22 February 2006


Okay, I owe you a post and I owe Kim about a dozen comics but let’s face it; I’m lazy (true, actually. I was once trapped for an hour on an escalator when the power failed) and I’m talking to three lawyers (they think I’m taking notes). I have no time to post. Get over it.

One of said lawyers is giving a presentation and the other two are tapping away on their lap tops. The presentation is slathered so deep with legalese, that Jimmy Hoffa may well be buried within. I need a break.

The presenting lawyer has his fly open and Irish Bob is snoring away in front of him; mouth open with a strand of drool running down his right cheek. On the window sill beside me is a dead fly. I flick it and am rewarded with a frantic gagging cough.

It appears that Irish Bob has rejoined us. He swallows.

“Umm, something went down the wrong way. Now, what again are our legal responsibilities vis-à-vis our South West sales rep agreement?” Bob manages in his best, if raspy, suck-up voice. He tries to drink from his soda cup, but there is naught left but ice. He fishes out a cube and sucks on it.

The lawyer drones on. He is wearing silk boxers with bunnies on it. I casually fish out an ice cube and ‘flick’! The lawyer dances back and glares at Bob. “What the hell did you do that for?” He demands.

Bob expresses innocence convincingly, but before the circle of guilt can expand, the laptops of both seated lawyers announce: “You are trying to access a blocked porn site!”

They are using my wireless connection and have foolishly allowed me to set it up for them.

“Don’t worry,” I say to the senior partner with the dampish groin. “We get lawyers trying to porn surf on our network all the time. Then they have the temerity to charge us for the time as if they were actually working...” He glares at me, but their IE6 browser history proves me correct, despite his flunkies’ protests. He grimly returns to his presentation and is finished in record time, saving us about $5000 and 30 IQ points.

The lawyers leave and two accountants file in. Their pants are firmly zipped as they have been here before.

Bob settles back in his seat and closes his eyes. He is asleep before the accountant can bring up the power point first slide.

There is a dead woodlouse on the windowsill beside me. Flick!

Mmmm, crunchy!

UPDATE! The lawyers are on to my little game and I must flee to Florida, Hollywood or some such third world, law-suit free place.

And that's the way I likes it.