Work is pish innit? I hate working for a living. I guess that’s why I’m unemployed just now. I just don’t have the right attitude.

I used to have a job. I used to work in a chemical factory. I had the same job as Homer Simpson.

That’s right, I was a professional, ‘Tea Jenny’, and I could pile away the donuts as well.

Although I’m not bald like Homer and I don’t have a big beer belly like Homer, I knew it was time to leave the job when my skin starting turning bright yellow! That was one similarity too far.

It was going yellow due to all the chemicals I was inhaling, not so much the chemicals in the factory but the ones I was inhaling after I got home from work.

I had to relieve the symptoms of self-loathing that I had for putting myself through twelve hours of sheer torture every day in that particular hell hole.

Over the fourteen years I worked there, there was more explosions there, than there was in the whole of the Middle East!

And guess who the safety inspector was? That’s right, Homer Simpson the second. Yours truly.

But I wasn’t to blame, it was the system, man. It was crumbling down around me.

EMAILS

There were far too many emails for a start. Emails in that place were like a bad debt. I used to lie awake at night worrying about them.

After a couple of days off, I’d be like, ‘Oh no, how many emails am I going to have to get through tomorrow. I hope it’s less than five thousand!’.

It got so bad everyone would stop talking to each other. One time I was on the computer and my team leader handed me a note.

It read, ‘Billy, would you mind going outside and doing your job, the plants about to blow up’.

I was like, “Hello, I am human, I can hear. God gave me ears to do just that and a brain to process the information, before deleting it as garbage, along with all the other hundreds of emails of shite I get sent daily, so why don’t you fuck off? Anyway, can’t you see I’m busy? I’ve nearly got the high score on Tetras”.

“Ah fair enough, sorry to disturb you”. he replied.

As a fellow Tetras warrior, he understood my position.

EVIDENCE

Towards the end of my time in that place they wanted you to keep evidence of any important emails you sent to management, just so at the end of the year you can show your boss how much of a brown noser you are and you never know, if you accumulate a million sent emails you might get an invite to join the fucking golf club!!

‘Oh yippee, yippee. I’m in the golf club, I’m in the golf club. I’m shooting up the ladder. Fucking shooting up it. What’s next? Maybe I’ll get an invite to join the masons and have the chance to get my picture taken with my cock up a goat’s arse. I just hope it’s heavily sedated’.

Well, let me tell you, if that’s what you have to do to get on in this life you can count me out, ok?

I’m not having sexual relations with any animal just to climb an imaginary social ladder. Well, at least not when someone in the room has got a camera.

Look what happened to Jason Manford with the webcam scandal. Even though it was with an actual human, still, there is a lesson there for us all.

Mainly, don’t go webcam chatting to women, telling them who you are and then flash your wanger at them, especially if you are if you are married and especially famous.

Still, hasn’t done his career too much damage, after all in this day and age they say there is no such thing as bad publicity. Perhaps it was a cunning ploy dreamt up by his agent to give him a bad boy image. Thanks to social conditioning for the past fifty years or so, shit like that sells.

Maybe I should make a porn video in order to gain some notoriety and if nothing else at least it would give people a laugh. I once sent a naughty video of me and a partner to the lady in question, except I sent it to .com instead of .co.uk address.
I tell you, I was never so glad when that email bounced. I think God was looking out for me that day. One time I lost the mp3 stick with my whole collection of sexy birds on it. It didn’t show up for months!

I was shitting myself as I didn’t want my son to find it and wonder what was on it. When it showed up, I deleted them all. The stress just ain’t worth it and that isn’t even job stress.

MEN’S MEN

You want to know the worst thing about working in that place? It was watching all the other Homer Simpson’s, you know, the man’s man types.

The type that traditionally likes the odd pint and has a punt on the horse racing now and again.

You know, they’re only at work because they’ve not won the lottery yet.

Well, the worst thing was watching them crawl all over each other, to stick their heads so far up the manager’s arseholes, that you could only see their safety boots sticking out!

Some of the harder nuts to crack would say, “Eh, is Big Tam com ing down the boozer tonight?”

“Nah, he’s saying he can’t make it. He says he’s up to his ankles in the boss’s dirty work!”.

That takes brown nosing to a whole new level. Brown full bodying.

EX-STUDENT TYPES

I don’t know about you but see working in a job you detest just to live does not make any sense to me whatsoever. Nobody that’s there actually wants to be there, except for those fucked up ex-student ‘wanna’ and ‘gonna’ be manager types who think they’ve made it big because they can afford clothes that don’t come from Oxfam!

They all talk in a weird, abbreviated language, don’t they? “Hey Billy, have you looked at your P.P.C’s on the D.C.F.D’s yet?”

I hadn’t done anything so I was assuming I hadn’t done that. So, I would reply, “No”.

“No? What do you mean no? Right that’s it, I want to see you in my office A.S.A.P to talk about your lack of R.E.S.P.E.C.T”.

I was just about to break into dance but then I remembered I was at work and fun is against the rules there. So instead I replied, “Aye, is that right pal? Why don’t you just G.T.F….Y.F.P”.

By the way, G.T.F means ‘Get Tae France’. Well, that’s the polite version.

I added the Y.F.P, for ‘Ya Fuckin Prick’!

SACK YOUR OLD BUDDIES

When it was announced that there was to be redundancies for the first time ever at the place where I worked, I swear to God, I’ve never seen the big boss look so happy.

He started saying things like, “Hooray, hooray, all those years at university never went to waste after all, at last, I get to sack somebody!”.

What the hell has happened to us? Work hard and you too will be able to sack your old buddies.

“I’m sorry friend of twenty years, I’m going to have to let you go”.

“But you’re not holding me”.

“No, you don’t understand. My boss has told me that we need to cut more corners, to make the place even more unsafe and we just can’t have old, experienced anarchists working here anymore.

I know we’ve had some good times together, games of football on the lawn with the kids, dinner parties, family holidays, wife swap ping in the seventies.

Remember that? Your wife was pretty hot in those days…. although she has let herself go quite a bit since then, but anyway business is business and we’ve found a fresh faced young student just out of university who we can pay peanuts to and who doesn’t answer back, so you can fuck off “.

“Oh, ok yeah, I understand, you’ve got a job to do. But I’ve got a hundred thousand pound mortgage on a three bedroom semi-detached cardboard house in Pleasantville to pay for. What if I take a pay cut, work longer hours and start sucking your cock straight away, would you keep me on then?”

“Oh, alright, but only if you swallow”.

All these guys at work are going about with a big brown shitey nose and cum all over their face, saying, “Oh well, never mind, never mind, it could be worse”.

