Bank Holiday Monday
Last modified on 2010-04-15 01:31:39 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
Easter weekend is with us in London. I feel like writing this post like a GQ magazine reporter so in a truly pompous and arrogant way I will look down on my workstation and say:
Pat has been walking around the house all morning trying to find something to do. He’s not normally this restless, most of the time joyful but today wearing his blue jeans and Nike skin dri-fit he really has got the complete arsehole.
I am now going to break away from GQ because it drives me mad.
Bank Holiday Monday or what is also known as ‘family fun day’ where the husband is so bored he does the DIY. The Wife does the cleaning and the kids have nothing to do so they become increasingly irritable until all collide over the dinner table and one hell of a fight breaks out. Renewable energy to light up any fucking town.
My Role in this screen play is mother, father and child. I have now done all the outstanding DIY around my house indeed cleaned the house and was forced to douse the flames of anger by opening the last bottle of Corona that had made a nest in the door of my fridge..
HMMM ITS NICE
It’s no wonder we all became alcoholics with days like these. I am told to “get some interests” but I have loads of interests. I am told to “go and see my friends” but all my friends are married and have kids or in other words–will use me when the time is right to consume 2 pints of beer after work before breaking for the train at 8 in order to get home to their wife and not fuck up their utopia. Me on the other hand, has the taste of ‘single life beer’ in my mouth and have to walk home and get a bottle of wine from the bottle shop to make my night even half worth it before getting into bed and being cut off even further from middle England… God I hate the word middle. I’d rather be the worst than the guy who is nothing.
Chris Rock is my master now. I watched his show and he concluded:
“MARRIED AND BORED OR SINGLE AND LONELY”
Readers of Oh Ngo Dot Com please decide what you would rather?
These are things I hate to hear…
I ask a mate if he wants to come to the game and he says, ‘no I have to go home and see the Mrs.’
One day I will be in a relationship but I will never feel obliged to see the mrs.. what the fuck am I gonna do? Sit and look at her like a fucking jail bird maybe pick up the phone on the other side of the glass and hold my hand up so she touches it? No…I’m gonna poke my dick under the bank tellers plastic slide machine so she can grab it with her hand and give it a tug but only on a Monday.
My married mates say they haven’t fucked in weeks. They don’t drink, they don’t fuck, they don’t go out they do nothing but:
DIY CLEAN AND HAVE SHITTY KIDS ON BANK HOLIDAY MONDAY.
Yes, Bank Holiday fucking Monday as a recovering alcoholic sent me back to the genie that comes out when I pop the cap.
“>
Hello Genie… where shall we go now???
What’s that Genie?? Bit closer?
What did you say?
THE PUB.
Ngo Work To Do…
Last modified on 2010-03-20 20:42:05 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
This is English Pat reporting on the NGO Post below.
Unlike K-Ngo I like what I do during the daylight hours and walking a plank is not in my 9-5 so I am referring to a previous role of employment when I say:
“YES KRIS – YOU GO GIRLFRIEND”
I used to do roughly 80% of my old teams tasks which were doable by even the most stupid of people other than of course the people that had been assembled to work in this most famous of German banks. It would be fair that the senior management of this famous German bank were only talented in knowing and employing a bunch of talentless fools.
Breaks down like this:
English Pat (known in England simply as “Pat”, we’ll call him EP for sake of story) – Does markets A and B.
Senior Manager who we will call SM says –“EP-doesn’t do much.”
EP already has the highest volume market but is efficient i.e., he comes in and works instead of looking at websites and making cups of tea but taking longer than the time a normal human being takes to put a tea bag in a cup and fill it with water.
SM – let’s give EP another market – *we’ll call it market C*
EP – I have A, B and C to do now but nevermind for I am bored and need something to do other than e mail my friends all day.
SM – EP doesn’t do anything *clearly forgetting they just gave him C–that took previous employee 4 hours to complete* let’s give EP more work
EP – Fine this is so repetitive I have learnt to enjoy it as much as I learnt to enjoy masturbating.
SM – EP doesn’t do anything *yet again forgetting they just gave him yet more work* let’s give him market D.
EP – I now have market A B C and D but nevermind for I am efficient and skilled with a sword.
SM – call urgent meeting to discuss why EP still has nothing to do and yet Team of EP are still over-worked
OK so you get the picture. Efficiency is bad. I have suffered long and hard at the hands of MACROS, also known as ‘a simple-to-write program that does basic tasks in Excel at the click of a button.’
*Whisper this*
Watch the screens baby.. hmmm oh yeah you like that don’t you yeah? You want that macro don’t you yeah but you can’t have it NO.
And why??
