Aw bless! Directors are so good at keeping the morale up their employees!
Right up!
Todays ludicrous announcement by the town leader of the religious shamanistic airbourne avain, is that in order to keep the staff fit & healthy, All of the social clubs/fitness centres have been closed.
Now, you're re-reading that and thinking that I've ballsed up me blog! But no, the official announcement to staff states it twice. They have closed our fitness centres in order to make us more fit & healthy.
Presumably, there is some twisted logic behind this marvellous insight. Perhaps by restricting access to sport and activity, they aim to get us lard based lifeforms all svelte and trim by offering only a limited selection of outrageously priced sandwhiches of dubious content, so we are forced to {gulp} walk {gasp} to Shamansburys to get something proper to eat!
Sod that - we'll drive over there!
The tennis club are up in arms! Especially when serving. Although now they can only serve themselves gruel masquerading as Sprout and Weevil soup with croutons of solid, stale bread.
I've never been to a gym (quell surprise), for it sounds a bit too much like exercise for my taste. But then, a gym isn't for exercise. It's an excuse to lech at the honed honeys in their leoturds, or gash frothment at rippling six-packs. Skimpy banana hammocks on the weights, and bouncing boobies on treadmills and the like.
And it smells of farty arses, sweaty pits, athletes feet and fake tan lotion. And of the stench of The Sex in the sauna from the nobbing we all know goes on in there. And on the swedish massage tables.
And the less said about what they do with them ear candles the better!
Ear Candling! What a marvellous idea! Got earwax? Bung a lit candle in yer ear! Now, the gubbible will pay wads of wonga (20 quid, for both ears!) for this, clearly missing the fact that candles melt, and they'll end up with an ear'ole bunged up with melted candlewax.
On the plus side, you can prize it out and have a perfect mould of your eardrum, which you can paint flesh color, and hide it in the garden. Then, when people come round to visit, you can say that you saw a strange light in the sky, and point out the strange 'pod' that's been growing, and convince 'em that you're being replaced by pod people from your anus.
Wonder if I could get away with my latest homeopathetic remedy. A candelabra - or, more precisely, a candle (or bra). It's where you come round mine and whip yer blouse off. You lie on yer back, and I bung a candle on each nip and light it. Then it melts down, and the wax smears all over your heaving busoms. Once the candle is extinguised and the wax cools, you're left with a perfect mould of your bazookas. This treatment, um... ah, yes, removes impurities, boots firmness, and decreases the risk of nork cancer.
Any takers, ladies...
