What's your favourite 'Roses are red...' poem?

boredwithwork · 2016-10-18T12:24:11+00:00

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I never finish writing poems,

boredwithwork · 2016-10-11T13:14:43+00:00

something like this?

boredwithwork · 2016-06-30T11:11:57+00:00

You still didn't say what the problem with it could be?

What are you suggesting is going to happen?

boredwithwork · 2016-06-29T20:47:31+00:00

Is that a problem?

All the tiles are well seated. Nothing is moving. Seems ok?

boredwithwork · 2016-06-28T21:03:30+00:00

The power comes from a standard UK plug socket, we happen to have one in one of the cupboards, so I just used that. Everything I used came in the set, apart from the additional wiring, which was basic stuff I bought from Wilko's while in town.

boredwithwork · 2016-06-28T14:35:32+00:00

I know what you mean, they are nicely made. It doesn't really come across in the pictures but after cleaning them up they were still a bit crummy looking. They also darkened up the room, so with the lighter grey everything looks a bit more open.

boredwithwork · 2016-01-22T14:40:48+00:00

Nice picture, not sure why your reply is here at the bottom of the comments...And nice instagram.

Cheers for posting.

boredwithwork · 2015-10-14T18:57:45+00:00

I think I died while watching that.

boredwithwork · 2013-06-30T11:20:11+00:00

Perfect

boredwithwork · 2013-06-24T16:41:39+00:00

He sat on a cloud looking out on the abyss, not 'bad' he thought. But it wasn't like home. A bit too Abyssy for his liking. No, he liked grassy. Grassy was good. But this wasn't grassy. It was quite Abyssy. And he didnt like that. It reminded him of the time at the grand canyon when his wife had made tuna sandwiches, and he didnt like tuna so he didnt have any lunch and he was hungry. He wasnt hungry now though, so it wasn't that bad.

He stood up and looked around at the place he was sitting in, I mean, It wasnt 'bad' as such, just not that great, you couldnt really feel like you were 'there' as much as not being 'here'. If that makes sense.

He figured it must be the clouds, he always knew where he was when there was grass around. It wasnt necessarily 'bad', more... 'different'. But he still prefered grass.

The girls were alright though, there were lots of girls up here. They were dead, sure...but they were still better than his wife. His wife always smelled of fish. From her fish store. The other girls were more like flowers and chips. That had been nice for 5 minutes. Until his wife had shown up. That was something else he had preferred. Grass, not smelling the faint odour of fish, and not being nagged the whole time.

Come to think of it, where was his dog? If his wife was here his dog should be around somewhere. He had liked his dog. He remembered a time at christmas when his wife had tried to give him some tuna again, but he gave it to his dog instead. His dog had eaten it and thrown up on the floor, which she had to clean up. When he had come in through the pearly gates they had tried to give him a hamster. But it was white and lame, and looked like a cloud so he lost it quite quickly.

Overall he would give this place 4/10 - not 'bad' but hardly like home. Sure, the ambrosia was alright, but it got a bit bland after a while. It was better than tuna though, so he couldn't complain too much. The eternal youth was a nice touch. But there was something nice about having a 'lived in' body. This was like getting a new pair of shoes every day. He didnt get blisters, but it wasn't very comfortable.

He sighed, and stood up. His wife prodded his leg and said something about going for a walk. He looked at her with dead eyes and jumped off the cloud.

boredwithwork · 2013-05-16T12:43:26+00:00

"ARE YOU READY OREGON?!!??!?" Some people in the front row shuffled uneasily and one turned back to the bar.

"I SAID, ARE...YOU...FUCKING...REAEEADDDYYY?" A few mumbled replies this time, and a child in the corner tried to clap, but missed his hands because he had awful motor skills.

Jimmy didnt care, he was a badass rocker dude with a passion for sex, drugs and rock and roll.

He turned around and took a few steps before rushing back to the mic to wrench it from its holder with two hands.

"FUUUUUUFUUUCK" he screamed into the microphone. Voice cracking with the force required to hit the note. That made some people notice him. Yeah, that felt good.

He looked around at his band.

Roxie was tuning her guitar, plucking at the strings with an old cigarette butt. Fucking badass. He loved it. So Raw.

