Chronologically disadvantaged
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We've got a happy little family unit here at the Bottle Shop. Marxist Jim is the alarmingly belligerent grandaddy; I'm the benevolent pater familias; Lucy is... well, I'm not really sure what Lucy is, the benevolent pater familias' loopy girlfriend, perhaps; Vinnie is the funny little cousin from the colonies. And Dylan is the child that got kicked in the head by a horse. He is the Idiot Boy. I have begun to dread him opening his mouth because, apart from the fact that his voice is still breaking at the age of 20, it has become abundantly clear that nothing of any sense will ever come out of his flapping gob. The vagaries of wine retail mean that there are very often longueurs where nothing much happens. Prior to Dylan's arrival in the shop, these periods (where boredom hangs in the air like a bad fart) would be profitably spent by building a fort out of wine boxes, say, or by inventing new games. It was during one such hiatus that the Poo Game was developed. Lucy: Okay, you've got to replace any word in the title of a Bond film with the word "poo". Vinnie: "A Poo To A Kill"? "Live And Let Poo"? "Poofinger"? Me: "Octo-poo-ssy"? Hours of fun, I'm sure you'll agree. But since Dylan made the leap from weekend-worker to full-time member of staff, we have been subjected to what he calls his "conversational gambits" whenever a lull in trading occurs. These attempts at engaging his co-workers in debate are so thoroughly cack-handed that it takes all my willpower not to batter Idiot Boy to death with a bottle of Vouvray Demi-Sec. And for some reason, I seem to bear the brunt of his idiocy (probably because he is scared of Lucy and Vinnie spends all of his time plugged into his iPod). This morning I've already had him squeaking his abject nonsense in my direction. Idiot Boy: Late... Me: Yes, Dylan? Idiot Boy: If you were the father of a family, with one wife and two children, one aged eleven and one aged eight, and you had to have just one meal with all of your family every day for the rest of your life, which meal would it be and why? Would it be breakfast, lunch or dinner? Me: Do you honestly want to know, Dylan? Do you really want to know what meal I'd have with my imaginary family in some crazy fucking world where only one meal is permitted? Idiot Boy: Yes, Late. Me: Dinner, then. Idiot Boy: Ah, but why? Me: I don't know. Does it matter? And thus I get drawn into pointless conversations that simultaneously ignite feelings of despair and homicidal rage that rack me to the very core of my being. It's not only the conversational gambits that have won Dylan the title "Idiot Boy", however. He is also deeply, unremittingly ignorant. As well as his assumption that anyone non-white must have been born in sunnier climes, Dylan has treated us to the following pearls of wisdom: During a conversation about food - "Gammon's a fish - right?" When the back-room radiator was broken - "There's nothing wrong with that radiator, it's just not radiating any heat." Talking about farmyard animals - "So what do you call a baby calf?" On geography - "Glasgow is the capital of Wales." On Northerners - "Up North, they all use brown beer bottles for rolling pins." (Upon being asked what he considered "up North", he replied "Watford"). The only possible response to such interminable idiocy is prolonged and scathing sarcasm. Unfortunately, Dylan does not understand sarcasm either. He just looks blankly at you, flaps a little, then keeps talking. And then there's his fucking Crazy-Frog-trilling mobile, don't even get me started on that... I fear that the next time you will hear of Late Bland, Esq. will be on a London Tonight bulletin, following his arrest for the brutal slaying (by crucifixion) of his flapping muppet of a co-worker. If this is the case, I will use this blog entry as evidence in my trial. Surely no judge in the land would convict me. The Bottle Shop recommendation for today: Vouvray Demi-Sec 2002 (France). A pleasant blend of richness and acidity for lovers of medium-dry wines, and with a good hefty bottle for those contemplating homicide. £6.99
Rant
16.8.05 11:35
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(16.8.05 11:38) crazy frog?! nooooo is he 12 or something! |
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(16.8.05 11:40) Mentally, perhaps. |
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(16.8.05 12:10) surely there's some truth in the non-white person thing...geno-historically perhaps... i'll get my hat. |
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(16.8.05 12:22) Dylan is surely a relative of the lovely Jade Goody. |
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(16.8.05 12:24) I think you've unwittingly insulted Jade Goody there, pog. |