“It could be worse! Tell me, how could it be worse?”

“Well, I might not have a job”.

“What? You might not have a face full of shite and cum? Yeah, that would be tragic, right enough”.

I am sure your parents use to say to you, “Stick in at school and one day you may end up as toilet paper for a smarmy cunt”.

MEN’S MEN WITH HEADS UP ARSES

In the end I had to leave, because as time went on the place was more and more turning into a circus. I’m not joking, it was an absolute fucking circus.

Even all the managers had had enough. They were all thinking about leaving as well, to go and start their own business or to do something worthwhile with the rest of their lives. After all they didn’t go to university for six years to become Coco the fucking clown.

Or did they? Because more often than not they did a damn good impersonation of him.

PRISON SOCIETY

It’s like we’ve created a big prison for ourselves regarding work and the slave to money orientated capitalist society, isn’t it? You’ve just got to serve your sentence and hope the world isn’t too fucked up by the time it comes your time to retire.

Then you can settle into a life of daytime television until you too die of a broken heart or if you’ve got any soul left by blowing your fucking brains out. Because in the not too distant future daytime TV will be probably be ruled by Ant and fucking Dec. That’s enough to make anyone blow their brains out, surely?

It is like we are playing a big game by going to work that just involves seeing how long you can handle ever increasing stress levels before your nervous breakdown kicks in.

And all that pretending that you have something in common or you actually like your fellow work mates when in reality they are all just a bunch of moaning faced bastards thrown together by the universe to make you see exactly what you are, so that you evolve out of it. But you never do because you’re too busy moaning about your predicament to do something about it.

Then you don’t even see your money at the end of a hard working month. It goes straight into the friendly bank, which devours it before you can say, ‘What happened to my share?’

I can remember when you used to get paid weekly and in cash. Anyone else remember cash? What happened was the guys in the past got offered something like fifty pounds to swap to monthly payments into the bank.

Of course, unenlightened self-interest took over or short-sightedness greedy bastards, whichever way you want to look at it and they sold all future generations down the river…. that the factory pollutes on a second-by-second basis. Green my arse.

Now when ID cards come into place and the friendly bank stops you spending your own fucking money people will realise what a fuck up that was. It was just another step into enslaving the population to the so-called ‘elite’ banker wankers.

SELECTION PROCESS

They had a selection process whereby apparently it was a fair way of getting rid of the slackers. Wrong. It was basically a way of getting rid of anybody who didn’t have the correct cocksucking attitude.

I volunteered for redundancy just to save them the trouble of having to tell me.

I couldn’t believe it. I thought to myself, ‘They’re giving me thirty grand to leave! Shouldn’t they be giving me thirty grand as a bribe to stay?’

So I played it cool, “Ok, fair play, the game’s up. I got fourteen years out of you; now give me my thirty grand and you’ll never darken my door again…see ya!”.

What a result that was.

The other guys at work who were to scared to leave were saying, “But Billy, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know”.

“Haven’t you got any ambitions?”

“Yeah, to get out of this fucking place”.

Their face was a classic. “But… but Billy, we’re going to die in here”.

“Probably. See Ya”.

And I was out of there, like a pacifist leaving the front line.

WHY I HAD TO LEAVE

But the main reason for me leaving the company was I just couldn’t stand to be around a bunch of guys earning twice as much cash as anyone else in the town yet doing ten times as much moaning.

Every day they’d fucking moan about everything and everything. You’d come into work and all you would hear would be, “Oh for god’s sake. The coffee out of the machine isn’t as hot, as it was yes erday morning, that’s a total disgrace”.

Or, “Oh, for pity’s sake. The padding on that seat is at least a quarter of an inch below regulation standards, that’s a major disgrace. I’m going to get the union on to this one. I’ve got to sit my fat lazy arse down on that for the next twelve hours, how am I supposed to work in these conditions?”.

The word ‘work’ being used in the loosest sense of the word there, obviously.

ULTIMATE MOANING BASTARD

One of the guys I worked beside was the ultimate moaning faced bastard. I used to have deep conversations with him whereby I explained that I feel we need to first love ourselves and then to love each other as ourselves, but he just uses it as an excuse to slag everybody off.

He didn’t quite get it. “Hey Billy, we’re alright but those fuckwits in power need to be fucking shot”.

Actually come to think of it maybe he had a point but hatred only breeds hatred at the end of the day.

I was doing some hillwalking in the Scottish Highlands so I invited him along as I thought the change of scenery would do him good. Half way up the mountain, I said, “Stop and take a good look around”.

“What is it?”, he said.

I said, “Look at the clear blue skies, the spectacular scenery in all directions, the sun reflecting off the crystal blue water of the loch, eagles and kestrels flying overhead, peace and tranquillity, I feel totally relaxed and at one with myself and the universe. You know, if there is a heaven, then surely, surely, it can’t be any better than this”.

My friend pops up with, “Aye, I know, but will you look at that. That’s a fucking disgrace by the way”.

I said, “What? What’s a disgrace? This is heaven on earth; it doesn’t get any better than this”.

“Aye, I know”, he said, “But look, somebody’s left a half empty Irn Bru bottle at their arse, that’s a fucking disgrace by the way”.

I said, “No!!! YOU’RE the fucking disgrace. So why don’t you fuck off back to the car and play your Robbie Williams Cd’s and I’ll see you in about eight hours. You’re obviously incapable of appreciating beauty in ANY form. Oh, and by the way, the Irn Bru bottle is half full, OK?”.

BLACK HOLE OF NEGATIVITY

He was like a big black hole of negativity to his core though and I tried to be understanding, patient and compassionate with him thinking, ‘Oh he maybe had a tough childhood’, and all that but after a while I was like, ‘Ah, fuck him. He can rot in hell for all I care. He doesn’t love himself and I fucking hate him, I guess that’s karma at work’.

I was off work for a while with a football injury and I just felt the negativity ease off my shoulders knowing I was going to get a couple of months peace away from him.

When I went back to work I was told he was put on a different shift team from me. I celebrated for a fortnight after hearing that.

See, I believe that we create our own reality, that our thoughts are real and what we think comes back to us as experience.

So when I’ve was working with this guy I was thinking to myself, ‘My god, I must be one moaning faced bastard, if I have to face this arsehole every day’.

But I was moaning about him all the time, so I was caught in the same web of negativity. Perceiving everything as bad.

After a couple of months in the house (yes, I milked it to the max), my thought patterns changed, I lightened up a bit and the universe took care of it, and I managed to get rid of him altogether.

Maybe we should all leave our jobs and chill out for a while, maybe then we’d all break the cycle of negativity. As long as we don’t end up just watching shitty daytime TV and Eastenders. The devil has many ways to ensnare.

