The trouble with Paul McCartney
It was another one of those mornings which began with a message from my manager pleading for my assistance to get rid of Paul McCartney, who was popping up all over a porn site where he shouldn't have been. Perhaps we should just let it be, I replied. I couldn't help it, really I couldn't. Given that it was an otherwise quiet morning, and that I had to replace the visage of the illustrious Mr McCartney with that of rapper 50 cent, I stalled as long as I could. Don't worry we can work it out, I replied when he insisted. Do you know what's wrong with it? I've got a feeling. Can you fix it soon? With a little help from my friends. Is it done yet? It won't be long.
And so on and so forth. Of course, I'm not sure he actually caught on in the end, which probably left him with the impression of having had a slightly odd conversation with me. I should have known better.
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Try living in Canada, where it's so 'nice' that apparently sarcasm didn't make it across the pond. At first it was screamingly funny that we could be totally sarky and nobody got it ... now it's just totally irritating. Not to mention the business slogans that NOBODY notices - like, 'MR LUBE, the fluids expert - doing it right before your eyes' with the lady in the advert saying, "Fill me up, Mr Fluid Expert", or 'Budget Brake and Muffler - Brake is our middle name', or ... I could go on but it's too depressing. I did have a chuckle at my former employers, however, putting out an advert saying, "Schizophrenia - you're not alone".