Goddamnit
Welcome to drnuk unemployed Brad mode. Soon to be replaced with Job Brad, so I'm quite enjoying being a bit of a scumbag for the time being. Hell, it ain't going to last.
I have discovered a fairly may-jar downside to this scumbag way of life, and that is the Kryptonite-like powers of industrial quantities of cheap cider. Last night, after drinking a reasonable about of BOGOFF(YOUDIRTYCUNTS) strongbow and James' free vodka I set about trying to do some work for the lawyers, since the first thing I got when I checked my email was a set of bitchy messages about how the lawyers had bought me lunch and by all rights owned my soul.
So I sit at three in the morning and I can't remember how to spell my *Nix username.
It's Brad.*
I should hasten to add that it wasn't that I'd forgotten the damned thing. I actually couldn't remember how to spell it. It's a problem that took about five minutes to fix.
Once it had been fixed, I was presented with the major problem of dealing with ten digits and a hundred and four keys. Every single one with it's own goddamned agenda. Turns out I've had a pretty shaky relationship with my hands, and that any indiscretion on my part will have the fuckers rebelling like those stinking 60's style hippies who didn't know what was good for them. I went to Nam. I did my time.
It was as much as I could do to work out where the keys to type "WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS" over and over again, before passing out, face down on the desk.
Oh, all right then. I could only work out how to do it once, then I copy-pasted.
Cider. Officially DOES turn you into Beckie...
*Yes. I know I shouldn't tell anyone what my username is, but frankly, if you can break my password in less than the time it takes for me to get an alert mail I'll let you fuck my cat. Which I will have to buy.
I have discovered a fairly may-jar downside to this scumbag way of life, and that is the Kryptonite-like powers of industrial quantities of cheap cider. Last night, after drinking a reasonable about of BOGOFF(YOUDIRTYCUNTS) strongbow and James' free vodka I set about trying to do some work for the lawyers, since the first thing I got when I checked my email was a set of bitchy messages about how the lawyers had bought me lunch and by all rights owned my soul.
So I sit at three in the morning and I can't remember how to spell my *Nix username.
It's Brad.*
I should hasten to add that it wasn't that I'd forgotten the damned thing. I actually couldn't remember how to spell it. It's a problem that took about five minutes to fix.
Once it had been fixed, I was presented with the major problem of dealing with ten digits and a hundred and four keys. Every single one with it's own goddamned agenda. Turns out I've had a pretty shaky relationship with my hands, and that any indiscretion on my part will have the fuckers rebelling like those stinking 60's style hippies who didn't know what was good for them. I went to Nam. I did my time.
It was as much as I could do to work out where the keys to type "WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS" over and over again, before passing out, face down on the desk.
Oh, all right then. I could only work out how to do it once, then I copy-pasted.
Cider. Officially DOES turn you into Beckie...
*Yes. I know I shouldn't tell anyone what my username is, but frankly, if you can break my password in less than the time it takes for me to get an alert mail I'll let you fuck my cat. Which I will have to buy.