It got so bad with this moaning faced guy, that was the reason I volunteered to take redundancy from my work, just to get away from him. I’d already told them I wanted to leave before he was moved to another shift.

Plus, I wanted to give something back to society after helping to rape the planet for fifteen years.

I was applying for jobs to help old people wipe their arse for a third of my then current salary. At least then I would be giving something back. Or is that taking something away, I’m not sure. Anyway, you know what I mean.

Funny thing is though, he applied for redundancy as well. No doubt my moaning was driving him up the wall too.

NOT INTERESTED

I just couldn’t get interested in my work at all. No matter how hard I tried. Every night before work, I would lie in bed thinking, ‘Ok, starting tomorrow I’m going to go in there and be the best damn employee this company’s ever seen. I’m going to clear up my outstanding four thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven emails by lunchtime.

Then I’m going to study and learn all of this week’s four hundred and ninety-eight new manuals of European legislation. And I’ll be nice and courteous to all my fellow employees who are just there to do a job the same as me under difficult circumstances, what with that cunt of a boss’.

But as soon, as I arrived in the morning it was, ‘Ah, bollocks to it. I’ll just try to dodge all of my responsibilities until I figure a way out of this place, I’ve managed for the past ten years alright. Nobody seems to notice anyway’.

Working shifts I used to get really tired at work. You know, so tired it feels like you’ve had a lobotomy. People talk to you and you’ve no idea what the hell they’re on about.

They would inevitably want me to do something which would have required effort on my part but all I wanted to do was sleep. I actually got in trouble once because I put matchsticks in my eyes to stay awake but I ended up setting fire to my eyebrows. I would have got away with it but it was in a no smoking area. They nailed me on a technicality.

Why don’t companies provide a bed at work? A wee half-hour’s kip wouldn’t hurt anyone would it? It would certainly have done me the world of good anyway, instead of risking whiplash and spontaneous combustion on a daily basis.

TREATED LIKE CHILDREN

They also treated the workforce there like idiots. They introduced this new flip board with emoji faces on them and put it in the control room and if there were any chemical leaks or if we didn’t make ten million pound profit that day, then it was considered a poor day and we had to flip it to a sad face. Obviously we had to flip it to a smiley face if we did meet the CEO’s practically impossible to reach target, so we were mostly sad.

Honestly, it was like being back at primary school. Primary one at that. The primary twos would be like, “Fuck off, what do you take us for? We’re six years old now. Come on”.

But grown men put up with it. Words fail me, sometimes.

POWER CORRUPTS

One of the other guys there really hated everything I talked about as far as striving for a new better world goes. He thought I was off my head and he kept referring back to communism for some reason, as if that was such a great system.

He would say, “We tried you’re idealistic ways in the past and it failed so now it’s misery for the rest of time”. He wasn’t what you call an optimistic bloke.

He used to come out with that classic line which used to always bug my brains, “No matter who’s in power, they’ll always be corrupt. Power corrupts so there is no point in even trying”.

Talk about a cup that’s half empty, he didn’t even have a fucking cup.

Now I am a bit older and maybe a little wiser, I fully agree with him. Maybe that’s just what getting older does to people. It makes them realise that life is not a bowl of cherries, in fact it is a rotting corpse.

My mum always comes out with another one which used to get on my tits, “It’s up to the youth, to change the world, we’re old and set in our ways, we just want out the rat race, that we helped to create and sustain all our lives”.

“Oh aye, thanks mum. Nothing like taking responsibility for your actions, is there?”.

But anyway this guy at work he always used to say, “The biggest lazy bastards are those artists who make music and fart around partying all the time”.

I would say, “Yeah, so?”.

You know, as if there is any glory in working twelve hour shifts in a chemical factory. Life is supposed to be easy. It’s not meant to be a struggle. Instead, life is like one big form to fill out.

I hate filling out forms. Every year the inland revenue sends me a tax form to fill out and it sits there for six months, waving at me saying, ‘If you don’t fill me out we’re going to charge you one hundred pound then we’ll still make you fill it out and give you another one with even more insanely difficult calculations for you to sweat over’.

So, I wait until the last day before I finally get round to it.

Then they send me a letter back three months later saying I owe them about five-hundred-pound tax for the previous year and this form showing me lots of numbers of how they came to that decision. As if I’m supposed to go and check it. The form could say I owe them five million quid and I still wouldn’t check it.

I hate surveys as well. Surveys are just little testers to see if their brainwashing is working and in what areas they need to improve their manipulation. That’s all they are. By the way, am I too cynical?

CHARACTERS AT WORK

But you get some real characters in the workplace, don’t you? There was one particular shift team, at the place where I worked, which stuck out from all the other teams. You couldn’t have dreamed up a weirder threesome if you tried. They were known throughout the factory as, ‘Smelly Eddie and The Fat Boys’.

Smelly Eddie was a character all right. I think he liked a drink, you know, because he was always pished. That’s usually a giveaway sign.

He got the nickname Smelly Eddie because he was fucking honking and his name was Eddie.

When he walked into a room, if you were deaf and you had no sense of smell, you’d have thought there was a fire drill going on. If you were deaf but you had a sense of smell, you knew exactly why everyone was evacuating the building.

And the other two guys on the shift were imaginatively called The Fat Boys, because there was two of them and they were both built like Giant Haystacks.

One day though somebody at our work, used their imagination a little bit more than they usually did to dream up an even better nickname for the Fat Boys. I still think it’s the best nickname I’ve ever heard.

Somebody came up with the nickname, The Chip-pan-dales. I think that’s a total classic.

TWO PLATES OF CHIPS…FOR ONE

Funnily enough the Chip-pan-dales used to love their chips. Probably still do, if they’ve not dropped dead from a heart attack yet.

I was in the mess room once, when the skinny one of the two, big Angus, weighing in at a mere twenty stone, was preparing a light morning snack.

He took two portions of chips out of the fridge and started frying them up. In the meantime, preparing four buttered rolls.

When the chips were cooked, he put them on a plate and said, ‘Well, I better get through to the control room to let Big Geordie get his chips’.

So, I said, ‘Well, why don’t you put his on a separate plate?’.

Big Angus said in all seriousness, ‘What? What? That fat bastard can cook his own fucking chips”.

I thought, ‘Jesus Christ, that is just for one person? That pile looks like fucking K2’.

I say K2, because when big Geordie got his chips they looked like Everest. There was fucking snow on top of them. Mind you, that could have just been his saliva.

DON’T FUCK WITH THE FAT BOYS FOOD

One thing I learned though was never fuck with the Fat Boys food. I done it once and regretted it big time because Angus and Geordie could moan for Scotland let me tell you.

