Cover illustration by Zed
FEZ Sez.................................................................Munky Harris
'A SHAGGER, A WITCH & A CABBAGE'..........................Staffy Plumber
'UNSOCIALIST WORKER'...............................................Circusmouse
'MONEY FOR NOTHING'...................................................crassnsilly
'UNDER SURVEILLANCE'..............................................Munky Harris
'GO AHEAD, FIRE MY ASS'..........................................Milo The Kyte
'A SHAGGER, A WITCH & A CABBAGE'..........................Staffy Plumber
'UNSOCIALIST WORKER'...............................................Circusmouse
'MONEY FOR NOTHING'...................................................crassnsilly
'UNDER SURVEILLANCE'..............................................Munky Harris
'GO AHEAD, FIRE MY ASS'..........................................Milo The Kyte
*******************************************************************************************
The Workers
Zed, Munky Harris, Staffy Plumber, Bobby Wildside, crassnsilly, Milo The Kyte & Circusmouse.
by Munky Harris
2010 will be the year we remember as the time when work changed for ever. July to September promises yet more collapses of the financial system, widespread political upheaval and social revolt. The working landscape will continue to harden up and job markets will shrink. It’s not going to be easy, but the coming revolution in the workplace is going to wipe out the status quo. Is this a good thing? Only time will tell. All FEZ is saying is, make sure you are prepared.
Also this month, regular FEZ contributor Dave Schwan has pulled his writing services. Although he’s a good mate, we’ll obviously be dragging him through the courts to make him comply with his contract.
Also this month, regular FEZ contributor Dave Schwan has pulled his writing services. Although he’s a good mate, we’ll obviously be dragging him through the courts to make him comply with his contract.
*
A SHAGGER, A WITCH & A CABBAGE
The lunatics have taken over the asylum, says Staffy Plumber
THERE’s always something about working in an office that reminds me of school, I don’t know what it is, whether it’s the rubbishy kitchens, the drabness of the decor, or all the weirdos you come across. Or perhaps that’s just a reflection on the bad schools I went to.
I remember my first day in one new job. I was seated next to this tall, lanky, greasy-haired guy, who looked like he’d been there for years. “All right?” he mumbled, dead-eyed. “Not bad,” I replied. Later on, the phone in between our desks rang. “Aren’t you going to answer it then?” he said. “Er, yeah, OK, I…,” I said. Hastily, I grabbed for the phone, but there was no-one on the line.
That same scenario continued twice again that first day. I was told a few weeks later that lanky man used to dial the number from his mobile, ringing his phone off every time the “new boy” went to pick up the phone. It apparently gave him some sense of power to tell people to pick up the phone.
There have been lots more weirdos since over these last few years, namely the shagger, the cabbage and the witch. The shagger was controlled by his penis. Once, he told me, he had shagged every female member of one family, the mum, her three daughters, even the aunty. He never tried it on with the old man, he said, although I was never quite so sure.
As for the cabbage, he was a fat, pudding-bowl haircut of a man who wore the same washed-out clothes every day. Lunch consisted of burgers and chips, washed down with four pints of Stella. Perhaps that’s why he smelt of shit and got the name cabbage.
But, undoubtedly, the strangest person I ever came across at work was the witch. Her way of getting rid of one colleague she wasn’t too keen on was by attaching a BMW wing mirror to her computer to “deflect negative energy”.
And from the ceiling she had strung up a series of extraordinary items, ranging from turkey wishbones and runes, to mysterious occult symbols. Her object of hatred finally cashed in her cards and left the job, but not before picking up the wing mirror, launching it across the office, and slamming it against the wall, sending shards of glass into a bloke’s sandwiches.
Maybe the difference between school and work lies in the fact that at school you could get your own back on the nutters by flushing their heads down the toilet or by doing a steaming turd in their lunchbox. Last time I did that at work I got fired.
I remember my first day in one new job. I was seated next to this tall, lanky, greasy-haired guy, who looked like he’d been there for years. “All right?” he mumbled, dead-eyed. “Not bad,” I replied. Later on, the phone in between our desks rang. “Aren’t you going to answer it then?” he said. “Er, yeah, OK, I…,” I said. Hastily, I grabbed for the phone, but there was no-one on the line.
That same scenario continued twice again that first day. I was told a few weeks later that lanky man used to dial the number from his mobile, ringing his phone off every time the “new boy” went to pick up the phone. It apparently gave him some sense of power to tell people to pick up the phone.