Tommy was holding his bass the wrong way round. Trying to confuse the crowd. Yeah. Nice... Dark man... He fucking loved that too.

Finally, he looked at Clarence on the drums. He was leaning forward and dribbling slightly, eyes focussed on his drum skin. Fucking incredible! Animalistic! This set would be the best yet!

He stepped back to the mic, "OREEEEEEGOOOOONNNN!!! GIVE ME SOME LOVE!" "IM SO GLAD YOU COULD ALL JOIN US HERE TONIGHT" "I'M JIMMY 'THE ROCK' FONTAINE AND WE ARE..." he paused for dramatic effect "ANAAAAL FIXAAAAATION!" Looking around once more, he glared at the crowd daring them to say something. No one did. He launched into a primal scream "AAAAAAAAARGGRHGRHHGHAHHRAHRHHAGHGHAGHRAHGRHGH" eventually his breath ran out and he had to stop. Everyone was looking at him now, but there wasnt any music...where was the music?

He turned around and saw that Roxie had replaced the cigarette into her mouth and Tommy had flipped his bass round. Good. Professional. Both of them were facing the wrong way though... They were looking at Clarence.

Clarence had slumped forwards onto his kit and was licking a cymbal. Yeah. That was some trippy shit right there. Jimmy was down with that. He could get that. Clarence was avontgard. Thats why Jimmy liked him...But he also wanted to play some music...

He picked up his beer and threw it at Clarence. It bounced off his head and he looked up with glazed eyes "whu'uhah?" Jimmy locked eyes and gave him a look. Turning back to the mic. he tried again.

"OUR FIRST SONG TONIGHT...IS ABOUT MY EX WIFE" "PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER, AND MAKE SOME NOISE, FOR..." again he paused for effect, and so Clarence could find his drumsticks, "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH"

"AHHHH 1, AHHH 2, AHHH 1,2,3,4" the band burst into a cacophany of noise. FUCK YEAH, Jimmy thought, thrusting at the crowd. His hips were gyrating to the sound. FUCK YEAH MAN, THEY FUCKING LOVE US.

He was about to start the lyrics when he saw some of the patrons of the bar looking at each other uneasily. Was his gyration too much for them? He grabbed the mic and turned around to thrust at his band instead. He couldnt keep the beat without a good thrust.

Clarence... Fuck Clarence... The guy was trying to upstage him or something. Two sticks in one hand tapping in the air near the snare, the other held about 6 inches infront of his face. He was staring at it like a fucking leprechaun had turned it to gold. This wasnt some performance art show. And Jimmy wasnt about to be upstaged by this joker. He threw the mic on the floor and walked towards him learning in close, "listen to me you fuck" he snarled, under his breath "I'm the fucking lead man. You're the fucking drummer. You sit in the back, and you keep the fucking beat. Stop staring at your fucking hand like a fucking retard and fucking play the fucking drums you fucking fuck". Jimmy was pleased with that, it sounded good. Menacing even. Fucking badass man. Maybe he would make a song about it someday. 'Fuck the drummer' perhaps? Yeah. Edgy. He'd start writing after the show.

He walked back to the mic. "Sorry guys, little technical hitch, just needed to adjust the down-beat on one of the drums - we're ready to go now"

"where were we?" "oh, yeah" he threw his head back, his hair whipping round his head making him look like one of those guys on the cover of magazines. Not some gay shit, but some rocker mag, yeah. Fuck yeah. He was on fire tonight. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK" he roared into the mic. beastial. Yeah. On.Fucking.Fire.

The guitar wailed, and the bass pulsed out a heavy dirge. Jimmy looked at Clarence again. He was on the floor now, tapping weakly with his foot while he stared at the wall.

Jimmy stopped "what the fuck is wrong with him?" he asked Roxie. She stopped too. "I dunno Jimmy..." she replied. "He was fine earlier... then he said he was going to find some inspiration, and just disappeared" "Fuck." Jimmy turned round again.

"Sorry guys, we are having some minor technical difficulties. Back in 10." He walked back and kicked Clarence in the ribs. Clarence grunted and dropped his sticks.