They made the other moaning faced bastard I talked about seem like the king of tact and diplomacy. They drove you up the wall at the best of times. Never mind when you fucked with their precious groceries.

We had to pre-order our meals and they came down ready cooked and we had to heat them in the microwave. So before Big Angus got his breakfast one day, I went to the machine, put in ten pence and took out his soup. I poured half of it down the sink and then put it back into the machine. I thought it would be good for a laugh.

So, Angus comes in for his breakfast, “Ah, I think I’ll have soup to start the day”, he says.

He opens the machine and gets his soup out, “This feels a bit fucking light!”.

He opens it up and explodes.

“What the fuck’s this? What the fucks this? Fucking hell, will you fucking look at that, look at the soup they gave me!’

He was straight on the phone to the canteen. “Somebody better bring me down a soup in the next five minutes or I will come there and start cracking skulls!!”

Now at this point I was pissing myself laughing. But he went on and on about it all day. On the phone to his wife, “You should have seen the bastard soup they gave me today, somebody’s going to lose there job over this, believe you me, I’m taking this one all the way”.

Christ, I think he done permanent damage to my eardrums.

I actually saw the canteen lady who delivered his soup a couple of weeks later as I was walking past the job centre. Well, if nothing else, at least he’s a man of his word.

PEOPLE MOAN ABOUT THEMSELVES

Have you ever noticed that the things people moan about in life are actually the things about themselves that they’d probably most want to change about themselves?

The Fat Boys were the best example I can think of people who do that.

The really big one, Geordie, would sit in the control room with his feet up on the control panel while nodding off and when one of the dayshift maintenance squad walked past the door and wake him up, he’d be like, “Fucking noisy bastards! Never done a day’s work in their lazy assed lives”.

Then once every three hours an alarm would go off, and he would have to lift his finger and press the accept button. “Fucking alarms, haven’t fucking stopped all day. Between alarms going off, phones ringing and dayshift maintenance walking past, I’ve not had a minute’s peace!”

Then he’d cuddle back his ridiculously oversized chin or his portable pillow, as he liked to call it. I think he was quite proud of it.

One day he dropped his pen on the floor. Well, you should have seen him trying to pick it up. It was as if he’d just run a marathon, the sweat was pouring out of him. It took him ages to get down there.

I was reading a little bit about Buddhism in those days, so I was trying to be more compassionate and as I was watching this fiasco I thought, ‘Maybe I should go down and pick it up for him’, and then I thought, ‘Nah, I’ll just let him get it himself, the exercise will do him good’.

Do him good? It nearly killed the man.

The next time the alarm went off it took him forty-eight minutes of ‘beep, beep, beep, beep’ before he had the energy to lift his finger up to hit the silence button.

He still had the energy to moan about it though. “Fucking bastard alarms, not stopped all fucking day”.
I thought, ‘Aye, that’s because you’re too lazy to switch them off ya cunt. Why don’t you shut your big mouth, hit the silence button and stop criticising everybody. You’re disturbing my sleep…. ya selfish bastard.

Well again, I never said I was perfect.

GUYS WHO GO ON AND ON

Guys at work who go on and on and on and on about some really mind numbingly boring shit also used to really get to me.

There was another guy called big Geoff. When he starts a sentence, it could be a month before he gets to the end of it.

As I said, I was really trying to be more compassionate, so I tried to really listen to him, focus on his heart, really listen to his words. I feel that sometimes people just need to feel as though they’ve really been heard.

So, I let him talk. “I walked to the shops the other day, it was sunny, the cat needed fed first, so I had to get the cat food out of the tin. I used the new tin opener I bought at Asda the day before. It only cost 50p It’s got a white plastic handle and can open the tin faster than any other tin opener I’ve ever used in my life. And I’ve been using tin openers for forty years now……”.

I thought I’d been listening a long time, forty five minutes or so, I looked at the clock, two minutes had passed. I wanted to kill myself.

“Do you have a point? Something? Anything? Why are you telling me this?”.

“I just thought I’d share my day with you”.

“Yeah? Well don’t”. I found out that there was a limit to my compassion. Obviously I still have a lot of work to do on myself.

MUSIC AT WORK

Sometimes I would bring CDs into work. The guys I worked beside are quite intolerant of any kind of music that isn’t radio friendly.

I quite like some German bands from the late sixties, early seventies and I played one of them one time, called Popul Vuh and they started off saying, “Aye Billy, that’s no’ bad, we’ll give you that one”.

But then the guy started singing ….in German!

“German! That’s German music. Hells bells Billy, get that off. I’d rather listen to fingernails on a blackboard than to listen to anything German.

We don’t want to expand our jingoistic parameters. We like being British and listening to good old British music. Here, stick some Abba on”.

THE OLD GUYS

There’s another type of guy at work. The old guy. They always used to say the same thing. Especially after management had just brought out another totally ridiculous method of doing something.

They used to say, “Aye, I’m glad I’m not you son, you’ve got another thirty years of this to go. Thank fuck I’m nearly dead, I don’t need to suffer this for much longer!”.

APPRENTICES

We used to get some apprentices to look after as well sometimes. They had far too much keenness for my liking. They would ask far too many questions.

I would be like, “Look son, piss off will you. I don’t know the boiling point of ethanol. I only work here and drink the stuff”.

He’d be like, “Is this all you guys do, sit around, drink tea and play tetras?”

“Yep, this is pretty much it. It’s amazing how people find jobs quite suited to their character because I’m a lazy bastard, now go and take my eleven o’clock readings for me will you? There’s a good lad”.

ZOMBIE STATION

So, after I left my chemical factory job I started travelling to Glasgow for a six week website design training course.

This is the first time I ever had to commute.

Tell me, do they spray statue gas at train stations every morning? On the platform there is a long line of people in single file who all appear to be rehearsing for a gig as a statue in the Royal Mile during next year’s Edinburgh Festival.

Some of them even go so far as to hide behind their Metro newspaper for maximum effect. When another human being walked past you can see them tensing up, not moving a single muscle. So glad they’d even managed to avoid eye contact. Of course, these days they all have their mobile phones with their headphones in so they can even avoid ear contact too!

Then on the train itself it’s even worse. Nobody says a word to one another, they’re all just praying for the journey to end. Some of them look so fucking miserable, obviously not looking forward to the day ahead.

Sometimes I felt like running up the train punching everyone in their face while screaming, “Look, if you don’t like your work, don’t fucking go!”.

But of course, I didn’t. I just stared out of the window just like everyone else. Sometimes it’s best to just letting sleeping sheep lay.

