Stop Thief

Mr Baskerville had a big birthday yesterday, one of those with a zero after the number. He is still waiting to feel, and indeed act, mature.

It was a good day, for a work day, for there was cake!

Most of this was consumed, and the afternoon passed in a sugar daze. The remaining cake was put in the fridge. Today Mr Baskerville, salivating slightly, went to fetch the cake only to discover that some bastard had eaten it! Outrage!!

Mr B suspects one of the wankers in the Sales Department, so will get his revenge by putting cunning typos in every ad... Strip Lion Steak, Pork Toast, 50% Discocunt....

mwa ha haaa

Extreme Blogging

If you want to get your heart rate up, try blogging without realising the publisher is standing behind you!

Mr Baskerville is now a nervous wreck...

Print Disaster

Mr Baskerville had a slight disaster at work recently. Caused by his sunny, unselfish nature when he rashly (and for the last time EVER) offered to help one of his colleagues finish an ad.

He had to type 'beef skirt',  'butt roast' and '50% off  tongue' (not  euphemisms).

Mr B hates creating supermarket ads. HATES. He would rather poke his own eye out with a fork. And coupled with the fact that he had to stay late to finish said ad...

The laser printer paid the price. Poor printer, how we will miss thee.

Mr Baskerville is aware that, like a dim-witted dwarf, he is not big and not clever.

I could be rabid

Last week, while leaving my place of 'employment', I was bit by a dog. The dog came out of no where, bit my shin, then ran underneath his owner's car. The owner was fixing the car at the time, and did not bother to look up with all of the shouting that followed the bite. Of course, it was probably comedy for him listening to white people try and yell and swear in Spanish, while keeping a safe distance from rabid dog.

The rabid dog bit through the skin, I have two teeth marks. But it was not a gushing-blood kind of injury., minimal blood with large bruise. Luckily, I was wearing red pants to camoflouge the blood. Is that why he bit me? Are they like bulls, pissed off by red?

The funny thing was that there is no rip in my pants... how can that be?