Because I also became a fucking tool box spanner since joining this famous German bank and I have password protected it and before you ask what I was doing in my front garden this morning; I was pissing against the trees to mark out my territory because I am still only made of basic mammalian genes. I can bark and moo which is funnily enough how I conversed with SM during my interview where I also lied. HA.
Yes friends from across the pond. Do not be good at what you do because you will be brandished lazy. You must make errors and spend all day saying ‘we have a systems failure I can get that work to you in 30 minutes’ before going on a lunch break and coming back and then pretending you had so many e mails you didn’t know where to start.
Executive summary:
1) Learn Excel
2) Learn how to use Outlook
3) Learn how to not be thick
4) Learn how to use the functions *ctrl print screen*and*ctrl enter* to send an email
5) Simply learn for knowledge is power.
Kris Ngo Knows when she has NO patience for office chumps. All I can say is I wish I had lost my virginity to KNgo for instead of cowering after a poor performance ‘Sorry I’ve never done this before” and watching my dick shrink back into my body for the next 5 years I could’ve simply risen from the flames like a phoenix looked down and muttered in a pretty fucking mental slur….
“YOU FUCKING LIKE THAT DO YOU KRIS?…. THATS CALLED EFFICIENCY”
Over and out – My team Arsenal (as discussed in previous post) are playing in the European cup tonight and I am in full kit shorts socks and all to watch.
All Together Now….. “COME ON ARSENAL”.
I’m not necessarily a “hard worker”…I’m efficient because I’m lazy.
Last modified on 2010-12-29 23:25:05 GMT. 8 comments. Top.
Yes, I said it. I am fucking lazy. I can only hope that everyone who has a brain is as fucking lazy as I am, if you boil it down to the core of their existence…
After a significant period of self-reflection, I am able to narrow down my ‘coming of age’ to one of my jobs in a tiny little office where I was trapped at length with a girl who might have stolen a large portion of my soul…with her passive-aggressive micro-managing ways, (with ‘age’ being the time where I realized that I just don’t give a shit).
Now, I’m no slouch by any means. And while I might appear to be a “hard worker,” I really just want to get whatever I need to do…Done. So, if I have something I must do: I find the fastest way to do it. This way, I can get back to doing what it is that I want to do. And what I want to do, is dick around, email my friends; read shit about the world, art, politics, Angelina’s tit size–pretty much anything short of looking at the People of Wal-Mart or working. It’s my way of tricking myself into thinking that there might be something else out there; that is bigger and better than making spreadsheets all fucking day.
More importantly, what I don’t want to do is to be bothered with your arbitrary computations, or conversations.
In fact, the very sound of this girl’s calculator…used to piss me off.
Internal Monologue:
What exactly are you checking over there Ms. Calculator? Would that be Excel?
As in: MICROSOFT EXCEL?!?
Hey! Captain Fucking Stupid: You sit there switching screens because you don’t understand that you can re-size them and keep them up at the same time; and you purposefully refuse to sort ANYTHING by symbol; you definitely do not use technology to your advantage, thereby creating more work for yourself, and YOU want to come at ME for wasting time?
I might look at the Drudge Report, or the Wall Street Journal, the Houston Chronicle, Esquire, the Sartorialist, the weather, the local news, Engrish, “Overheard in Manhattan”, textsfromlastnight; passiveaggressivenotes.com–and all of my friend’s horoscopes…but seriously: What is worse?
Me: doing my job, better and faster than you, whilst keeping abreast of current events & relatively prevalent news…and actively engaging in 3-7 IM conversations?
or,
You: passing off idiocy as efficiency and remedial as fucking THOROUGH?
I have seriously never seen anyone waste as much time as she does by switching from screen to screen…to screen to screen…then calculator to calculator…to check NOTHING! How bout: Get with the times; accept that an Intel® Core processor out-ranks your 10-key redundancy of checking your own ‘user-error-susceptible computation of the gross vs. ‘whateverthefuckyoumighthavetypedthefirstplace’ and SHUT THE FUCK UP?
Do you really think that your loud-ASS, 10-key calculator is more reliable that EXCEL? I mean, let’s be honest:
Excel is awesome AND smarter than you.
p.s. The multiplicative inverse = x(1 ÷ -1). You know how I know that?
8th grade, DIP SHIT. http://lmgtfy.com/?q=multiplicative+inverse
What’s more, is that I am too lazy to re-type the sell orders that come over with minus signs, so I Googled it.
xoxo – kris “ray of sunshine” ngo…A Weekend in London…
Last modified on 2010-03-20 20:42:56 GMT. 4 comments. Top.
Before we begin, please click on following link www.arsenal.com.