Then the guy with the food trolley goes past. That’s got to be one of the shittiest jobs in the world that one. Your sole purpose in life is just to piss people off.

All you hear is, “What, two pounds for a fucking Mars Bar? Four pounds for a cup of tea? Your arse”. So, people get even more pissed off and grumpy.

Especially the guy trying to flog the stuff, “Don’t blame me, I don’t set the prices. Do you think I enjoy carting this fucking thing up and down a tiny wee alleyway all day? My wife has left me you know. She took the kids and ran off with a ticket inspector. She said he was going places in Railtrack and that I had no self-respect”.

“Aye? No wonder she left you. I think you got off lightly, for those prices, I’m tempted to fucking stab you myself”.

EVERYONE SHOULD QUIT THEIR CRAPPY JOBS

I think everyone should quit their crappy jobs. Do something they enjoy or that is at least useful to the local community. Because the crapness of your job starts with the interview, doesn’t it? That’s just a sign of things to come.

When you turn up you would be as well cutting straight to the chase and pull their trousers down and start performing oral sex on them straight away. May as well start as you mean to go on.

So, you get the job. “Oh, thank you, thank you. I’ve got a job in a call centre. All my hopes and dreams have been fulfilled”.

From there on in, it’s downhill all the way. If we all quit our jobs, then we wouldn’t need to pay our mortgages and we could dream up better ways to live.

If the army and police quit, you’re not going to get the Prime Minister coming round to the house saying, “Eh, excuse me. You’ve missed a couple of payments of Rothschild digital credits. I’m afraid we must evict you”..

“Yeah, you and whose army?”

“Well…”.

“Yeah, I thought so. Now, fuck off”.

KILLER DARTS

I recently went to Mallorca. The thing I liked most about Majorca, were the beaches.

It’s like, “Whahay, who need readers wives?” Tits everywhere. Mostly mens, however.

I was there for about four months. I went to be an entertainer at a hotel. You know, organising the games and hosting the quiz type thing, but I got the sack. No, it’s Ok, I don’t want your sympathy, I guess it was my own fault. I didn’t turn up for work.

You’ll find that gets you the sack, no matter what line of work you’re in.

But it only happened once when I had to take my wife into hospital, turned up for work the next day and was sacked on the spot!

The manager said, “I think you are finished”.

I was like, “Well, if you let me explain, I had to take my wife into hospital last night, she’s going to be in there for at least a week”. I even threw in some tears for good measure.

She was like, “Sorry, but I’ve got a hotel to run here”..

I was like, “Well, thanks for your boundless compassion”.

Then do you know what she said to me? My wife’s in hospital and she’s just sacked me, I’m standing in front of her with major red eye and she says, “I still have guests who need to be entertained, can you take the Killer Darts?”.

“Killer Darts!! Killer Darts! Aye sure, I’ll take the Killer Darts. Would you mind holding the board? I’ll go and round up some guests and we’ll start with the eyes closed round. The one who throws the killer dart, wins!”

I don’t think the hotel was going to fall to pieces if a couple of games of Killer Darts went down the swanny.

Most of the guests preferred peace and quiet anyway. When I suggested a game to them, they usually looked at me as if they want me shot.

Then the really funny thing was, a couple of days later I met a couple of guests in the resort and they asked where I’d been.

I said I’d lost my job and they said, “Oh that’s a shame because we’ve missed your shouting around the pool. You were so bloody annoying”.

“Oh thanks. That’s supposed to be a compliment?”.

So now I’m looking for work and wondering if I haven’t made the biggest fuck up of my life by leaving my Homer Simpson job, as I’ll probably never get one that pays as much blackmail shekels. Doh!

FOOD FACTORY

I lived in Turkey for a number of years and it did get a bit hot for a Scotsman with skin as white as mine. I spent most of my time there looking like a spanked arse. I was the only performer who went to the Edinburgh Festival every August mainly for the weather!

I used to get off the plane and it would be pouring of rain, ‘Hallelujah! I’m back where I belong. The land of misery’.

I came back to live in Scotland and stayed with my parents until I get myself sorted. I was thinking I was returning home by coming to Scotland but I recently went back to Turkey for a holiday and when I got there, that was like going back home. So now I’m really fucking confused.

The reason I had to leave was because I couldn’t find a permanent job, because they have a rule there that if there is a Turkish person qualified to do the job then they get the job ahead of the foreigner. Fair enough. A government which looks after it’s own people first, there’s a novel idea.

I did teach English out there for a while but even my native English speaking friends there were like, “But Billy, we don’t understand you. How the hell are Turkish children going to make out a word of your gibberish?”.

The school owners soon figured that one out and thus, got a Turkish person to do the job.

THE FOOD FACTORY CANTEEN

The funny thing was that when I came back to Scotland got a job in a food factory, on my first day there I went to the canteen and thought I’d been teleported to another country. Everyone was talking in some weird language. Turns out it was Polish.

I sat down at the table and it soon became apparent that everyone there sits in their own ethnic group and I obviously wasn’t in the Scottish section because within minutes I was surrounded by eleven Polish people. They chatted to each other for a couple of minutes and then every single one of them got out their phones and started texting.

I was like, ‘What’s going on here? Are they all reporting back to headquarters?’

They’re all like, ‘Our mission is almost complete. We nearly have all their jobs’.

Honestly, I am not racist but…….I did vote for UKIP……but mind you, that was mainly just to get rid of Lenny Henry. Not because he’s black, just because he’s a shit comedian.

I was accused at one gig of being a racist for doing that joke and when I said I wasn’t and tried to explain why, the guy couldn’t handle rational discussion and left the venue! Leaving me with no other option but to go on a seven minute rant until my time ran out about the state of society. No-one laughed but I felt lighter.

I got talking to a foreigner there one day and asked him why he came to Scotland etc. He said Scottish people are really nice, so I said, “Polish people are nice too”, and he agreed.

Then I said, “I just assumed you were Polish by the way, are you?”

He said, no he was from Hungary and so I said, “What are Hungarians like?”, and he said, “They are all bastards and liars”. I thought, that’s a bit fucking racist but fair enough, I guess if you come from that country then you can generalise all your people all you want.

I think Scottish people are mostly bawbags and alcoholics but the difference is, we’re proud of it. Or at least we are trained to be proud of it, like have you seen that new Irn Bru advert where it says we are all numpties?

I think that is fucking ridiculous myself but apparently that is just good Scottish banter, so they get away with it.

We love belittling ourselves so we can live with our English overlords without feeling the need to rise up and claim our country back.

LOADING AREA

So let me share some stories about the food factory. I started working there on Boxing Day, backshift in the loading bay area.

