reduced and recycled

“You ought to put a disclaimer somewhere,” I said. I watched Martin fiddle with a few buttons and drop down menus on his spanking new wordpress blog. He is, in a word, inept. Not with power tools, mind, just computers and everything remotely related to computers, including mysteriously malfunctioning keyboards with CAPS LOCK ON and stubborn mice who, he once told me, had a thing against him.

“What’s the disclaimer for, lah?” he said, still dragging his mouse this way and that. I shivered, wondering when he’d find the “delete blog” button and jettison my efforts.

“You should put something like ‘these are fictional accounts based on true events’,” I said. He talked alot of cock, this man.

“And why would I want to do that?” he said, now turning to look up at me.

“You do want to remain anonymous, right?” I said, reaching over to grab one of my edited reports.

“What for?” he asked.

“What, you wanna give away company secrets, issit?”

“No lah,” he said, turning back to his monitor. He manhandled the tabs like they were mechanical buttons. I didn’t want to help him too much, of course. There’s no better way to learn than by doing, I always believed. In Martin’s case, I had my misgivings. He managed, within 6 months of installing a new shell program, to fuck up his whatever so bad he couldn’t use said program for another 2 months, before IT figured out what he did (or didn’t do, the shmuck).

“So how do you add pictures,” he said, poised over the keyboard, the prospect of his first post coming to life. I sighed, and shrugged.

And before I knew it, it was time for tea. Martin sat, teh tarik before him and cigarette in hand, his eyes shining. I bet he saw all the possibilities blogging opened for him, and I sighed again.

“And do you blog?” Martin asked, turning to me.

“Nooo…” I said, carefully.

“Then how come you know how to-”

“It’s just a signup thing lah, I found it on the internet,” I said, dismissively.

“Don’t bluff,” he said.

“Seriously, lah, there are better things to do with life,” I said. Peter, who’d joined us for tea, laughed. He knew I surfed the web extensively, and obviously didn’t believe me.

“Ya, man, I don’t know what the hell’s so interesting about the internet,” said Peter.

“Intehweb,” I said, absently.

“Yah, that too. But you spend so much time surfing, you act like it’s better than sex,” said Peter.

“Eh? How can it be better than sex?” I said, frowning, “Can you think of anything else you’d rather be doing in the office?”

“Yah, hot wild sex with two women,” he said, a little too quickly.

“A threesome? In the office?” I said, laughing.

“Fuck you, a threesome with twins, dammit,” said Peter.

“So what else would you rather be doing, huh?” said Martin, laughing.

“And you? Not anal sex with farm animals, I hope,” I laughed.

“A threesome with twins. With legs that go on forever and huge titties: heaven,” said Martin, and Peter roared with laughter.

“Heaven my ass, man. Heaven’s kicking the living shit out of teddy bears,” I said.