Tag Archives: humour

Do You See What is Right in Front of You?


I hope you remember this guy?

It turns out that Puking Man has a big brother. Peeing Man!

Wow, just wow. An ISO graphical symbol for a man whizzing into a plastic bag! I had no idea that they could top The Puker, but they have.

Sorry to disappoint, but there isn’t a baggie for the ladies. I looked. But, I promise that if the make an ISO graphic of someone using a female urinal, you will be the first to know.

I asked our shop assistant if she’d ever noticed the little people that were doing odd things on the boxes… she had not. This display is only a few steps from the cash register. Hmm, brightly coloured illustrations of cartoon people demonstrating funny bodily functions into rather awkward conveniences. How could she not have seen them? Then again, she never saw me laughing and taking the photo, either… at least I gave her a giggle, and confirmed in her mind that I am not quite right.

And then, there is the new hand soap in the bathroom at work. We end up with lots of different medical-grade hand washing goop, of course (samples abound, being in the medical supply business and all). But I’m not about to try this one.

Doesn’t that scare you a bit, too? I have to say ‘no’ to using hand-soap that specifically mentions not to get it ON MY BRAIN. Shit, that ├╝ber-specific warning isn’t even on the ‘Patient Information Leaflet’ – it’s right on the front of the damn bottle! I don’t even want to look at the bottle now for fear my meninges might get some of it on them – or on it – whatever.

You would truly hope that anyone who knows what meninges (I had to Google, yep) are would also know what cutaneous (I did not have to Google, nope) means. Nothing about ‘cutaneous’ means you should consider injecting it into a human joint, or lather up a brain or spinal cord. I am not, not! going to Google how they found out that doing either was a really bad idea.

Who the Hell Puns in their Sleep?!?!



I do.

I’ve not been sleeping well lately. More accurately, I’ve not been sleeping for long periods in the morning but I do have loads of REM sleep, complete with weird dreams.

Last week I again dreamt that I was a man, and it was perfectly normal in the dream. Forget the details now, as you do, but I remember noting that I wasn’t even me in the dream.

This morning, I was the interviewer for a TV documentary on a famous person. I wish it was someone real, but I don’t think it was. It was a man, and rather heavy-set and intelligent. I think he was an actor. Much like the amazing Stephen Fry, but it wasn’t him. I was there to document his unusual hobby, which was candle-making.

In dream space, there was lots of time doing camera angles, set up, questions, etc. It went on for a while, perfectly normal – as if I have a clue what being a TV interviewer entails.

Eventually, cameras rolling, a young man walks in. The star stops and says, “Oh, I’d like you to meet my assistant. He’s been invaluable. This is Chandler.”

I woke up immediately, laughing out loud.


Overly-friendly People are a Danger to Themselves


I just don’t know how to even tell this story…

Ye know I work in a warehouse. We have drivers that come in to do home deliveries, and I see the same set of fellows at least once a day as they load up (or drop of returns, my area). So, I’ve gotten to know all of our drivers, as you do, and have the craic with them on a daily basis.

The second explanation needed to tell this story is that the sales team, in the office, rarely will come out into the warehouse. The team happens to be all women, and one in particular is a very outspoken, jocular kind of woman (and is rather loud to boot). She’s never timid about coming out to the warehouse and shouting for whomever she is looking for.

In this case, today, it was me.

Herself comes out to my returns area and tells me what she needs ta, and while there we all have a bit of a chat with one of the drivers, who is also leaving me returns.

I couldn’t tell you what exactly she and he were talking about, but as she left, she gave him a playful punch in the shoulder… she’s that kinda gal.

What she didn’t realise is that he only has one arm, and she had punched his plastic prosthesis.

Her: thwack! “OW!!!”

I don’t know who laughed harder: me, the one-armed driver, or the other driver who witnessed it all. I know I about pissed myself.

This is why you don’t get touchy-feely with people you don’t know, just because you are a ‘girl’ and can get away with it!

The Pork I Buy lately looks… Odd.


I think I’ll just leave this one as photos. Sorry Sled, I know you don’t eat meat. Maybe this is why not…

Last week, my dinner…

This week.

I think I need to start buying my pork loin elsewhere…

Bad jokes and puns strongly encouraged!

Heat Your Home! Now! For Cheap! letmetellyahow!


Have a back boiler? Have a VERY dead Christmas tree? Heat your whole house in minutes with dead tree twigs! Yes! You too can escape the low temperatures by burning the shit out of that dead thing you paid good money for! Just trim here, trim there, and toss onto your already-glowing coals! It couldn’t be easier. Call now!*

*Pleasenotethat’heat’requireskeepinganannoyingneedledroppingPOStreeinyourhouse,blockingthemainwindow,wellintoJanuary. Notresponsibleforpointy-assneedlesbeingdistributedallthroughoutyourdamnhouse.


Happy Christmas!