I turned up and introduced myself to the guy working there.

“You worked in this area before?”

“No, this is my first day in the factory”

“Do you know how to work the scanning machines?”

I thought, ‘Is this guy fucking retarded or is he just taking the piss?’

“Eh, no it’s my first day”, I said.

“Fuck’s sake”, he says.

‘Well, sorry for fucking breathing big man We can’t all come out the womb Einstein’s.’.

I don’t know if this guy was a miserable bastard from birth or that how ever many years loading lorries had got to him, but his face was fucking tripping him all day.

Apparently due to lack of cover at Christmas there was some kind of mix up with these trays and the majority of them had to get scanned again.

All day he kept saying, “This is a fucking joke, it’s a fucking joke”. I take it it must have been a Christmas cracker joke because he never smiled once!

I got talking to another new guy there who had also worked with him. We both agreed, ‘Total arsehole. No other words for him. Total and complete arsehole’.

You have to be thankful if you are not an arsehole to make you able tolerate working with one.

Then about two minutes from the end of the shift he starts talking to me as if I was a human being. I was like, ‘What about the other seven hours fifty eight minutes?’

Do you think that arseholes know that they are arseholes? I don’t think they do, because that is what makes them such huge fucking arseholes eh?

A little bit more self analysis in this world, wouldn’t go amiss.

DE-BOXING AREA

I work in the food factory through an agency so I just get the odd shift here and there to cover for people when they need them.

My mother wants me to get a full time job there but there is no way I could commit to that, at least this way I still have an illusion of choice about which days I will subject myself to being a slave.

She wants me out of her house but she doesn’t know that I will get some kind of job offer out of the blue in March…… at least according to this psychic I talked to.

So I am stalling until then, mind you it is July now so time is running out.

On my second day there I got put in the de-boxing area. The charge hand there has a second name of Bell, so he gets called Belly and he seems quite proud of it because he has it written three times on each wellington boot.

Once on his visor and on his helmet as well, just in case you haven’t got the message by now.

I turned up and said, ‘Ok, what do you want me to do?’

At which point he does three things. He whispers, mumbles and turns away from me!

I was like, ‘Sorry, could you say that again please?’

Then he says, ‘Look, you better get what I say first time. I’m busy I’ve not got time to give you directions all day’.

I was like, ‘Oh, so you can speak loud, clear and directly when you want to?’

Then every time he told me to do something regarding the job, he reverted back to mumbling. It was like some kind of psychological warfare.

He is one of those people who thinks he is better than you because he is one step up on the imaginary ladder of the pyramid of success, and apparently that gives him cart blanche to talk to you like a dog, but I don’t play that game and when he realised I wasn’t playing ball, I stopped getting sent to his department. I wonder why.

STORES

These days I am working in the stores and we have to take product through to the de-box area and one day I took through five bags of unpeeled red onions instead of peeled ones and Belly fucking loves it when someone from another department makes a mistake as it gives his ego a chance to gloat. People with low self esteem tend to do that.

I just said, ‘Oh sorry, I’ll get the right ones’, but he had to go, ‘What’s this, what’s this? You’ve got something growing out the back of your head’. Referring to my pony tail.

I was like, ‘Aye, aye’ and walked away, not feeding the energy vampire.

So, when I was working for Belly, if another charge hand told me what to do, he wasn’t long in pointing out that he was my boss and not to listen to them but now he wants to give me orders when I am working in another department.

Later that day I left two boxes of celery on a dolly in the middle of the walkway. By the way, a dolly is a bit of plastic with four wheels, not just something with a blonde wig and huge tits.

So he was like, don’t just leave it there. How would you like it if I left something in the middle of your walkway?

I said ‘I don’t care’.

He didn’t like that answer. That was an affront to his illusion of superiority. So I said, ‘I am not allowed to come into your area’.

He said, ‘Well, I am not allowed to come into your area, so where does that leave us?’

I said, ‘That leaves us at the meeting point of both areas. Just where I left it’.

By this time we have an audience. So I said, ‘I am not sure what you are getting at. Where exactly would you like me to leave said dolly?’

He’s now under pressure to be the big man in front of the crowd, who are ordering popcorn by now, so he said, ‘Well, now I know, it’s celery, I don’t want it’.

‘But it says on the sheet to give it to you, so where would you like me to put it?’ I know where I would like to put it.

So he gets the dolly and moves it LITERALLY two feet to the side. It was like the bit in Fawlty Towers when Basil is trying to show off to the posh guests and asks Manuel to pass the butter from the table he himself is standing at. Manuel looks at him like he’s a fucking dick.

I may have thought that, but I just said with a big smile, ‘Ok, no worries’ and walked away. Thus making Belly look like a the prick he is by demonstrating it on an second by second basis.

But Belly being Belly, had to get the last word in…because the audience were expecting it. He says, ‘And get a haircut’. How original.

The thing is, he is bald as a coot. You could eat your dinner off his head, not that you would want to, but you could.

I was too far away to reply but I should have said, ‘And you get a personality transplant’.

Belly? Belly? A more suitable nickname would be if he rubbed the Y out on his helmet and then wrote, End.

HAIR PROBLEM

What is it with those people who have a problem with other people’s hair?

I get people coming up to me and saying, ‘So what about this hair?’

I’m like, ‘What about it?’

‘Don’t you think you should get it cut?’
‘Why, is it offending you? What has the length of my hair got to do with you, ya baldy bastard?’

Cause they are usually bald. Blind jealousy kicking in, methinks.

The reason I am growing my hair is mainly just to annoy my mother. Yes, I am that sad. The thing is, after years of abusing me about it, other people visiting the house started complimenting me on it, saying I looked like a real Highlander, so she had to stop.

She has since grown hers and it looks just like mine but she never abused herself about it. At least not to the best of my knowledge.

POTATO LINE

The third day there I got put in the area where they prepare all the vegetables after they get de-boxed. So I had to stand on this line cutting potatoes in half…..all day.

You would think that would be easy enough but, ‘Oh no’, apparently it’s not just the size of these fucking potatoes that is important but the shape of them are too!

Cause they get complaint letters from irate customers asking why there potatoes aren’t fully rounded. Who are these people that take time out of their busy day to write letters of complaint about that shit?

I had two women talking to me for fifteen minutes about that one day. Fifteen minutes that I’ll never get back. You have to ask yourself what life is all about at times like that, don’t you? It’s like, ‘Why am I here? Who are these people? Why are they in my reality?’

The answer I usually come up with is that because Bob Marley was right, people may think they are in heaven but we’re actually living in hell. Well, that factory certainly comes close anyway.