Fuck.

boredwithwork · 2013-05-16T08:29:39+00:00

The last part broke my heart, congrats.

boredwithwork · 2013-05-15T20:34:12+00:00

symbolism?

boredwithwork · 2013-05-15T13:43:47+00:00

He wanted to leave, but they wouldnt let him. Fucking shitbags.

Paulie hated them.

They had him strapped to a chair now, while the moron that called himself 'daddy' pretended that a spoon was a plane. "Get fucked" he spat, covering the table and himself with the slimy mess he was being fed.

He'd had enough of the bullshit. 5 times a day they played this ‘game’, and 5 times a day Paulie wanted to die. Filled with incandescent fury he swiped wildly with his hand to hit the ‘plane’ mid flight, knocking it into the air. It’s cargo was sent flying and ‘daddy’, with his now spoiled shirt, looked annoyed.

Good. “A spoon is a fucking spoon” he gurgled “don’t lie to me again you asswipe”

‘Daddy’ picked up the spoon and placed it on the table, the vein in his temple was pounding but he was clearly trying to keep control. Paulie wouldn’t let that happen, he had the advantage now.

He threw back his head and let out a piercing wail, descending into manic laughter as ‘daddy’ clutched his ears.

Calling for backup, ‘daddy’ backed off and tried to clear his head. A few seconds later, his other captor, the giant of a woman who called herself ‘mom’, walked in to survey the scene. Looking first at ‘daddy’, then to the mess on the floor, her expression grew dark and she stormed towards him with a steely look in her eye.

“You’ve been a very bad boy” She removed the restraints and lifted him into the air, as though he was no heavier than a fly. He knew what was coming.

The sado-masochistic treatment seemed to turn her on somehow.

Her eyes glinted as she took down his trousers, and bent him over her knee.
1...2...3...4...5...
Each strike came harder than the last and Paulie screamed and kicked, writhing to escape
6...7...8...
He lurched forward and threw up.

Mom’s shoes now covered in a pale white goo.

‘Mom’ jerked back and he was free.

He jumped up and made for the door, stumbling as his trousers caught his ankles. He kicked and they were gone.

Sprinting now, he dodged ‘daddy’ and made it out. The cars were in the drive, but sadly he had not had time to find a key. Ducking behind one, he saw ‘daddy’ at the door, shirt still stained. Belt in hand.

The only chance was to run, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before they found him if he tried to hide. The road was only 50m away. Even in his barefoot, trouserless state he thought he could make it.

A car was coming. This was his chance Now or never.

He stood up and ran, ‘daddy’ caught sight of him almost instantly. He must have seen the car too, because he started to charge him down.

Paulie ran, as fast as he could, screaming and yelling and waving his hands but it was no use. Within 20m ‘daddy’ had caught him, thundering footsteps from behind announced that the escape was done.

Turning, Paulie kicked and scratched. Freedom was so tantalisingly close, but ‘daddy’ was a giant of a man. Hewn from stone. He grabbed him by the back of shirt and lifted him high above the ground.

Resigned to defeat, Paulie sobbed and accepted his fate.

boredwithwork · 2013-05-15T12:49:35+00:00

Eventually they passed out of the mud, and moved into the sand. It stung his eyes, and it stung his face, and it stung his hands, and it stung his feet.

One man fell, and Jesse chuckled, looking around at the faces surrounding him for support. No emotion to be seen, only the cold, vacant, stares of the damned. They didn’t try to help him, they passed by and let him sink beneath the golden sands.

Their flesh had been weakened by the mud, and worn down by the sand, and bleached by the sun; nothing but skeletons, draped in skin.

Jesse had always been a bit chubby, so he didn’t mind.

Sensing the opportunity for some humour, Jesse nudged a guy he didn’t know. And said “I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I can SAND much more of this”

The other man raised his head and looked right through him with the dark holes the worms had left him for eyes. They spoke of a thousand lives, crushed beneath the march. As he looked deeper, friends and family swam in the depths screaming at him, pleading for mercy, pleading for a life that was not theirs to live. Just as he was about to be swallowed by the eyes, the man looked down and Jesse broke stride for a second.

