welcome to the beautiful baps north

Someone once coined the perfect collective noun for salesmen… an ejaculate. An ejaculate of salesmen. It’s absolutely ideal. This morning a salesman called Kev came all over (to see) me from ITville UK (Slough). He was all cheese and smarmite. At my request he even brought Alison, the token pneumatic-pin-stripe-trouser-suited-blonde-eye-candy-foxtress-fit-but-my-gosh-don’t-you-know-it-hard-as-nails-bitch-but-you-would-wouldn’t-you account manager with him to sweeten the sale. Kev did all the talking but obviously didn’t get too much eye contact from me… I was too busy musing that I must pick some firm baps up on the way home.

I’d booked a soulless room in a soulless office in a soulless part of town, for us to have a soulless conversation about soulless services to be transacted by soulless organisations on the behalf of soulless clients. As a result, we might do some soulless work together, we might not. We’ll need another chat. At least I made Alison come. My aim is true.