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.
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