Unnecessary Lesson 2: Don't Be A Retard

I had to take my laptop to bits recently as my retard flatmate had broken the power connector and it wouldn't charge up.

Needless to say, it didn't go well, especially as I was in a rush to get out to the pub after attempting my repairs. Unless you like a computer flashing up a white screen followed by a black one constantly, steer clear of mine.

So until January when I will be back at work and therefore online, or I find a magical way to fix a fucked up laptop BIOS using techniques only taught by a dead Tibetan monk in Derby, this is likely to be Peter down. I'm sure the internet world will be a much happier place.

PO'P NOTE: I appreciate the stupidity of blaming Samsung for my own shitty lack of judgement. However, the laptop sucked even before my recent "work" on it and I am therefore fully justified in this comment.

PO'P EDIT: In the spirit of all that New Year bullshit, this story was the highlight of my 2004. Yes, this was a really shitty, dull year by all accounts. On the other hand, I was sick in my eye, which makes it all worthwhile.

A Moment Of Reflection (Part 1)

I removed my tongue from the mouth of the middle aged, Portugeuse escort stood in front of me. A few questions instantly came to mind. Had my drinking buddies really bought me Essy for the night, or was I about to wander into dangerous, paying for sex type territory? Again?

If they had been joking, as I suspected, what the fuck was this woman doing assaulting someone literally half her age with her tongue, whilst standing outside the male toilets in some shitty bar in Crawley?

Most importantly, I thought, how did I end up in this strange situation, with a further two escorts drinking with my workmates, as they "haggled" for business, here, on the night of my 21st birthday?

The most obvious place to start would be in The Aldwych, a small pub around two minutes walk from my place of employment at the time. A few weeks earlier, a new lady providing lunchtime sandwiches had been employed, Essy.

An instant stir was caused, as can only be the case when a moderately attractive woman appears in your local, which has previously been run by aged swamp donkeys. This effect is multiplied by a factor of approximately a million when alcohol is served at the location in question. It is doubled again if the person in question brings you food. Suffice to say, excitement levels were high that day.

Banter began instantly, and within a couple of weeks, myself and a few of the more common drinking partners got to know Essy quite well. Nowhere near as well as we thought, of course.

The revelation that would change everything came one evening. Sadly, I have no idea how this conversation came about. For maximum effect imagine a thick Portuguese accent - Nadia from BB5 would be a good example if she wasn't a man, so imagine a feminine Nadia from BB5.

E: "Jess, I am a laydee escort."
PO'P: < Stunned >
E: "Ohhh. Eeets okay, I don't sleep with 'dem."
PO'P: < Still struggling for composure >
E: "I don't even meet with 'dem, I am de manager of de agency."
PO'P: "Cool. So how much do you make doing that then?"

A fairly normal conversation ensued about the fiscal benefits of prostitution (I make no bones about it, in my opinion this woman was lying and clearly fucked people for money. Good money too. You'd be amazed. Unless you've already been there of course, you dirty little man. Get the fuck off my internet site).

Suffice to say, this news made even greater waves on the office gossip sea and the subject was discussed further next time we bumped into Essy. During this conversation I accidentally agreed to develop a website for the agency (for convenience, let's call them "FuckALot Escorts").

I say accidentally, and even mean it truthfully, because to this day I don't understand what came over me. Essy mentioned that WhoreBag Escorts needed a website doing. After a few milliseconds of silence, I said, "I'll do it!". Essy proceeded to thank me effusively (not that effusively, you dirty, dirty boy!) and then left me with a little time to consider my options.

At this point, I did not have a computer at home. I would have to create the proposed website whilst at work in my open plan office, which would be risky to say the least. However, I sensibly decided not to retract my offer, and instead continue walking my well trodden path of stupidity. Work on a website for SlutJockey Escorts started immediately.