DICING MACHINE

Then the next day I was taken into this area where the charge hand said to the guy I was to be working with, “Billy is clever, you will only need to tell him once what to do and he’ll do it”.

I had only just met him so I don’t know how he knew I was clever or maybe I am in comparison to the other people he works beside.

Let’s face it, no-one that clever would apply to work in there in the first place.

My job that day was taking potatoes of a pallet, opening the sack and pouring it down a chute, one sack after another, for eight hours. Yeah, it takes a fucking rocket scientist to do that.

After my shift that day my hands were fucked, I couldn’t even close them which was a nightmare as I wanted to have a wank to make myself feel better but I’ve got a really thin cock! I just couldn’t get any friction going at all. I had to have a seal wank, a wank using the back of my hands.

BACK PROBLEM

On my application I told them of an operation I had on my back, so after a while they called me back in for a more in-depth medical than the quick fingernail check they done at the first one.

I told them the exact nature of the operation and they said I would be put on restricted lifting duties.

When I got home I told my mum this and she was like, ‘Oh, I hope you didn’t tell them you had disc degenerative disease’.

“No mum, I didn’t tell them that. Don’t worry, I’ll end up a cripple for six pound an hour. As long as you get me out of your house that’s all that matters eh?”

But the next day they sent me to work lifting tatties for eight hours. So that was a complete façade. Health and safety as long as it benefits the company and they can show the bits of paper is the order of the day, not the actual health and safety of the workforce. That is a stretch too far.

POLISH WORKERS

As I said there were a lot of Polish folk at that place. One of them was called Zizini, which I think is the coolest name ever. Sounds like a motorbike.

Anyway, the guy who said I was clever is also Polish and I had a chance to talk to him as we were loading red peppers onto a production belt. It was great to talk to a fellow slave who knows he is a slave. It’s the one’s who think they are free that I worry about. Well, I don’t so much worry about them as want to stab them in the eye with a fork.

There is a bit of tension amongst the workers though because if a Polish worker makes loads of mistakes they don’t get fired, because the company are scared of being seen as racist.

But yet if Scottish worker makes one mistake, they get at least a written final warning. Isn’t that racist? The company don’t mind been seen to be racist against the locals. They’re just the locals though, so their rights don’t matter.

BLOODY FOREIGNERS

I watched a talk in Hyde Park by some black Muslim dude, his name was Mohammad something. Not THE Mohammad obviously but someone who follows the Koran quite intensely.

Anyway, he was telling a story of how slaves were grabbed in Africa and put in boats, where they were chained together full the full journey and the ones that died were thrown overboard, so much so that sharks abandoned their usual hunting grounds and just followed the boats.

Some of them even died from melancholy. Being so sad, you die. That’s worse than being a Hibs supporter.

He then went on to say that they were forced to copulate and make babies after arriving to the land of the free and then the men were all killed and the women lined up and they, our forefathers, used to take one out of a line and cut her open from her mouth to her vagina, so the baby fell out and they both died, while all the other pregnant women looked on, thus injecting their children with a big bolt of adrenalin causing extreme fear and any of the woman who screamed too much at this spectacle got lashed.

Then some passers by came along saw the state of the slaves and so that’s how the phrase ‘bloody foreigners’, was born.

EVERYONE HAS A TALENT

Everyone has a talent. These shitty jobs are just a waste of time. Imagine everyone in the town got trained in that place and the food got dished out for free.

We could all spend one day a week in there preparing healthy organic food for everyone and the rest of the time we can explore our talents to find out what our gift is and then work on it for the benefit of the community.

Wouldn’t that be a better way to organise ourselves instead of using banking notes which only serve to make bankers very wealthy and poor people fucking starving?

FEMALE HITLERS

There are a lot of women charge hands in that place and I don’t mean to be sexist but as far as my observations go, they are a lot more strict than the men. They follow the rules to the letter.

The other women on the line actually call one of them, ‘Hitler’. Shouldn’t they be at home anyway? That was a trick by feminism to get women to want to work as a slave. If you say that to most women these days they think you are the a chauvinist pig.
The idea that a woman may enjoy raising her children while her man goes to work to pay for everything is obviously antiquated. Excuse me.

Now some woman even want to join the army. Christ, is it not bad enough that men blow the shit out of each other, not to mention civilians, many of whom are women and children, without women doing it as well?

Even the disabled want to join the army. ‘Yay, let us in, we’re obviously not disabled enough’.

Bang.

‘Well, now you’re dead. You are 100% disabled. Happy?’

HAPPY WORKERS

Some of the workers there are actually happy with their job. One guy asked me if I liked working there, I mean, as if there could be any other answer than no.

He then said, “What’s your favourite area to work in?”

I said, “You mean which area do I hate the least? Well I guess the de-canting job is ok”.

“Ha, that’s the easiest”.

“Aye, that’s why I hate it the least. Do you think I come here looking for a challenge every day?”

PUNCH FOREIGNERS

You know those people at work who you just want to punch every time you see them, you want to put their lights out? They’re usually foreigners.
That’s not racist by the way. Eighty five per cent of the people at your work are foreigners. So it’s more of a case of law of averages.

It’s not so much multi cultural workforce, as other cultural workforce. There are some countries in the world where they stick very much to their own, but everywhere else, the agenda to weaken the strong native culture and homogenise everything is well under way.

COMPUTER GAMES ARE NOT REAL

One guy at the factory talked to me for thirty mins about a computer game as if it were real life. He was like, “Yeah I took out Dr X and Hero Z with one super bazooka”.

I thought, ‘I’m on my break here pal, gie’s a fucking break’.

ASSHOLE PROMOTION

Why do they always promote the assholes at work? A driver came in and asked where the office was, so I told him. I even walked him there. The manager sees him and just about has a heart attack.

“No safety helmet. You can’t come in here without a safety helmet!! For fucks sake!”

I mean, it’s not as if it were raining bricks. The driver is looking and pointing at me. I just whistled pretending I didn’t know what he was trying to say.

The manager comes back, “Bloody foreigner, can’t understand English”.

Other guys also don’t like him because he’s always, ‘Mate this, mate that. Can you do me a favour mate?’ It does feel better when he asks you like that I have to say, but then he talks behind your back and the illusion is burst.

I done a pick and he went mental. “That has been done. The night shift done that. You should have asked me”.

“Fuckin’ hell, keep your hair on. I did, but you ignored me as you usually do”.

“No, that was done already”.

I said remarkably calmly, “Well, I didn’t know that”.

That took the wind out of his sails. “Oh, alright mate. No problem”.

Sometimes reason does actually get through to these people. He took his helmet off later and I discovered he was bald.