There have been lots more weirdos since over these last few years, namely the shagger, the cabbage and the witch. The shagger was controlled by his penis. Once, he told me, he had shagged every female member of one family, the mum, her three daughters, even the aunty. He never tried it on with the old man, he said, although I was never quite so sure.
As for the cabbage, he was a fat, pudding-bowl haircut of a man who wore the same washed-out clothes every day. Lunch consisted of burgers and chips, washed down with four pints of Stella. Perhaps that’s why he smelt of shit and got the name cabbage.
But, undoubtedly, the strangest person I ever came across at work was the witch. Her way of getting rid of one colleague she wasn’t too keen on was by attaching a BMW wing mirror to her computer to “deflect negative energy”.
And from the ceiling she had strung up a series of extraordinary items, ranging from turkey wishbones and runes, to mysterious occult symbols. Her object of hatred finally cashed in her cards and left the job, but not before picking up the wing mirror, launching it across the office, and slamming it against the wall, sending shards of glass into a bloke’s sandwiches.
Maybe the difference between school and work lies in the fact that at school you could get your own back on the nutters by flushing their heads down the toilet or by doing a steaming turd in their lunchbox. Last time I did that at work I got fired.
*
UNSOCIALIST WORKER
*
Artan pushed the wheelbarrow up the hill a few yards, then turned and stopped, like a fast bowler at the end of his run-up. Ten yards in front of him the scaffold board leant waiting against the skip. Everything was bright in the sweltering English sunshine. He bounced the handles once in his hands, relaxed his arms and tensed his face muscles in concentration…
His boss, Billy, leaning his arse on the garden wall, watched him idly as he half-listened to the news on the radio. Billy liked the young Albanian.
Cheerful, and a grafter, too. A politician was explaining how hard the government had been working on something to something. Billy’s thoughts interrupted him. “Working?” he thought. “They don’t do any work. They just talk. That’s not work like we do.”
…before accelerating towards the board. Then the adrenaline moment as the tyre hit the board and up, up, up…
Billy’s radio was playing a tired ballad. “And they say that’s work, too. So why is it called playing guitar?”
…to the top, then in one balletic flourish, his knees bent as his palms flipped under the handles, heaving them upwards, the wheel guard pivoted on the board and Artan launched his load of rubble towards the end of the skip…
A van drove through Billy’s faraway gaze. Working With The Community, said the pretty sign on the side. Driving a van’s not actually working. You just move your toes up and down, lean on the wheel. His wife worked in a call centre. She talks all day, but they call it work. And as for the kids’ school work, it was all on the internet.
…and for his finale, Artan twisted the upturned handles from side to side to empty any dusty remains. He looked up from his viewpoint and saw two teenage girls approaching, caught Billy’s eye and they both watched the girls approach.
Artan leaned on the handles, grinning in his labourer’s uniform of steel-capped boots, the steel shining through the worn leather, cut-off track bottoms and a top which had started life as a T-shirt, become a vest and was now little more than a rag.
Billy and Artan stood silently as the girls, embarrassed into silence, passed between them. Nice girls in this country, Artan thought. Lots of work. Better than Albania…
As the girls passed, Billy thought of his own daughter, a little younger, and how she would soon be dressed as provocatively as these two. Working girls, he thought. That’s a fuckin’ laugh. Lying on your back while some poor fucker’s working you. And paying you for it. None of it’s work. It should have a different name.
…Artan turned and let the handles drop into his palms behind him. He set off down the board, pulling the barrow behind him. “Your go next boss,” he grinned, panting like an athlete who had just finished his sprint.
“No, you’re OK, son,” his boss grinned back. Then said to himself: “Too much like hard work.”
*His boss, Billy, leaning his arse on the garden wall, watched him idly as he half-listened to the news on the radio. Billy liked the young Albanian.
Cheerful, and a grafter, too. A politician was explaining how hard the government had been working on something to something. Billy’s thoughts interrupted him. “Working?” he thought. “They don’t do any work. They just talk. That’s not work like we do.”
…before accelerating towards the board. Then the adrenaline moment as the tyre hit the board and up, up, up…
Billy’s radio was playing a tired ballad. “And they say that’s work, too. So why is it called playing guitar?”
…to the top, then in one balletic flourish, his knees bent as his palms flipped under the handles, heaving them upwards, the wheel guard pivoted on the board and Artan launched his load of rubble towards the end of the skip…
A van drove through Billy’s faraway gaze. Working With The Community, said the pretty sign on the side. Driving a van’s not actually working. You just move your toes up and down, lean on the wheel. His wife worked in a call centre. She talks all day, but they call it work. And as for the kids’ school work, it was all on the internet.