Now, if we are to be friends then you must understand my life revolves around the following 3 things:
1) Trying my hardest to NOT spend my life drunk because drinking is bad. I challenge Homer Simpson Senior when he stood and toasted his home town of Springfield with “BEER. The Cause and Solution to all of life’s problems” or something along those lines.
2) Birds (You will know these as chicks or to be politically correct – women)
3) The Arsenal – this is a football team which you will know as a “soccer team”. I have not yet run out of material to start the ‘English – American translation stand up routine’ fucking boring yeah?
Arsenal won 3-1 and to cut a long story short the boozing started at 1 in a football pub full of meat heads which Americans know as ‘tailgating’ – a fun family bar b q held in a car park. But, in England we are slightly less advanced and get drunk whilst using the C Word with such frequency we begin to mate with woodpeckers. Every now and then a fight breaks out followed by more C Wording before we watch the match and return to our families for dinner. NICE –
“How was the game darling?”
Post match involves slightly less C wording before moving on to a gig and my mate’s 50th birthday. This was where the fun began, for in 45 stressful minutes I finally did something of use in my 34 years on Earth:
I saved someone’s life.
(And yes, in my head Tina Turner has been following me around ever since singing that old classic ‘I need a hero’.)Keep it up baby…
On a tangent, one of the boys said that back in day he used to lust over Ms. Turner which lined up a new conversation topic of ‘Had I had a laptop when I was a kid, I would’ve wanked myself into the record books – Discuss’. Thank god Billy Gates got his act together after I had completed my university schooling.
So here’s the informative part of the blog:
I go to the toilet after way too many pints of STRONG English beer to find a young lady lying spark out on the floor surrounded by people. She was very drunk. We carried her into the office of the bar and dumped her on the sofa. I confirm with friends that no drugs had been taken. I then proceed to find something to rest her head on. I turn back to young lady and her mouth is full of vomit. With speed of mind I stick my fingers into her mouth and pull out all vomit before wrenching her onto her side and urging her to sick it all out.
Petit young lady proceeds to fill large bucket. Her head is literally hanging off her shoulders. Her friends are now panicking as she was unconscious and would’ve drowned on her own puke. Not a nice story but I wanted to take this chance to say
‘DON’T FUCK ABOUT MY FRIENDS.’
Next time I’m asked at interview for a situation where I had to remain calm when all else were not, I will be using this but will leave out the fact that said girl was merely 15 years old.
FIFTEEN FUCKING YEARS OLD!
On reflection this morning I was more pleased it was me and my mates that found her and not some old pervert. I don’t know if it’s one of the Ten Commandments but please, please, please… and Jerry Springer will vouch for this:
“Look after yourselves AND each other.”
So Sunday was a little less exciting, although my fingers hurt thanks to aforementioned girl biting my hand 3 times whilst unloading her mouth and puke makes a terrible hand cream. My right hand is drier than an Arab’s sandal.
Last, but by no means least for this informative Sunday blogism:
When boozing, don’t do shots for they stink and give you a hangover. Stick to beer and don’t even give it the ‘I’m-fucking-civilized’ by drinking a glass (bottle) of wine for this also serves a hangover.
Beer and ONLY beer is the way forward. Oh, and get yourself a CUP OF TEA before you go to bed and as they say in London…
Handsome!
OVER and OUT Hannibal.
I’m off to get BA Baracus into an aeroplane.
Ngo Work…
Last modified on 2010-03-08 02:29:05 GMT. 0 comments. Top. Umm…I have an announcement. In the spirit of intentional vagueness due to professional restrictions/anonymity; I will boil this introduction down to the barest of bones. I sent out an email with a typographical omission. English Pat requested that I revise and re-send. I complied and offered a relatively self-deprecating apology… Well, one joke led to another…and I have to say, this all happened a little faster than what I’m used to, but English Pat, made THE move of ALL moves. He proclaimed his love for the word ‘douche bag’…in NO LESS than 4 email exchanges. whaaa?! I seriously, half-screamed at my desk–“LOL” does not accurately describe how much effort it took to stifle my enormously loud, roar of a laugh nor does it illustrate my extreme reverence for the pure balls that it took to drop the D-Bag bomb so recklessly on a work email. FFWD through hours upon hours of tedious, trivial & somewhat-taxing conversations :) I can only say this: Peas & carrots; bangers & mash…tomato; tomAHto, what the f*ck-EVER… I am officially giving English Pat carte blanche to class up this joint… Go.
U.K. vs. Ngo…
with his bollocks, bosh & bird-speak. U.K. vs. Ngo…
just aspirated my coffee about the middle aged Mr. Sulu crack..thanks! Hilarious….