Arse about Face

Facebook tells me I have 11 friends.  How come I only ever see one of you lot regularly then.  Eh?  The rest of you never call, you never write.  I only got a Christmas card from one of you and you’re from Americaland.  It’s not even as if I live on the moon or anything, for most of you I’m only an hour down the road.

*weep*

Enough of that!

—-

Work continues to be a hotbed of scandal rife with miscarriages of justice….or at least the office gossips think it is.  Personally I’ve grown bored with the whole “who’s making the beast with two backs with who”, “guess what so and so said about such and such” and “Wassername from marketing told thingy that she’d had bum sex with her new boyfriend.”.  If you want to spread gossip please provide some juice behind it or at least make it interesting and about me.

Hot Gossip

In other news I’ve been trying to educate my eldest daughter, Snarly, in the topic of music.  It goes something like this:

Me: Snarly, for the love of all that is good and righteous in this world listen to my music.

Me: *puts on a CD of The Sex Pistols*

Me: This is what would be considered “Good” music.

Snarly: Da-ad

Me: Shush child! This is considerably better than that crummy Busted that you listen to.

Snarly: McFly dad.

Me: The point is that if all the members of a band dance then the music is rubbish.

Snarly: Can I do my homework now dad?

Me: This is more important than homework!

Snarly: Da-ad

You see what I have to deal with at home.  No wonder I’m a nervous wreck.

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4 Comments

Filed under I am, Shitbiscuits

4 responses to “Arse about Face

  1. Tsh, youth’s wasted on the young!

  2. Ah, McFly are performing a concert in the park at the end of my road in July. I’m thinking of selling tickets for the use of my living room! 🙂

  3. M

    Oh Mr Frog; you know that the more you encourage the chilblains to like your music, the more they’ll hate it. Not liking our kids’ music is one of the first indicators that our world has moved on and we’re getting old.
    M

  4. I used to tease my old man rotten about his music when I lived at home.

    It was with a hint of satisfaction that he once scanned the CD collection in my lounge a couple of years ago and enquire as to whether I’d finally inherited his music tastes.

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