One civil sevice lifer to another civil sevice lifer in Torchwood S03E01
1 comment:
Timbo
said...
Are you shitting me!
I wait two months to hear what new insight the mighty Feldspar might have. I return here, over two cycles of the moon, to see what new stories might possibly emerge, continually anticipating some new unique insight into some forgotten or unseen corner of the world, of humanities thought, but only to see "The indignity of performing in bear face" sitting there, like a bad joke in a rained out highschool theatre or somethin'. Like a wet turd in the playground sand. Sulking away wondering when the next post will come. And in fact wondering if the author is doing okay; if he isn't rotting dead under a pizza box or half a ton of beer empties somewhere.
And then one day, I come by to see if the cobwebs have been dusted off, the place spruced up, new bloggish goodies on the table to consume... And what do I get?
"Civil servants are the cockroaches of government..."
WHAT?!?!
OMFG!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?
Did you just say that?!?! Isn't that like somebody walking into a computer techie place and saying "Are you sure it's plugged in?" (Icy stares turn toward speaker...) Isn't that so obvious it's not worth the air to breath it? Not worth the wear and tear on the rods and cones in the backs of my eyeballs to read it?
CAN'T YOU COME UP WITH SOMETHING BETTER THAN civil servants are the cockroaches of government?
MY GOD! I'll be over there in 30 minutes and we'll clean up all those old beer empties so we can clear your concentration and get some more fresh blood flowing to those typing fingers (though you might only use your two indexes for all I know); some good shit streaming from that Feldsparian brain of yours. Just let me know! We'll send in the Marines! I'll send in George. (You do NOT want me to send in George. He'll rip your intellectual head off and shit down your neck when he sees that place of yours.)
The winds of desolation settle over our lives. I wander through the grey fog of the Internet. The chatter, which sounds so loud but says so little. Among that threadbare fabric I tack, longing for some insight, some gem of meaning that might kindle my own inner eye. Dully my vessel slides past Wikipedia, over TVTropes.org, through the ephemeral tediousness of Google News, occasionally settling on ALDaily.com, but always, always setting its bearings back toward the port of Feldsparia for a new recharge of the batteries. A new chance to pull 'er up and scrape the barnacles off her hull. I long, yearn... for the insight... The wisdom.
Aha. (There she is, boys...) Just peaking the horizon. The sharp slate peaks of Feldsparia. The knowing peaks that serves as a navigator's beacon. Dead ahead boys! Can't be more than half a day's sailing. What will her bosom hold for us? I can't wait, knowing how tired I was seeing the bear face astride the portsmouth for so many days. We sail in. Lo! Bear face. She be gone! A new story breaks on yonder sanctuary.
What might said story be?
Civil servants are the cockroaches of government.
...sigh...
All this way... All this way...
Tears roll. Palms are thrown to the heavens. Why? Why God must I be tortured so? Why can't Feldspar post something more than... that?
(Also remember to edit your freakin' posts, too...)
The civil service, the cockroaches of government.
1 comment:
Are you shitting me!
I wait two months to hear what new insight the mighty Feldspar might have. I return here, over two cycles of the moon, to see what new stories might possibly emerge, continually anticipating some new unique insight into some forgotten or unseen corner of the world, of humanities thought, but only to see "The indignity of performing in bear face" sitting there, like a bad joke in a rained out highschool theatre or somethin'. Like a wet turd in the playground sand. Sulking away wondering when the next post will come. And in fact wondering if the author is doing okay; if he isn't rotting dead under a pizza box or half a ton of beer empties somewhere.
And then one day, I come by to see if the cobwebs have been dusted off, the place spruced up, new bloggish goodies on the table to consume... And what do I get?
"Civil servants are the cockroaches of government..."
WHAT?!?!
OMFG!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?
Did you just say that?!?! Isn't that like somebody walking into a computer techie place and saying "Are you sure it's plugged in?" (Icy stares turn toward speaker...) Isn't that so obvious it's not worth the air to breath it? Not worth the wear and tear on the rods and cones in the backs of my eyeballs to read it?
CAN'T YOU COME UP WITH SOMETHING BETTER THAN civil servants are the cockroaches of government?
MY GOD! I'll be over there in 30 minutes and we'll clean up all those old beer empties so we can clear your concentration and get some more fresh blood flowing to those typing fingers (though you might only use your two indexes for all I know); some good shit streaming from that Feldsparian brain of yours. Just let me know! We'll send in the Marines! I'll send in George. (You do NOT want me to send in George. He'll rip your intellectual head off and shit down your neck when he sees that place of yours.)
Cockroaches = Civil-Servants vis-a-vis Government.
(sigh)
The winds of desolation settle over our lives. I wander through the grey fog of the Internet. The chatter, which sounds so loud but says so little. Among that threadbare fabric I tack, longing for some insight, some gem of meaning that might kindle my own inner eye. Dully my vessel slides past Wikipedia, over TVTropes.org, through the ephemeral tediousness of Google News, occasionally settling on ALDaily.com, but always, always setting its bearings back toward the port of Feldsparia for a new recharge of the batteries. A new chance to pull 'er up and scrape the barnacles off her hull. I long, yearn... for the insight... The wisdom.
Aha. (There she is, boys...) Just peaking the horizon. The sharp slate peaks of Feldsparia. The knowing peaks that serves as a navigator's beacon. Dead ahead boys! Can't be more than half a day's sailing. What will her bosom hold for us? I can't wait, knowing how tired I was seeing the bear face astride the portsmouth for so many days. We sail in. Lo! Bear face. She be gone! A new story breaks on yonder sanctuary.
What might said story be?
Civil servants are the cockroaches of government.
...sigh...
All this way... All this way...
Tears roll. Palms are thrown to the heavens. Why? Why God must I be tortured so? Why can't Feldspar post something more than... that?
(Also remember to edit your freakin' posts, too...)
I hear silence...
Post a Comment