old lady in curlers and one of those floral print dresses in drab color that old ladies seem partial to, who is standing a few foot away from my front gate, holding a cup of tea (in what looks suspiciously like her best china). I am shocked. I have never seen this lady before in my life, yet she is standing, with a cup of tea and curlers, by my front gate. I walk out, a little overcome at the weight of the situation. Not only are strange old ladies popping up unexpectedly, but also my road has become the unwitting venue for an impromptu Emergency services convention. Good grief. Anyway, while I’m standing there attempting to catch flies in my gaping mouth, the old lady starts to talk. I’m not sure if this is aimed at me or just the world in particular, but I notice shrewdly that no one else seems to be in listening distance, so I listen anyway.
“Well.” She says, an air of disgust in her voice. “Well. Would you look at that.” Silence followed. I’m not sure if she is expecting a response. What am I meant to say? Yes?! Evidently I wasn’t meant to answer. Curler Lady continues.
“Did you hear what happened?” She says. I open my mouth to answer, but she carries on, oblivious. “Well, according to Doreen and Reg down in number 21 over the road, a white man of Afro-Caribbean descent, about 7ft10, small, around 21-50 with big, curly, straight, wavy, grey/brown hair, massive black sideburns, shifty looking blue eyes, a huge nose, thin eyebrows, small feet, about average build, but fat, thin and muscular with it, escaped from a Police Helicopter flying from Alcatraz to the local prison, in mid flight, and using a snotty hanky and a his shoe laces as a parachute, he landed in number 10’s rhododendron bush, and banged on the door, got let in and held the Gurkas, who had been on a 5 mile hike in the area and popped in for a cuppa, at gunpoint with a toothpick on fear of death by evaporation, and looted the place.” She stopped and gasped, looking a little pale after uttering perhaps the longest sentence since records began, without pause for breath. Then she continued.
“Then the Police got an anonymous tip off from Rhoda - you know, the one who works in the chip shop, and has that gold tooth from the accident with the tea cosy at Old Ned’s Funeral - and it turns out the man in the house actually died from a heart attack 30 minutes ago when one of the Gurkas coughed. So at the moment they’re just wandering around chatting and congratulating each other on a good result.”

That of course is not what happened. That’s just how the local rumour sounded at the time. Ok, ok, so I may have exaggerated a little on a couple of points. Anyhoo, the thin and vague point of this tale is thus: never, ever, rely on the information of old ladies. Ever. Especially those who wear curlers at 3:00pm and drink tea outside you’re house when you don’t even know them.

Note: I was going to tell you the full, actual story of what happened, but my dear old mum has warned me that I could get in trouble for publishing that on the Internet. Now, I’m not worried about that, but my hands are hurting from all this typing anyway. So I can’t be bothered.

Act 3(a): Elsewhere in the Office this week…

Act 3(b): Deviant Behaviour With The Lang

Act 4: THE END

Until next week,

Thankyou and goodnight!

BIGal

Act 4 Part B Subheading D Section 4(a) Paragraph(s) 1-110 (inclusive): THE BIT WITH A POINTLESS TITLE ADDED, AS AN AFTERTHOUGHT (LIKE FAT’S BRAIN), WHEN I WAS BORED AND I DECIDED YOU MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW WHAT’S COMING NEXT WEEK

Tee-hee. Absent minded imbeciles! You thought I’d gone, didn’t you? Well, actually, you’re correct.

Bye

BIGal

Ps. I’ve given up on telling you what’s coming up, cuz I never get it all done.


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