You know, I’ve just realised that some of my past actions might have been mistaken for sexual harassment!

Oh, dear … my sense of humour really is an acquired taste.

I nearly got thrown out a pub once because I forgot myself and when the barmaid turned to me and said “What would you like” I unthinkingly replied … as I always did to friends who made the mistake of feeding me the line … “World peace … but I’ll settle for a blow-job.”

Well, look, I mean … if you’re foolish enough to ask …

It’s like “What’s your problem?”

Well, duh … “I’m looking at it.”

“Are you an insomniac?”

“Only when I can’t sleep.”

So, really, you should know better than to ask a stupid question, shouldn’t you?

Unless, of course, you don’t know me … aren’t looking for a fight … and are actually a barmaid simply trying to do your job that is.

Fortunately, my two female friends assured her that it wasn’t anything to worry about, I wasn’t actually a sexist pig … was, in fact, really quite lovely, once you got over the shock and got to know me properly … and promised her that, once we’d been served, they’d take me back to the pub garden and kick me repeatedly in the testicles on her behalf until I got it into my head that “you can’t say that kind of thing to strangers, you idiot!”

Anyway … amusing though that little anecdote may be, it’s not what I wanted to mention really — it was just by way of example of the kind of trouble I can get into when I’m in a good mood and on autopilot around strangers.

No … the thing I wanted to mention was the trouble I could find myself in with people I only think know me well enough just because we’ve been colleagues for a few years and I figure they’ve seen and heard enough of me by now to understand (albeit, perhaps, not actually appreciate as such) my sense of humour and that, underneath it all, I’m quite lovely really, once you get over the shock and get to know me properly …

… but don’t.

Particularly when I’m actively going out of my way to be provocative.

Would you like to see my elephant?

If you don’t know that one, it involves my pulling my trouser pockets inside-out like an elephant’s ears, starting to unzip my fly

… and hoping like Hell you don’t call my bluff but, instead, stop me before it’s ‘too late’ as it were.

So …

When my niece was a baby, Beanie Babies were all the rage, my sister was collecting them herself and I decided to add to the confusion by getting all educational on her ass and getting the obscure ones.

Instead of things like baa cows and moo sheep, from me she got things like the octopus (which clings to your face like a friend), the starfish (not chocolate, you’ll no doubt be pleased to learn) and the armadillo (crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside).

Fun and educational and, I think, my sister owes me a debt of gratitude for making such an effort to help ensure her daughter grew up to be a weird-kid, like Wednesday Adams, Daria Morgendorffer or … at worst … Lisa Simpson.

Now, naturally, I wasn’t around all the time and oftentimes would be in possession of the Beanies but not my niece herself.

So, there I’d be… with some Beanie Babies and spare time on my hands during the lunch break at work … and colleagues in other departments whom I hadn’t seen for a few days and who could probably do with a visit by then, if only to break the monotony of doing their job and barely earning a living if they worked hard and didn’t allow themselves a moment’s distraction from the mind-numbing, spirit-crushing, soul-destroying drudgery that constituted their nine-to-five wage-slavery, lest they got into trouble with the Management for slacking off.

And .. well… I’d sidle up to them at their desks …. look around pseudo-surreptitiously (as subtle as a stage whisper) and then ask, meaningfully, “I’ve got something pink and firm in my trousers … would you like to see it?”

It didn’t matter whether they said “yes” or “no” because I’d then whip the Beanie Baby lobster out of my pocket “tadaah!

The look of relief on their faces when it turned out to be nothing more disturbing was worth all the time and effort.

I’m sure you can imagine the fun we had with the ‘trouser snake’ that lived in my pockets ; D

But, of course, as I implied, it does all rather rely upon your understanding my sense of humour … and realising that, if I‘ve gone to the lengths of victimising you as it were, it’s because I like and respect you enough to think of you at all never mind enough to want to actively spend time with you and make you laugh.

It does rather rely upon your not having had a sense of humour bypass and/or a lobotomy … and also upon your not being so far up yourself that you don’t bother to notice that other people are different to you and communication, therefore, a bit of a joint effort —that they aren’t necessarily going to be a clone of you and you are going to have to make some effort too [1].

What if I misjudged them?

What if my respect for them was ill-founded?

What if they didn’t understand (because they were idiots and two-to-five years just wasn’t enough time for them to get to grips with their colleague despite all but daily interaction)?

What if they felt they’d been sexually harassed?

In all seriousness though, what if it simply dredged up unpleasant memories of times they were harassed by someone who wasn’t just playing the fool and being silly but actually meant it?

Oh, dear … I hope nobody was actually offended or harassed — I was only doing it to brighten their day by giving them a laugh at my own expense by acting like a complete and utter idiot.


It’s a sad world in which you have to worry about things like sexual harassment when all you’re doing is trying to brighten somebody’s day.

I wish men wouldn’t do it — it ruins it for the rest of us.

[1] Especially if they have a deranged sense of humour [2].

[2] Yes … me.




There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die.

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There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die.

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