Monthly Archives: March 2010

No.48: Clean Your Keyboard

Because it’s satisfying.

(Almost as satisfying as seeing the car – that just ran through a puddle on purpose to soak you  – promptly get it’s wing mirror snapped clean off by a passing bus.  That’s like God has just high-fived you, that is.)

Keyboards are like a food diary.  Not the sort of food diary that Gillian McKeith would encourage you submit to her so that, after consulting a real doctor, she could sniffily diagnose what’s up with your colon. Keyboards are a food diary in the sense that they are – nay – contain – a physical microcosm of everything  that you have absent-mindedly put in your mouth whilst staring   at Facebook/work*/in horror at your online bank statement over the last year.

There will be enough toast crumbs therein to facilitate the reassemblage of a complete six-pack of Tesco’s floury baps, should you be so inclined. And being a bored flancer if you weren’t inclined before, you will be now, this blog having  placed the idea of it in your A.D.D – soaked mind.

There will also emerge a piece of dessicated coconut, a currant, some uncooked rice and a rogue toenail. You will be oddly tempted to eat the currant. Maybe even the toenail.

 Dk.zjf.;KJ ?ghidbnk.jDBN kdBJK /haze5;p43ylonaobvlsdfsdfdf  **

 Once whatever lies beneath the keys has been ejected (traditionally executed by inverting the keyboard, shaking it, stopping, cussing, poking about under the sofa to retrieve the ‘SHIFT’ key for half an hour, stopping for a coffee)  it will be laying  in a strangely satisfying  pile on your desk.  At this point you will notice that (a) you appear to eat rather a lot of dessicated coconut and (b) your letter ‘o’ is working again, thanks to the dislodgement of a totally dehydrated peanut.  This means that you can use the word ‘count’ in official and business emails again.

 Now,  you can commence with the satisfying task of scratching off random blobs of hardened unspecified matter with a paperclip; or – for the purist – perhaps a cotton bud moistened with keyboard cleaning fluid.  Or, for the skank, a fingernail.

And to finish? A cheeky Googling session, just to see if any other losers Electronic Hygiene Enthusiasts out there have deliciously cunning ways to get fluff out of a mouse.

For any animal campaigners reading, I mean the ones you attach to your computer with a wire.

Oh christ, you know what I mean.


*yeah right.

**  Sorry – coffee spill.

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Facebook is a truly terrifying*, time-bending, Faerie land-like phenomenon.

No, it is.

Back in Medieval times if a hapless knight wandered into the realm of Faerie (stick with me, readers) he would have a jolly-old time, surrounded by laughing, smiling faces he vaguely recognised, dancing in a circle to Pentangle, drinking mead from a hollowed out hogshead or similarly Medieval recepticle … and believe that he had only been dallying in this bountiful realm for a day or so.   Then he would find the way out and realise that he had been gone for twenty-five years.

 I think you know where I am going with this analogy.

But it’s ok. FB presents a number of pluses for the meaningless existence of the flancer, benefits quite willingly paid for with foetid breath and chairseat induced arse-canker. And  – oh my! – even appears to make their lot a happier one than that of the working drone.

Let us investigate.

Number 1: Wasting twenty-five years without realising it is excellent progress on the flancer wasting time front.  Leading to a sense of  job satisfaction that presently eludes a massive percentage of the office- residing masses who doubtless regularly wish they were dead. 

Number 2: Taking an age to sum up your current mood in one, hilariously expressed super-sentence (aka: ‘CURRENT STATUS’) is something wordy flancers in particular deeply relish.. And it’s far more likely to establish you as a true skipful of wit when doing it alone with plenty of time and a delete button.  As opposed to being in a real-life office, where it is traditional – when someone enquires as to your well-being –  that you answer as immediately and as blandly as possible.   Making them stand there for forty five minutes whilst you try and construct a devastatingly impressive and mind-blowing comeback can mark you out as marginally eccentric. Even if you provide coffee and biscuits.  People actively avoid people like you, preferring conversations that are over almost instantly, from which they can emerge swiftly and the same age as when they went in.

Number 3: You get to create your own highly-polished, far more attractive version of ‘Who You Are’ on FB**.  And as a flancer, this version is much more easily manipulated and maintained than when you are working with other humans, which is when messy, unpredictable old reality can continually stick it’s bloody oar in.  Thus flancing+FB  renders your carefully constructed super-identity far more immune to discovery.  People in offices can blow their ID construct spectacularly easily at any time – after a bad morning meeting/a tequila riddled work party/ punching their line manager after a photocopying fracas.  FACT: being outside your home with others means you can never pretend you are a stone lighter than that profile photo makes you look.

Number 4: losing track of time at a computer is what people with real jobs in offices do all the time.  So don’t feel bad, flancer comrade – in this you are actually doing exactly the same thing you would be doing if you had a real job anyway… but you get to do it in your softest clothes, eating left over yorkshire pudding with Nutella on it. Ha!

                                                                   Flancers: 4       Working masses: 0


*Hence the title is written in caps. *shudder*

**Which, lets be honest is what it’s really for, right?

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