The news that those wacky Taliban have taken the bourgeois imperialist capitalist pigdog move of opening an honest to goodness office, where like, they can be faxed n'stuff should be cheering to all those of us who believe firmly in the power of office mundanity to dampen any fire in the human soul. Sure, the Taliban think they're engaging with the world, but all they're effectively doing is allowing the world to seep into them. Their unique brand of religious insanity will inexorably be subsumed beneath a tide of petty arguments about stationery, arguments over who has yet to contribute to the tea kitty and fretting about whose turn it is to wash the mugs with "old men make better lovers" and "world's greatest dad" printed on the side. The fires of righteousness may yet burn strong in these crazy kids, but can they survive a team-building weekend in Wales?
"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed. Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...
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