I walk in the room. He’s just sitting there. Not moving. Not a flinch when I approach.
“You gonna sit there all night? Well? Fine. Be like that”
I leave. There’s other stuff to do anyway. He can wait. Let him stew. I can be patient. He’s sure to crack first.
I return, hours later. The time alone will have played with his mind. He knows he’s not going to get an easy ride.
“Still here”, I say, although that’s just stating the obvious. “Got nothing to say for yourself? Look pal, I can keep you here as long as I want. Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody’s going to come looking. It’s just you, me and these four walls. No? Do what you want”.
Again I leave. Time passes. I forget he’s even there. I do my stuff. He’s irrelevant until I see him. More hours pass. In I go. And there he sits. He hasn’t moved a muscle. He’s mocking me now.
“Come on”, I say. “This can go on and on and on. You know it. I know it. Every time I come in here you’re there. Are you taking the piss now? Like some kind of mime artist? You’re reminding me of David fucking Blaine and that’s not a good thing, buddy, let me tell you. I see. That’s the way you’re going to play it. I pick up the newspaper lying in front of him. Finished with this?”.
He doesn’t even nod his head.
“It’s your call. It’s admirable in a way. Not many can keep up this kind of thing. We’ll just keep you here all night, see how you are in the morning. I’ll leave the light on in here too. Harder to sleep then and lack of sleep does funny things. Enjoy yourself”.
I move to the door, open it, then at the last minute I spring back into the room and smash him flat with the palm of my hand.
Fuckin’ Daddylonglegs. That’ll teach you.
You’re a hard man alright.
i thought you were goign to tell us bastardface was dead.
Heh, bullshit, shorter Twenty.
Switches on light. ‘Arrghg, bug.’ Flees room, leaves back door open in hope creature leaves during the night.
Ah I get it, the Daddylonglegs wrote this post. Twenty, what have you confessed to?
Cram it, FMC.
They’ll never make me talk, Conan. Not unless they put a pigeon in the same room as me.
Until the last line I thought you were talking about your average civil servant.
I walk in the room. He’s just sitting there. Not moving.
I hate Daddy Long Legs. The thought of them trailing over my face or landing in my mouth while asleep. Yarks. I like watching the bastards on the night side of the window while I switch on all the lights inside.
You know, if you had a fine pair of tweezers and an eyedropper handy, you could have waterboarded the little cunt.
Haha, never thought of that.
I remember one painted into the door of my bedroom. He was just too slow.
As long as you dont make any satirical cartoons about Daddy Long Legs,they will wreak a revenge on you for that..
Feckin Buzzlims! No sense of humour
I remember when I started going out with the wife, the whitewashed wall against which my bed stood was a graveyard of squished mosquitoes. I tried to scrape a few of them off but to no avail. Finally, the solution occurred to me and I reached for the tipex bottle.
Told her years later. She was not amused.
My front grille is a graveyard of all sorts after a long spin in the countryside.
They’re the sex pests of the insecty world. Always eyeing me up in the shower.
“They’re the sex pests of the insecty world. Always eyeing me up in the shower”
Watch yourself maxi, they live only to mate and die.
..and who doesn’t divney?
A Donkeylongcock flew in my window last week. Very scary few minutes spent trying to get him back out through the door. Everything smashed to shit all over the room. He was as startled as I was.
Crank, you’re wrong, civil servants do move — well mostly their bowels do. They have to get up to poo, pee, get a bite to eat and to drag their asses home. It’s an empowering experience getting paid to shit, so why do it for free in the commode in your abode. Pooing at home means paying for toilet paper which cuts into the beer money. And they do care, if someone doesn’t get out of their chair after three or four days they get a shake to see if they are napping or dead.
A lot of these civil servants are so overpaid that they now believe that pooing is only for the little people and have some one else do it for them.
Civil service bloat – it’s not just a catch phrase.