As you can see I’m not bald. Obviously I don’t take Health and Safety too seriously, so I don’t pull my hair out over trivial shit all the time.

I emptied the bucket at one side of the bin and Gaz come in from the other door, where Belly had instructed him to enter to put stuff in the bin.

He said, “Are you putting the stuff in the bin from there?”.

I didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to be done from that side, so I just said, “Apparently so”.
“Oh you are just a law unto yourself then”, and then he fucked off.

I was like, “Yeah pal, that’s exactly what I am. Well done. Give yourself a gold star. You go the top of the class. Prick.”

Then I was putting skewers through raw meat and Gaz said I was going, ‘as slow as jail’.

Now I have no idea how slow jail is but I was tempted to find out, by stabbing that cunt in the eye.

DON’T JUDGE ME

In one area they had a CD player so I brought in a mix CD. Everyone got happy and started dancing. A charge hand, not even a manager but a fucking charge hand, one step up on the imaginary ladder comes along and switches it off.

He said, “It was skipping, and oh, your music taste is shite by the way”.

I have ninety thousand songs on my hard disk at home, and only four songs got played, so that is a pretty quick judgement to make. I did judge him pretty quickly, total cunt.

I try not to judge people based on their looks or appearance or demeanour, I give them the benefit of the doubt, but sooner or later most everyone I discover is a dick.

They usually prove it to me somewhere down the line.

CONDITIONED SLAVES

We are conditioned to be slaves and obey orders. It is all around us. Stop signs, go signs , don’t walk signs, walk signs, even at the canteen, at the top of the stairs it says, ‘Stick to left of stairs’, and as if that wasn’t bad enough it also says. ‘And Use The handrails if possible!’

What kind of dumbed down idiots do you take us for? Beside it someone got a bit rebellious and wrote, ‘Ok’.

Hopefully there was no CCTV camera on them or they don’t get a handwriting expert in, or they’ll lose their job.

The bosses there go on about Health and Safety all the time. Remember ‘Health and Safety’, ‘Health and Safety comes first’ is all you get from them.

If they keep talking to me in that superior tone of voice they’d better watch out for their health and safety.

If you follow the ‘Health and Safety’ rules, often they are more dangerous than using common sense….which is obviously not so fucking common these days.

GET YOUR FINGER OUT

The charge hand held a meeting one day to tell us that there had been an accident and a lady had lost her finger. When I heard there was gonna be staff cutbacks, I didn’t think they would take it that far.

Mind you, she was told to get her finger out, maybe she mistook it for finger off and dutifily obeyed.

FOREIGNERS DON’T SAY PLEASE

I sometimes get upset at the foreigners because they don’t seem to say please or thank you, and to me that is just good manners. They give orders like, ‘Do this, do that’.

So I talked to a Polish guy about it and I said, “I lived in Turkey and they don’t say please very much either but it is kind of implied in their tone of voice. How does it work in Poland?”

He said that if a boss says please it is like he is being arrogant towards you. So these charge hands are actually being polite to me by not saying please!

Boy, I felt stupid. There was me, up to that point just thinking he was an arrogant cunt.

I think the company should give out a booklet with some explanation about cultural differences, maybe it would help to clear up a lot of tension in the workplace.

CRABBIT FORKLIFT DRIVERS

I asked the same guy if he knew what crabbit meant? He didn’t. I told him it meant, ‘short tempered’. He said, ‘Like the forklift drivers’. Exactly mate. The forklift drivers get upset if you ask them to take anything down for you, which is technically their job. I mean they are using a machine while sitting on their arse.

When they take it down, I have to lift about fifteen 25kg bags onto another pallet while he sits and waits. I should be the crabbit one.

HEART RADIO

I have to listen to the radio at work and it drives me batty. First of all they play it at a volume you can just about hear above the machinery so it is like an annoying background noise designed to subliminally program you, I think.

Then they have what appears to be a very short playlist as they play the same songs every fucking day. ‘Sex is on Fire’. God I now hate that song and that is one of the better ones. Has she not came yet? Just give her a good shafting and be done with it.

Whitney Houston’s, ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’, is played regular. That’s the illuminati laughing in our faces about how they murdered Whitney and can still make money from her.

Then that fucking Rihanna song, ‘Umbrella’. I am sure their are babies getting tortured low down on the mix cause it gives me the creeps.

Another song goes like, ‘I don’t wanna do a thing, just lie in bed all day’, encouraging us to be apathetic wasters.

Then another one goes, ‘Clap Your Hands and Be Happy’, as if Bobby McFerrins, ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ didn’t cover the market in happy songs, now we have to clap our hands like the children’s song, ‘If you are happy and you know it’.

Sam Smith’s, ‘Stay With Me’, god I fucking hate that song. It is a dirge and a half. No wonder no-one stays with you Sam, you’re a fucking dick.

No women wants a man to beg her to stay with such a wimpy needy voice. You should sing, ‘Stay with me Bitch, I’m Gonna Be Rich’.

‘Only Love Can Feel This Bad’, no, it can’t. Only your fucking whining can feel this bad. You just need to be able to write one shit song that the illuminati love and you’ll be set for life.

I love being a slave, it fills my heart with joy, another day sucking cock for the Rothschild banking empire. Isn’t it fabulous?

Isn’t it great, I get to be at work every day, by half past eight until it gets late. Ain’t this great?’ Bingo! Number one hit, played endlessly.

Surely the DJ’s at the radio station must be going fucking nuts in that job….and they aren’t even working in a factory that packs them. Think how bad we feel.

Packing nuts as we go nuts, listening to fruit nuts belt out shite all day, on repeat!!!

DROP ZONE CHAOS

There was an accident. A guys foot got caught with a forklift. The next day all the rules had to change. The manager appears with a tin of yellow spray paint. He draws the Drop Zone!!!!

A space for a pallet and a space for the large waste bin that could actually double up as a child’s swimming pool.

Now the great war has begun between the store staff and the de-boxers. If you stand in de-box area that means managers there can talk to you like you are a cunt.

The forklift driver will not cross the divide, even to pick up the pallets who’s job it is for him to pick up because he’s a pussy who fears Belly’s wrath.

Belly enforces the new laws with glee. Then says to me, “This is ridiculous”.

Yes, Belly it most certainly is.

When Robert Horton visited the Factory I was nominated as the Apprentice to Bullshit him that what we were learning was actually useful. His £1.5 million pay off made mine seem like Chicken Feed though.

Chemical Factory Tour

Here is a tour of the Chemical Factory I worked. Please excuse the quality of picture and sound, it was shot quite some time ago and obviously Camcorders have improved a lot since then.

Cheers!