We settled in to take our annual awkward family pet portraits last night, when suddenly the doorbell rang. We answered to find my Canadian friend, bearing homemade cookies and her greyhound, Rua. After I wiped off the blood (I’d been holding Lokii and he doesn’t take well to Neko’s loud reaction to the doorbell), had a chat with our friend and let Rua have a sniff around the house, it was no longer an option to take the photos. Primarily because all we found of Lokii for the next two hours was his costume, abandoned on the floor. He might not be very bright, but he can strip!

Spottie, however, didn’t seem to mind any of it, and was still wandering around wearing his little coat and fuzzy collar. So hubby took a few pics of just me and Spot.

My favourite one.


Tempting him stay with a treat.



Neko wanted to wish you all happy holidays, too!

A Two is a 2 is a II


I now am in charge, exclusively, of Customer Returns in the warehouse. I don’t mind a bit, despite the fact that this is not the job I was hired for. I still do that one, too.

Returns means I’m in the sales office a lot. I have to ask a lot of questions and beg for paperwork, so I can get all the pallets and pallets of shite out of my little returns area (and lawsy me, does it pile up fast). Sometimes, the returned item is jus’fine, and can go back on the shelf for another delivery.

Sometimes it’s a broken piece of crap. That’s when I have to get the sales manager involved.

Last week, I had an item to ask him about. He needed to look it up in the computer first. I’m standing there, waiting, and I see that he’s having an issue typing in the name of the product itself.

He calls out to another office worker sitting at a desk in front of him, “Hey, how do I make the symbol for two, but it isn’t a number?”

The sales person turns around, looking baffled. Not at the question, no: trying to think of where it might be on the keyboard.

I’m standing there in my grimy steel-toe boots, grimier hi-vis jacket, and comfy many-pocketed work trousers; sweating as I can’t bear the heat in the office as compared to the warehouse. I can’t watch this any longer, not even for the craic. “It’s just two capital letter i’s. Roman numerals.”

Sales manager is all kinds of thrilled and thinks I’m a bloody genius. Says to me, “That’s brilliant, we could sure use you down here. Are you sure you don’t want to come back into the office?”

Not for all the tea in China, as my mother would have said. I mumbled something about watching a lot of old movies and teaching myself Roman numerals so I could read the date the movie was made. But that was a lie. I learned that shit in fifth grade. Maybe earlier.

It especially struck me funny when I saw this, via the Huffington Post.


The Ugliest T-Shirt Ever


Before we went out Saturday night, drinkin’, hubby was looking for his “Halloween shirt” to wear. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“It’s orange! Not really Halloween, but it’s orange. Close enough.”


I bought this at a thrift shop in Cleveland, Ohio, probably for .59 cents. It appears to be a corporation’s (Flood, whatever that is/was) attempt at team building. It is the ugliest thing I have ever seen – and I had to get it for my future hubby when I saw it. He loves this sort of tacky crap. I still can’t wrap my head around the truly terrible and terrifying artwork – that woman might have (slightly misplaced) muscles, but she’s going to have a really bad back if she stays all twisted up like that. I mentally try to turn her body so she is in proper perspective. Her poor left arm! It’s only about 2 foot long and is springing out of her neck!

And the man? Neck wider than head, thighs nearly wider than his waist. His grimace looks demonic. Maybe it is a Halloween shirt after all.

A couple of funny things


Spot is back to normal still, and I’ve been able to pill him three times in a row, both pills at once, and he has swallowed them instantly! Yes, I am a master.

Of course, now that I’ve bragged, tonight’s pill-taking will be a disaster. Them’s the rules!

I’ve been saving two funny pics I took at work. Both really had me scratching my head. This one is blurry, but I didn’t want to get caught taking a photo of the inside of the canteen fridge.

It’s an unopened tin of beans, in the refrigerator. Why why why? And why has it been there for three weeks? Who the hell refrigerates a can? Maybe if it was fruit, I could understand. But beans? They need heating! Which will now take a hell of a lot longer, because they are currently about 5 degrees.

People are weird.

This second one I took in our retail shop, which is connected to the office building and warehouse. I have been put in charge of customer returns (it doesn’t suck, but involves me walking around to various people in the offices quite a lot). Some of the returns are from the shop – so I’m out there a lot now, too. While waiting to talk to the assistant, I was looking around at all the stuff for sale. It looks a bit different when not crammed into a bin or in a stack of 1,000 in the warehouse. A lot cleaner, too.

I work for a medical supply company, and this is the retail packaging for a three-pack of vomit bags. I am amused by the idea that they created their own ISO graphical symbol of a person puking. I’m pretty sure this isn’t an officially sanctioned icon. But it should be! The little gender-neutral human looks so comfortable leaning into the wee bag. Nothing at all like the way I yark. For one thing, I don’t think I’ve ever barfed standing up. I’d probably shit myself if I tried it.