Why do they call it Hump Day when I very rarely get laid on a Wednesday?

I just got out of a meeting where, swear to God, someone just used the term
Daisy Chain*. I burst out laughing.

They meant it in the sense of connecting a series of internet sites together.
But I was thinking of some entirely different internet sites altogether.

Sigh.

My mind was still in the gutter when we began discussing whether we should pay $120,000 a year to optimize our search engine internet presence.

I pointed out that we’d probably get more hits by sticking a whole lot of porn terms in the meta tag. Like “Daisy Chain”.

That went down like a led zeppelin.

Why is it that I’m the only one who finds these things funny?

* (Consult a Profanesaurus if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about).

As I got into work this morning, I saw it, snapped it a salute and shouted: “Whatever you say, Mr Sign! No work today! I’ll just surf porn sites instead…”

I hope the sign is still there tomorrow.

While you still have your minds in the gutter, let me bore you with the time that I was a photojournalist for Penthouse magazine.

Well, to be slightly more truthful, let me tell you about the time that I told people that I was a photojournalist for Penthouse magazine.

I was staying at a campground in Venice while touring around Europe.
D-Missus had gone to bed, but I’d stayed up to drink with some of the people I was touring with. We were having a good time, and then a busload of Contiki sluts turned up and injected themselves into our group.

One of them asked what we all did for a living.
I wasn’t doing anything at that stage, so I had to come up with something quick. And it would have to be something impressive too, seeing as those in the group were already informing the lady that they built boats, designed golf courses, owned a fancy restaurant, or invented post-its.

I like photography. And I like women. And I like looking at photographs of naked women. So I figured that something encompassing all three sounded like a pretty cool line of work.

Her initial reaction was to rightfully call “Bull. Shit.”
But I just kept the lie going until she was convinced that I really was a Penthouse photographer. I then enquired as to whether she had ever done any modelling.

“No”.

“Really? I don’t believe you. With your looks, surely someone must have approached you already? Look … my camera’s in my room if you want to get some shots done …”

I was just joking. She replied with an excited “Sure. But can my girlfriend join us?”.

Holy crap.

The rest of the guys in the group picked their jaws off the floor and jumped right in with an “Oh, I have to be present too … I’m the set builder” or an “And I’m the chef who cooks meals for the models…” or an “I put post-it notes on the back of the photographs”, etc.

All I was thinking was Oh shit, how do I get myself out of This Situation?

But it quickly resolved itself with one of the other guy’s wives grabbing her husband and pointing out to the girl, at the top of her voice, that He was Her man and that He was married.
Her pissed-off husband then turned to me and went “And so is he!”.

I showed the bisexual chick my ring-hand as confirmation.

But before the wannabe porn-set chef had a chance to point out that he was single, the girl had disappeared into the night, never to be seen again.