...aehm, about that offside rule...

All right Nicole, this one's for you and your friends...

Anybody who knows me understands that I'm not the greatest sports fan. In fact, I quietly pretend to myself that eating contests and swim suit competitions are sports just to make myself believe it's all right to break a sweat while I practice cooking.

Ironically on Saturday I have been given a part in a commercial where I am to portray the stereotype German soccer fan for the World Cup 2006.

Good actor that I am, I've been doing my research:

• I found out that those funny guys in the black are not a team of their own
• You don't get a parking ticket for parking on the white line
• Tripping the guy with the ball and then jumping onto him with the full force of your body wheight to make sure the bastard stays down is not a good idea in soccer

And finally I did some reseach on my costume... Here are my two finalists: What do you think?

Chris in the circus of horror plastic critters.

Why do we do it?

I am sitting at a foreign desk at an office I've never been. Typical office boxes, typical patter on keyboards, typical crap coffee. One should think this should be in an efficient, pleasant (-ish) surrounding in order to slave away for the greater good of rich men's pocketbooks, but no!

I find myself surrounded by no less than 3 rubber ducks, a see-through box of eight rose shaped soaps, 12 baby pictures, three stress balls, 4 (!) Calendars, a card with Garfield on it saying "I'm allergic to mornings", 2 plastic drinking bottles, a rubber band in the shape of a Giraffe, a box of fruit tee, a plastic cut-out of 'Angelica' from Rugrats, and finally a 12 inch mahogany deep set frame showing a black and white foto of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.

Now, I understand a certain amount of parafinalia defining a persons personal space and character but honestly... My question is this:

What could possibly make us humans believe we need all this shit around us?

Why would any human with usually a grand total of two hands have THREE stress balls? What are you gonna do with it? (Don't answer. ...or actually do answer!)

What possible purpose can a rubber duck have in an office surrounding? The chances of it seeing water here are directly proportional to it falling in your coffee cup!

And please: For what reason would anyone have 4 calendars??? Well I'm gonna do some stretching I've got a new instructor who believes I can loose the stress balls...

The incredible story of the Rasta Bunny

Ah yes! The weekend approaches and many of the office creatures retreat a day early to celebrate that furry rodent with identity crisis.

Yes boys and girls it's almost Easter and while most people are taking a long weekend off, guess who's still sitting in the office doing the bunnyhop on the keyboard?

Well, I'm just about to shoot actually, but here a short thought:

Now according to goodegg.com a hen that has red earlobes lays brown eggs and a hen that has white earlobes lays white eggs.

I wonder what our favourite easter Bunny looks like...

Sitepal... or swedish porn whispers.

Ever wondered what your favourite porn whispers would sound like spoken by Annika from Sweden?

Find out here! This lovely lady just told me she'll say anything you tell her to... *muahahaha* And even better: She will do it in a variety of accents from all around the world.

Here a few creative suggestions:

1. You can record siss and take it home, no? Ha, ha! Don't stop, ha, ha! Give me more! - French - Juliette
2. Howdy partner, how about a rodeo contest? - Spanish - Esperanza
3. Oh, so you like cheese too? - Dutch - Saskia
4. I want to suck your ice cream cone with the frosted balls. - Swedish - Annika
5. Kiss my McNugget. - Japanese - Show
6. Jess, ei kaen lift ae couch wis mei left haend bat ei nevver jusst steroids in tschoermanie. - German - Rainer

Tell me your favourite combination!

Piss off! (Welcome to London)

The stereotype of grumpy Londoners on the tube that would rather die than talk to you is well known. When I moved down to London last May, I realised I will once again have to understand the new people I'm surrounded with. Yesterday, I had a lesson in London communication...

On my way from my first to my second job I was waiting in line to buy a tube ticket. Suddenly a Londoner (as I soon found out) cut right in front of me.

In previous encounters of rudeness I -in my tourist manner- grinned sheepishly and thought: "Pssh, Londoners." (Anybody who knows my mild manner understands...)

Not yesterday. I was late. I was stressed. I needed that ticket, quick! Therefore I took all that bottled annoyance and vented it in saying: "Aehm, excuse me..."

5'5" of London East-End British Bulldog turned around, fletched it's teeth and barked:

"Whot?"
"...well... you know you're cutting in line..."
"Well, you shouldn'a left so much space then, should'ya?"

Furious (and bewilderedly amused) at the gall of this half-pint I heard myself exclaiming:

"You know, you're the reason everybody thinks Londoners are Dickheads!"
"Yeah, whotever."

I was stunned. His last comment is like saying "Yo momma." (Brits: "Your mum.")

There was no comeback.

But then I realised that for the first time I had joined the bickering between Londoners.

In a city where a girl can throw up at a tube station and nobody cares (true story), this man had just decided to bother with me and thus treat me as an equal! It was his way of saying: "Welcome to London, and have a nice day!"

As he was leaving I greeted his scowl with a chuckle and walked up to the ticket booth. Behind the counter was a stunning 6 and a half foot black man who -looking a little embarrassed- said: "Sorry 'bout 'im, mate."

...pssh, Londoners! Head of bricks, heart of gold...

Got any good big city stories? let me hear them!

A blog is born! ...and damn it's ugly.

Hello!!

Who the hell am I saying hello to? As I'm writing this nobody knows this blog exists!

Well, this immediately proves the absolute nonsense of what I'm doing.

Amidst the millions of bytes of useless information on the internet I decide to be an "individual" and smear what is effectively my mental diarrhea onto the growing web of crap information.

However: You are currently reading this.

It means you've either stumbled onto this blog or have chosen (!) to come here which means in any case I have no choice but to welcome you heartily! (...to my personal information toilet bowl.)

For what it's worth, I will try to keep it squeaky clean and smelling nice. (Just remember to wash your hands...)

As for the rest: No guarantees. Anything might come out. And anyone may come in.

So what are my thoughts of the day?

Well, I've just contemplated the time spent on office toilets. Today I managed to spend 15 minutes on "the John".

That is about £2.37 of my meager wage.

Multiplied by the 50 people that are working on this floor in the office (and that's putting everyone on temp job wages!) that's £118.5.

Multiplied by the 6 complexes with 8 floors each, it means that this company is litterally flushing £5688 per day down the shitter...

In this respect I must say my little blog can stand proud amidst all this waste (and I can proclaim happily: I've just written this on company time!)

PS: The reason I reflect on this subject matter is this visual template. Who the hell designs these things, and why does nobody tell him he's colour blind???

Well, tell me your opinions, and please: No toilet humour.