"Reply To All".....probably best not to..

The “Reply To All” button has been the basis of many a comedy round-robin email. I’ve seen a few recently which I’ll detail in a few days. The first one I saw evidence of…sorry the second one. I must pay tribute to Claire Swire…143,000 hits if you Google her. That one happened in 2000. I was sent a copy as it went round the UK. Beautiful.

In fact get a swatch of this link. http://www.firstfoot.com/php/glossary/phpglossar_0.8/
It’s an amazing explanation of how some of us speak.

In 2005, in a normal insurance office in Glasgow, a female manager emailed the team managers to let them know she would be round to collect the collections for “dress down Friday” (a tedious tradition).

Instead of hitting “reply”, the offending manager managed not just to reply to the few team managers who received it, but the company standard distribution lists which covered a couple of hundred people.

The original email explained how the recipient would be donating the money to their Minister to buy supplies for a project in South America.

I haven’t even retyped this, it’s copied and pasted from the original email….....

”Subject: RE: Dress Down Money…………….I need to know that mine is going to latino kiddies in nicaragua and not those wee bastards in Ecuador”. End quote.

Need I say more.

That email was sent round further on distribution lists, moving faster than a privy door when the plague’s in town.

Goth Pensioner

Getting the train home at 5pm is always a blessing. Even more so when you see some of the freaks that the town is sending home.

Have you ever seen the Goth pensioner? I have. Twice in recent weeks.

It was early May and there was this old woman, not younger than 60 I reckon, dressed in dark flowing clothing, with a painted white face (more like whitewash, like the first coat you put on the garden fence and you can still see the brown through it) and crows feet drawn on with eyeliner, around the eyes.

Very weird. She’s probably someone’s grandmother. Think of that.

Picky Homeless Bastard

A man was standing outside Glasgow Central Station, munching hungrily on a greasy burger and chips after a few post-work hours in the pub.

He was approached by a scruffy guy who declared he was homeless and hungry.

This guy kindly offered the homeless his burger and chips, and after a couple of seconds, the homeless guy said;

"I dinnae like burgers," and walked off.

What a picky bastard.

Pensioner Confused by The Gay

Sauchiehall street, lunchtime.

There’s differing levels of “being gay”. 0 (you’d never know) to 10 (camp as hell), and the guy I was walking towards was about a 7.

He was literally flouncing down the street, chatting on his mobile, in his light flouncy voice, dressed in skinny black jeans, trainers and some shirt which had floaty bits on it. I gave him a little look before my eyes were drawn to the woman behind. A short pensioner.

She may not have seen “one of them gays” before as she was walking behind him staring wide eyed at his flouncing. She was wearing a purple coat, and had a purple rinse through her hair. If you ask me, she looked more gay than him.

60 Year Old Going on Holiday in a Tracksuit

Walking through Central Station yesterday just after 9am I saw a couple with a two small overnight cases outside WH Smith. Aged early 60s.

The man was dressed in a dark blue tracksuit, and dirty white trainers. He shouted to his wife as she walked into the shop "Get a pepper". Pepper? I shall assume he meant a newspaper, though I'll wager it wasn't The Times. Likely The Star or similar.

Anyway what caught my eye was the tattoo on the back of his left hand. It was that faded blue with the washed out appearance, obviously done decades ago and maybe by himself. It simply said "FUCK", in two inch high lettering.

After seeing that, wearing a tracksuit at 60 years old to go on holiday doesn't really surprise me now. It's the sort of dresscode certain types of people have. Other people, that society may say are of a higher calibre may wear their "weekend suit" if partaking of a jaunt for a few days, no doubt with an Italian silk tie tied perfectly in a half windsor knot, or perchance a four-in-hand knot, around the neck of their unfused cutaway collar of the one hundred per cent luxury cotton shirt from Jermyn Street.

Maybe they even own a book called The 85 Ways to Tie a Tie: The Science and Aesthetics of Tie Knots by Thomas Fink and Yong Mao.

And of course and a one hundred percent Scottish woollen cap direct from the Lochcarron Mill of Scotland, perched carefully at a jaunty angle, potentially matching their Louis Vuitton luggage. Genuine though, no shite.

Anyway I digress, the fact is this guy in the tracksuit had the word "FUCK" tattooed across his hand. Nice.

A Tart in White Clothing

I recently watched the American street magician called Various on Buchanan Street. I've seen him loads of times and he is excellent. In the middle of one of his tricks, two young girls walked past, giggling loudly, whirled round to see what was happening and then stopped to watch. One of them looked a bit pissed and it was only 1.00pm.

She was dressed in white leggings, black shoes and some sort of white short shift dress with a hugely plunging neckline showing off her rounded breasts almost staying within the confines of her padded bra...that everyone could see. Oh, and a set of fluffy pink horns. Her and her friend were adding loud ad-libs to the show and Various said "That's kind of false advertising isn't it, you in a white dress".

It fell on deaf ears. Well it fell on stupid ears as she had no clue what he meant, saying "Huh? Whit?" very loudly. He said it again. Still didn't understand. Her friend leant over and whispered in her ear a bit loudly. "He means you cannae be a virgin if you're wearing white". "Whit?" She still didn't get it. Her friend had to tell her about four times what he meant and then Ping!, she got it. "Haw!!, haud on yous" (beg pardon?), she cackled and turned round quickly with her arms folded below her bosoms and stomped off for about three paces in a huffy (but fake) way and just turned back again, probably making sure her friend was in tow, which she was so she turned again, and left.

I think you want Newcastle, love.