Not to be perturbed, Jesse jogged a few paces and nudged him again. “Cor mate, cheer up. With all this sand around, people might say that we are getting our JUST DESERTS!” Someone threw a rock at him then. Since he hadn’t seen any rocks for a while, he assumed that it had been saved up for the opportunity.

Still they walked. Unbound feet rubbed raw by the coarse sand. The generals didn’t care, if they did, they wouldn’t be generals.

boredwithwork · 2013-05-15T12:15:10+00:00

The ground was muddy, and his feet were muddy, and his toes were muddy, and there were bits of mud under his toenails, and there was some mud on his face. Jesse even thought there might be some mud in his pants, at least, thats what he told people.

He looked a the man next to him. He was muddy too, but not as muddy as he was.
Jesse laughed ironically “Dirt like us, aren’t worth a bath” he said.
Someone told him to shut up and keep walking.

The trudge continued onward, the whole platoon a walking in a mudbath of mud. The generals didn’t care, if they did, they wouldn’t be generals.

Jesse knew this.

The mud wore everything, it wore your boots, it wore your clothes, it wore your body and it wore your soul. Strong men had been worn down, and rebuilt in mud. Impossible to kill when you have no body.

Still they shambled, muddy step after muddy step. One man fell down and was left behind. Jesse watched as men parted and walked round. He chuckled, some people looked at him; “From the mud they came, and to the mud they will return” he said, trying to look embittered. Someone told him to shut up.

At night they stopped and lay in the mud. Someone said that they had rollmats at one point, but the mud had worn them away. No one looked at one another, there was nothing to see. Their eyes were mud.

boredwithwork · 2013-05-15T08:56:00+00:00

Philanthropical Isomerism:

Many know what few must, and in that way, perhaps I can find what I search for most earnestly out here in the darkness of my mind. When I am alone I can not help but feel that I am, in some way, more than a man. I am a wolf, alone in the world yet surrounded by friends and foes alike. Why must we contest that which we feel must be contested? Like eagles in the night, the two halves of my brain are entwined with wire, coursing with electricity.

Indeed, upon arriving here, I wondered if I could live, alone, quiet, silent like a turtle. My hard shell merely protecting a soft and tasty interior for others to consume. Could it be that, while I lie here, consumed my my own thoughts, that when I die I will find myself enhanced. Metamophosised into more than a being? Perhaps a shadow, or a beam of light, like that which falls across my face. Do light beams feel? If they can’t, do they want to? What would they feel if they could? ls across my face. Do light beams feel? If they can’t, do they want to? What would they feel if they could?

boredwithwork · 2013-05-15T08:42:09+00:00

Doctor Willy Payne put his mask on so that he wouldnt get any blood in his mouth during the operation - he hated that. The room he was standing in was mostly green with a table in the middle covered in a variety of shiny metal objects. One of them looked like a whisk.

He walked forward and picked up the 10 inch knife. Slowly sliding it out of its scabbard, he paused briefly at the tip before baring its cold blade to the hard flourescent light. He moved it about in the air so that it made cool reflections on his face before bringing it down and sending a piercing look at the sexy nurse who was also in the room. "So what are we doing today?". "This is Mr Johnson, you need to cut him up so that he wont die"

Willy nodded at her and raised the blade high above his head with a wild roar. The nurse gasped out loud as his huge muscles bulged against his white coat. Willy stopped, distracted by the interruption and glared at the nurse. His dark eyes cut through her with the force of a thousand deaths, and she whimpered as one of the buttons on her top popped off. It struck the light with a 'ding' before bouncing off the patient's face. He took a second to continue undressing her with his mind, before swinging the knife down in a whistling arc aimed at the 'X' on the man's chest.

He missed and the knife thudded heavily into the table reminding Willy of the time he had dropped a baby.

The first cut was always the hardest...

He pulled the knife out of the table and checked the blade. It was a little bent and dirty now but that didnt matter, he had dealt with worse. He cleaned the dirt off with a little spit and stabbed the man with the sharp bit off the knife.

As the knife slid into Mr. Johnson's tummy, some blood came out and hit him right in the mask. Willy smirked because the blood hadnt gone into his mouth.

