*knock knock*
"Alan have you got a minute? I need to talk to you."
In walks Connie, the post production supervisor. Connie is in her 40s, and has been beaten into such a state by the cuntyness of Pete Blanche and friends that she is a permanent nervous wreck. When she isn't crying or being at the focal point of what I like to call the blame game (something goes wrong, someone has to be blamed, then that person passes the blame on to someone like me!!!!), shes generally quite lovely and brilliant at her job. What version am I going to get today? Good start, shes not crying.
"Now as you probably know we're running behind schedule and if we're going to make our deadlines we're going to need to double our efforts."
Holy shit fucking cuntballs. What I don't already live in this fucking place enough that now you want me to do even more work?
"I know that you'd probably like to do all this work on your own and are more than capable, but sometimes at times like these you need help.
What? Oh. My. God. Shes getting me help? I can have my life back!!
"So I'd like to introduce you to Saul, whos going to be working alongside you now for the duration of the edit".
The door swings open, and there stands Saul; grin beaming from ear to ear. Hes wearing a John Motson style sheepskin jacket, Hawaiian shirt, 80s elasticated denim jeans and tasseled loafers.
"Alan! How the fuck goes it? Lets smash the tits off this bitch."
"Isn't he funny Alan? You two are going to get along like a house on fire! Brilliant. Well if you show Saul the ropes and introduce him to the editors I'm sure he'll slot right in. See you boys later!"
"Laters sugar tits! Right then Alman, how the fuck does shit go down here then? Lets get raping these rushes!" Saul picks up a hard drive and begins to hump it. "Lets spunk all over these bits!"
Holy fucking christ. What the fuck? Hes like a fucking cartoon character! He should be in the Beano. I don't know if I can handle this. What the fuck have I done to deserve this?