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(16.8.05 12:28) The Spy Who Loved Poo. Pooraker. Imagine you've heard 'em before. |
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(16.8.05 12:32) Is he on drugs? If not, have you considered getting him hooked on some? |
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(16.8.05 12:35) Maybe hes secretly smarter that he first appears and is after your job, hoping that by being brain-meltingly stupid he'll force you to neurones to self destruct? |
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(16.8.05 12:39) you only poo twice |
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(16.8.05 12:41) "The Man With The Golden Poo". "Poo Another Day". "Licence To Poo". It works with Beatles songs too... |
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Chris / Website (16.8.05 12:44) "The Poo Is Not Enough". LOL What you need to do is combine your last two entries and smother idiot boy with a pillow. Problem solved. |
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(16.8.05 12:49) From Russia With Poo. And, of course, Pooeye. |
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(16.8.05 12:50) "Pooeye" may have to be my new name for the anus. |
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(16.8.05 12:55) It did cross my mind. Also, if you're going to shift emphasis to Beatles songs, may I be the first to steam on in with 'Happiness Is A Warm Poo' ? |
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(16.8.05 13:00) Wow. I don't think that can be beaten (now there's a red rag to a bull if ever there was one). |
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(16.8.05 14:08) yellow brick Poo... nope, that does'nt work.. |
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baby_otter (16.8.05 14:33) "We All Live In A Yellow Poo" Or, perhaps even: "We All Poo In A Yellow Submarine" Ah, that brings back memories... |
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(16.8.05 14:37) From Let It Be, The Long And Winding Poo. |
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baby_otter (16.8.05 18:11) How about some David Poowie songs too: Poo On Mars? Life On Poo? Poo Oddity (Poo) Under Pressure [WARNING: Content May Not Be Suitable For Under 18s] |
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baby_otter (16.8.05 18:19) The definitive Bond list: Dr. Poo From Russia With Poo Poofinger Thunderpoo You Only Poo Twice (I've exceeded my quota, it seems) On Her Majesty's Secret Poo Diamonds Are Poo / Poos Are Forever Poo And Let Poo The Man With The Golden Poo (I suspect someone put something in his Weetabix) The Spy Who Loved Poo Pooraker For Your Poos Only Octopooey (Poopussy? Eurgh!) A Poo To A Kill The Pooing Daylights / The Living Daypoo Licence To Poo [In Public?] (Some people bloody well need one!) Goldenpoo (Follow-Up/Follow-Through To "The Man With The Golden Poo") Tomorrow Never Poos / Poo Never Dies The Poo Is Not Enough Poo Another Day (When you have your licence) Casino Poo / Poo Royale (Wi' Cheeeeze?) Never Say Poo Again |
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Nayf / Website (17.8.05 09:36) I'm sure you're all aware that if you replace the word "love" in any song with the word "toast", the true meaning becomes clear. Too much toast will kill you (just the same as none at all) All you need is toast Toast is a many splendoured thing And so on. |
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(17.8.05 09:59) Ode to my breakfast: Must have been toast, but it's over now. |
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Snag (17.8.05 13:50) Happiness is a Warm Poo is pretty tough to beat, but I may just have managed it once or twice somewhere among this lot. See what you think: And Your Bird Can Poo (or And Your Poo Can Sing) Blue Poo Way Poo In The USSR Poo Together Pooing, Pooing, Pooing (OK, so I cheated a bit with that one and used three poos. Sorry. Original was Crying, Waiting, Hoping.) Dear Poodence Every Little Poo Good Pooing, Good Pooing, Hallelujah, I Love Poo So Here Comes The Poo Poo Pie I Am The Poo (I Poo The Walrus?) I Want To Hold Your Poo I'm Gonna Sit Right Down And Poo (Over You) I'm Happy Just To Poo With You (...Dance With Poo) I'm Only Pooing I've Just Seen A Poo In My Poo It's Only Poo Keep Your Hands Off My Poo Ooh! My Poo Poo Over Beethoven Step Inside Poo Poo Out Some Insurance On Me Baby The Poo On The Hill Long And Winding Poo Things We Pooed Today Too Much Monkey Poo We Can Poo It Out Wild Poo Pie You Like Poo Too Much You Really Got A Hold On Poo You're Going To Lose That Poo Your Mother Should Poo Gosh. How bracingly childish. |
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(24.8.05 11:55) Yay I'm glad you've come back! |