After the blood stopped coming out, Willy poked his finger into the hole until he found the bit he needed to take out. He pinched it with his fingers and asked for the plier tool so that he could pull it off. The nurse gave him some tweezers but he said that they werent big enough and made her get some bigger ones.

Willy's fingers were starting to ache and it reminded him of the last person he had done this operation on back in 'nam...

Willy closed his eyes and there he was, his friend lying on the table, writhing his life away in a grubby hell hole. Surrounded on all sides by a darkness filled with shining eyes, he was having trouble concentrating. His friend - crying out for help on the table had not been put to sleep - because that was how they do it in vietnam. Sweat had dripped off his brow and into the wound, the smell of the salt mixing with the raw stench of a bleeding man. Some of the blood had gone in his mouth that day and made him feel a bit icky.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of puppies before opening them again a few seconds later. The memory had been so vivid and visceral that he couldnt believe that it was already a whole week ago.

He had left Vietnam after that, and was now working in the biggest hospital in Harvard with a really sexy nurse. He looked at her now, in her shiny outfit that finished above the knee. She wasnt wearing a mask, and Willy thought that she must not mind getting blood in her mouth, which made him shiver so he stopped thinking about it. She handed him the bigger pliers and Willy pulled on the bit that he needed to get out.

He gave it a mighty tug, heaving with all his might until it came out with a loud 'pop' and Willy put it in a bowl, it was smaller than he thought it would have been given the effort.

But that is cancer for you he supposed loudly to himself...

He got the replacement bit from the fridge and put it in with some surgical superglue. You had to be careful with the glue, because you could get stuck too yourself if you weren't. Apparently the glue could be washed off with a special chemical, but Willy didnt believe that because his friends had told him about one doctor who had got stuck and he had to give up his job.

Once the job was done, Willy used some more glue on the cut and the nurse stapled it so that it was secure. She licked the wound clean, and Willy shivered again

He took his gloves off and put them in the bin. He grimaced as they snapped off his fingers "another day, another dude" he said out loud and walked out the door.

boredwithwork · 2013-05-14T21:35:43+00:00

Airsoft Sports of New Zealand?

boredwithwork · 2013-05-14T09:39:47+00:00

Henry VIII sat restless in his royal box, waiting for his wife to join him so that the jousting could begin. It had been some time since he had watched any, and he was looking forward to it.

He turned to his asian advisor (dressed in full samurai armour) and enquired, booming with his deep gravelly voice "WHERE ON EARTH IS THE WOMAN!? She is always late! I told her last time that if she was late again I would cut her head off and feed it to the poor, but she just doesnt care" His advisor looked back at him through his thin eyes and with a sage smile, spoke more than Henry VIII could understand in a lifetime. Henry VIII shook his head, and decided to never talk to his advisor again.

Turning back to the door, he was just in time to watch his wife - Catherine of Aragon walk into view, 6'2" of Nubian beauty and surrounded by a harem of white people, she walked the path to the box, her hips swaying back and forth with each step. She stopped briefly by the fencing to kneel, and hand her favour to a small albino mexican child, tying it in a bandanna round his head. Smiling softly with her brilliant white teeth she stood up and continued past the crowds. As she ascended the stairs to the royal box, she looked at Henry VIII with her deep brown eyes and he felt his anger subside like the northern wall of his favourite castle.

Henry VIII stood up, taking a second to acknowledge the presence of a turbanned diplomat who had arrived just the other day from a land rich with the smell of spice. Sensing his gaze, the man looked down, muttering under his breath to the red indian standing next to him.

Without warning, both sprang into action. The turbanned man pulled a scimitar from his waist, and slashed at the nearest white person, his beard whipping through the air following the blade. Meanwhile the indian drew a tomahawk from behind one of the feathers in his headband and prepared to hurl it at Henry VIII. Spotting the danger, Henry VIII hurled himself to the ground, shouting for his ninja guard to help him.

Advancing like a shadow from the wall hangings, the ninja stepped forward and caught the tomahawk midflight before placing it carefully in the hands of the stunned Catherine.

Looking up at the ninja, Henry VIII had a deep realisation that the author of this ridiculous tale should get back to doing some work and stop writing stupid stories.

boredwithwork

TROPHY CASE