SHOCK!!! HORROR!!! I FORGOT HNT!!!

So as it transpires, on Thursday without feeling that strange feeling one feels when he/she has forgotten to do something, I went to bed semi-content (as usual) with the world I was closing my eyes on for a few hours. The next morning was no different. Woke up, washed up, shaved, and a sandwich and milky Earl Grey later, I still felt no different. Nothing forgotten. Little did I know that in exactly four hours and 22 minutes (if I did the math right) I was to jump up from my desk, and yell to the surprise of my dear(irony) office mates "Shit, HNT" (closest translation). It is not because the end of the world is nigh because I forgot to post, there's always next week, It is not that I had taken a picture so worthy of posting that it's a shame it has to wait, it's just that gap between sanity, insanity, and memory where common sens dares not enter. "Shit, HNT" jumped out from that corner of my mind and before I could do anything it had come out. Now I have to esxplain to my beloved(uber-irony) workmates what HNT means. And before I could stop myself my moth says "Half-Nekkid Thursday". If it were a normal office I would have loved to share, but since my office is ruled by a despot, yes sir, no sir, you have to watch what you say sir. Would you kiss my arse sir? I wish I were an octopus. That way I could fold A0 projects to fit into A4 sleeves (two tentacles), sip Earl Grey (one tentacle), CAD a swimming pool (one tentacle), worry about 5 36-tonne beams spanning 20metres (no tentacles), sigh (no tentacles), wipe my arse (one tentacle), choke my boss and the site manager (two tentacles), and put one eye at the tip of one tentacle and stare at one of the receptionist girls all day (one loooooong tentacle) at the same time. Can you tell that the things I really want to do amongst these are the latter two? Blonde, (not my usal poison) petite, (yeah baby!) gorgeous, (sigh) leggy, (miles and miles and miles and...), and with a voice to die for. No wonder she's a receptionist. (Did I mention, SIGH WITH A STUPID GRIN ON MY FACE?)

HNT-7 Among Other Things

So a stranger drifted in the other day. The "muse" of the boss, who is a married man, asking for a favour. Tomorrow I have to meet the guys wife, with whom we also work (she: interior designer, I: architect, company: contractors), and try not to mimic 'I beg your pardon but your husband is a cheating bastard and I wish to gods you have a toy-boy' using any part of my face. Balancing the crime is dynamite on paper. Anyhew. None of my business. I've been told I brew a good cup of coffee. I'm sipping a mug of it right now. Nothing fancy, yet neither too sweet, nor too strong. A difficult equilibrium. But what is good coffee worth without a pair of hands other than mine getting warm around another mug of it. Hands of the queen bee around whom the hive of my fantasies is built. Anyway, enough from that pit.

HNT-6

I haven't got the foggiest what this is supposed to be.

Spur of a long moment. Happy HNT.