…and for his finale, Artan twisted the upturned handles from side to side to empty any dusty remains. He looked up from his viewpoint and saw two teenage girls approaching, caught Billy’s eye and they both watched the girls approach.
Artan leaned on the handles, grinning in his labourer’s uniform of steel-capped boots, the steel shining through the worn leather, cut-off track bottoms and a top which had started life as a T-shirt, become a vest and was now little more than a rag.
Billy and Artan stood silently as the girls, embarrassed into silence, passed between them. Nice girls in this country, Artan thought. Lots of work. Better than Albania…
As the girls passed, Billy thought of his own daughter, a little younger, and how she would soon be dressed as provocatively as these two. Working girls, he thought. That’s a fuckin’ laugh. Lying on your back while some poor fucker’s working you. And paying you for it. None of it’s work. It should have a different name.
…Artan turned and let the handles drop into his palms behind him. He set off down the board, pulling the barrow behind him. “Your go next boss,” he grinned, panting like an athlete who had just finished his sprint.
“No, you’re OK, son,” his boss grinned back. Then said to himself: “Too much like hard work.”
*
Here’s how to get the boot in 5 easy steps
Forbidden fruit…
Remember Adam when that big, ripe apple was temptingly hanging around? He saw it, he ate it. So why waste time preparing your own lunch when your colleagues make far tastier snacks than you do. A whole bunch of shit is gonna go down but Adam rode it out, so can you.
Help yourself…
Take that 20-pack box of liquid paper out of the stationary cupboard, you never know when all that correcting fluid will come in handy. 20 red ballpoint pens? They should fit in the pocket nicely. One more tip: you can design a great-looking dream-catcher with all those paperclips.
Download, download, download…
Your connection is so slow at home these days, use the work PC to download all your favourite music, movie and porno files in no time.
Paid to read…
Don’t waste precious time at home reading that novel you just can’t put down. Have a shit at work and finish the book once and for all. No one will notice. Just say you had a funny turn. Take your iPod in the shitter for a full-on sensory experience.
Wank bank…
Take full advantage of that hot new chick in advertising by cracking one out in the sick room at smoko. If anyone asks you why you weren’t at your desk, just say you were cleaning up all the mess in the kitchen. Hide those stains.
If all else fails...
Share your STDs with your boss,your colleagues, their partners or their pets.
*Forbidden fruit…
Remember Adam when that big, ripe apple was temptingly hanging around? He saw it, he ate it. So why waste time preparing your own lunch when your colleagues make far tastier snacks than you do. A whole bunch of shit is gonna go down but Adam rode it out, so can you.
Help yourself…
Take that 20-pack box of liquid paper out of the stationary cupboard, you never know when all that correcting fluid will come in handy. 20 red ballpoint pens? They should fit in the pocket nicely. One more tip: you can design a great-looking dream-catcher with all those paperclips.
Download, download, download…
Your connection is so slow at home these days, use the work PC to download all your favourite music, movie and porno files in no time.
Paid to read…
Don’t waste precious time at home reading that novel you just can’t put down. Have a shit at work and finish the book once and for all. No one will notice. Just say you had a funny turn. Take your iPod in the shitter for a full-on sensory experience.
Wank bank…
Take full advantage of that hot new chick in advertising by cracking one out in the sick room at smoko. If anyone asks you why you weren’t at your desk, just say you were cleaning up all the mess in the kitchen. Hide those stains.
If all else fails...
Share your STDs with your boss,your colleagues, their partners or their pets.
FEZ next month:
"FREEDOM"
What does it mean to you? Drop your contributions into FEZ at the email address below.
Circusmouse picked up last month's prize for his sterling contribution to the running of FEZ.
We received no answers for crassnsilly's X-Word last month. Either it was too hard, or you're all stupid.
For everyone's sake, let's just say it was too hard, eh?
Good. Now we're all happy.......
Contributions to:-
fez@randompress.com.au
"FREEDOM"
What does it mean to you? Drop your contributions into FEZ at the email address below.
Circusmouse picked up last month's prize for his sterling contribution to the running of FEZ.
We received no answers for crassnsilly's X-Word last month. Either it was too hard, or you're all stupid.
For everyone's sake, let's just say it was too hard, eh?
Good. Now we're all happy.......
Contributions to:-
fez@randompress.com.au
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