Revenge Of The Snurds

No humour column published this week. Couple of news stories similarly spiked. I know what Luke Skywalker would do in this situation. Time is running into treacle. Strolling through Dublin yesterday in gentle February sunshine, I wondered could I be happy without the job. That old gag. The next big meeting, or snurds reunion as we might more appropriately call it, is scheduled for next week. Strategy number one is not to immitate the Scottish managing director's voice. Strategy number two is not to call him "wee slickit cowerin timorous beastie." Strategy number three is not to refer to the gormless wick witted scrote faced editor as anything other than the editor. After that I've got nothing. I'm just making it up as I go along.

Die Hard 4: Die Hard With A Heelers

Phone call from a work colleague.
"Heelers you would not believe how much the editor hates you. It's not about professional differences. This is something more. I've never seen someone so pissed off. Just be careful."
She was trying to do me a favour. When she'd rung off I stared into space for long moments.
Ah yes.
Let us recall briefly the first Die Hard film.
There's a great bit when the hostages are all grouped together by the terrorists and things are looking pretty grim. Suddenly another terrorist comes in muttering maledictions to himself and frothing at the mouth. He kicks a chair and breaks some delph. Nice Bonnie Bedelia stares at him. The penny drops. Suddenly she suspects that her husband John (played by Bruce Willis) is alive somewhere and may be about to launch a rescue.
"There's still hope," she tells another lady who immediately asks her what she means.
Bonnie points to the frothing terrorist.
"John is still alive," she whispers. "Only he could make somebody that pissed."
Me and Bruce Willis folks.
Whenever the Hans Grubers or editorialising dullards of this world are frothing at the mouth, one or other of us is bound to be involved.

Valentine's Greetings

Happy Saint Valentine's day. Bloody bifurcating boring Saint Valentine. Of all the saints in the martyrs calendar he's the one who deserved what he got.
Anyhoo.
For those of you who've been asking about Argentinian artist Mariana Gabor whose picture appears below, well, check this out:
www.grupodisenio.com.ar/gabor
and just be careful while you're doing it.
As for me I'm full of the joys.
Meeting with the little tin gods on Thursday. The Flying Haggis (aka the Managing Director) and his acolyte the Head Idiot (aka the editor) have demanded my presence for tea, crumpets and a cunning twist in the plot.
I have no idea what they'll say.
More worryingly, I have no idea what I'll say either.