A building contractor who managed to wangle the kind of contract where the client pays by the day is confident that the job is very nearly finished. “You’d be surprised at how quickly a build comes together at the last minute.” Site foreman Miff McDonald takes a sip from his 12th cuppa of the day and adds, “But if it doesn’t, I’m going to have to invoice the client for another week’s work. I’m a perfectionist and I’m not signing off on a job until my noggins are hammered in at just the right angle. My client deserves nothing less.”
Client Gareth Mason is less than convinced. “This house is nowhere near finished. It looks like it’s been picked up and shaken like a giant snowglobe. The garden is like the bloody Somme, and the Portaloo on the driveway has a brand new copy of Ulysses hanging from a nail on a piece of string.” Mason flicks the kettle on for the umpteenth time today and lines up 9 mugs on a Cath Kidston tea tray. “I don’t give a toss about the noggins. Do we even need them? Jesus, now we’ve run out of Garibaldi’s.”
Mason admits he probably should have ordered the kitchen when he was told to last month, and not when, and only when, his wife has decided where the Nutribullet will go. “She still can’t decide whether the Nutribullet will go to the left of the toaster or to the right, or what colour to paint the walls in the dining room. So for some reason, we can’t order the kitchen. Or the Nutribullet.”
Have you ever wondered what happened to that eyelash that was scratching your cornea only 5 minutes ago but now seems to have miraculously vanished? The truth in all its uncomfortable glory has emerged after research conducted by The University of Tewkesbury.
Postmortems on people who have donated their bodies to medical science have revealed the small void behind the eyeball, known as Millicent’s Pocket, to contain some pretty random crap. Amongst the detritus recently found behind the eye include old contact lenses, glitter, Rice Krispies, traces of mercury and a dead money spider.
Dr Edward Peabody says “The most common article we find deposited in Millicent’s Pocket are eyelashes, which are partially dissolved in the aqueous humours produced naturally by the eye. The average eyelash takes about 8 years to completely dissolve.” There is no clue, however, to how certain things get behind the eye. “We’ve also found sock fluff, olive oil and Tipex. Don’t ask me how they got there.”
A man who has been basically spamming women on Tinder with dick pics has complained that he still can’t get a date. Despite bombarding a number of females with uninvited pornographic imagery, David, 34, a hedge fund manager from Hampstead, has been blocked from 16 profiles. “It always starts off well enough. I get a lot of interest from the ladies swiping right. Then I go in for the kill; I hit them with my cock. I then inexplicably never hear from them again.”
David (not his real name) continues. “The strange thing is, it’s not even my penis in the photos. It actually belongs to my mate Rob, who has a really impressive one. He kindly agreed after 6 pints, 3 whisky chasers and a flaming Sambucca to let me photograph his junk whilst lying comatose on my kitchen floor. My own member is rather disappointing you see, and I don’t like to put the girls off too soon, so I send them Rob’s.”
We spoke to Rachel (her real name), who has blocked the lovelorn hedge fund manager (not his real job). “It’s sexual harassment by proxy. If you met a guy at a bar and started flirting, you wouldn’t expect him to suddenly whip out his cock in front of you. Why does a grown man of 34* think doing the same online is acceptable?”
After some probing, David reveals that he doesn’t actually live in Hampstead. He lives in Finsbury Park. “The girls aren’t going to find out straight away, are they? If they’re disappointed by it, then they’re clearly just shallow gold-diggers and I’m better off without them. Besides which, there’s nothing wrong with Finsbury Park. It’s up-and-coming with an authentic, vibrant character. And I should know… my wife’s an estate agent.”
*not his real age. He’s 42.
“Tax doesn’t have to be taxing”, or so HMRC’s strapline goes. However, it has emerged that self-assessment tax is more than taxing, it’s a bloody nightmare for the self-employed and anyone else involved in the whole spirit-demolishing process.
The 14,000 page online form with it’s accompanying guidance notes, recently voted most boring publication in existence since J.P. Thirlwell’s 1978 partwork “Relative tensile strength of galvanised steel under stress when used in suspension bridge construction in countries regularly experiencing extreme weather conditions: volume 4”, has never been filled in completely accurately by anyone, ever.
A statement from HMRC, which appears to confirm recent findings, admits that even the team that devised the form got bored halfway through and started making bits up. “No one knows which receipts to claim VAT back for, or how to work out the depreciation in value of their stapler. Clients are advised to make a wild guess, but without taking the piss too much.”
The deadline for submitting your tax return for the period April 2017 to April 2018 is looming on the horizon like the flesh-incinerating pyroclastic flow from a volcano you were warned about months ago, so if you get to work now, hopefully 31st January 2019 will come and go in a sweet haze of self-satisfied relief.
A new study from the University of Tewkesbury has revealed that many couples who are thinking about getting divorced are opting to renew their wedding vows instead. With lengthy court proceedings and the subsequent fight over an estate, possessions, children and pets sometimes running into tens of thousands of pounds, a simple but beautiful ceremony with close friends and family is a lot cheaper.
Merv, 50, has recently renewed his vows with wife Sarah. “Our marriage had become a featureless landscape of unfulfilled dreams. Apart from when I broke my arm in April, I hadn’t seen Sarah laugh for years. We did consider divorce but the thought of trying to divvy up the Royal Doulton was too much to bear. So we went for the romantic option instead, to try and re-introduce the spark we used to have.”
“We renewed our vows last month, after 20 years of marriage, and went on our 2nd honeymoon to Bermuda”, smiles Sarah, 48. “It was all very nice, but more importantly, it’s stopped my mother hinting that me and Merv should throw in the towel. It was worth it to see the disappointed look on her face.”
Experts from the world of retail are predicting the total collapse of the traditional High Street by the year 2025, it has emerged. With HMV being the latest casualty of the current economic downturn, yet shops like W H Smith and Jane Norman still inexplicably trading, the end of shopping as a pleasurable experience has already begun.
With the surge in recent years of online shopping, retail outlets as we know them are to become surplus to requirements. Once-bustling streets across the UK and beyond will turn into something like a scene from 28 Days Later, or that really depressing one with Viggo Mortenson; all boarded-up wastelands where only rodents and cockroaches can thrive.
According to experts the advent of online shopping will have serious consequences for the human anatomy. Over the next few millennia legs will probably evolve entirely out of existence, which is particularly bad news for footware retailers. A kind of motorised trolley with a voice-activated tablet attached on an arm is already in development for house-bound humans to trundle around their homes on. Goods will be delivered directly to people’s homes by van or drone.
Dave McReady is an early adopter of the new online shopping experience. “I may have developed what basically amounts to bedsores by not shifting my lazy arse from my sofa this past 2 months, but I’ve bought my groceries, held business meetings over Skype, and watched a ton of porn without having to walk into Blockbuster Video to buy it like I used to in the 90’s. I’ve even got myself a mail-order bride from Thailand, she’s arriving in a couple of weeks. Will I be taking her to a fancy restaurant? No need, I’ve got a Deliveroo account.”
Our interview is cut short by a frantic beeping sound from Dave’s tablet. “Sorry, I need to sort this out. Looks like a pigeon’s got into my Drone Port again. Alexa: activate bird scarer and disinfectant!”