I don't know about you (well, obviously I don't, I'm not even sure who you are) but Amazon and their associates have the happy ...
Monday, 18 November 2013
By the authority vested in me - Part 2
Continuing the story from Part 1
Now, where was I? I do seem to have wandered quite a way off my original point. Oh yes, what to buy the man in your life? Well, it could be Viagra, then you could get some life in your man (boom, boom, as Basil Brush would say) or, if I could make a humble suggestion, how about a high-visibility vest, a two-way radio and, if you really want to go the whole hog, a pair of reflective sunglasses. Let's take the rationale for each of these suggestions in turn.
Firstly, the high-vis (to quote the vernacular) vest. These items of clothing instantly convey power to the wearer, possibly even super-powers! A man with a high-vis vest can stop traffic, literally. Put him at the entrance to anything and he has the power to interrogate. "What are you here for today then, sir?" No-one ever questions his authority to do this, the high-vis vest is sufficient unto itself. Every man, secretly, wants a high-vis vest, and the best of it is, they are incredibly flattering. No matter how portly or scruffy the wearer, the donning of the magic vest renders all beneath it authoritative, commanding and superior.
Then there's the two-way radio. Am I alone in thinking that the vast majority of the conversations conducted via these are entirely superfluous? Such stuff as:
A: "Jim, come in, over"
B: Appallingly loud static noise, brief snatches of music, then faint but unintelligible sound that just might be speech of some form or another
A: (looking knowledgeable) "Roger that, Jim. Just checking that the radio is working, over"
B: Even worse static noise followed by a noise like a whale in distress, then something like a vacuum cleaner on reverse suction.
A: (chuckles knowlingly) "Yeah, 10-4 Jim. I can eyeball that for sure, for sure, over and out"
Even though it generates such inane rubbish as this, most blokes would give their eye-teeth (what are these, and why are they so valuable?) to have one. Well, two actually, one being of no use at all. I can speak with some authority on this as I'm currently on a cruise (bear with me, I'll explain). Quite a number of parents on board have taken the sensible precaution of purchasing two-way radios in order to keep in touch with their children, who could, of course, be anywhere on this vast ship (although the lifts are usually a good bet). All over the craft, you can see parents (and it's usually fathers) with these toy walkie-talkies (and that's showing my age) clamped to their ear, entirely oblivious to the fact that the apparatus is decorated in day-glo orange or Barbie pink. And they're having longer conversations with their offspring than they ever would have face-to-face. Although they're actually trying to find where little Cheyenne and Peyton are at this moment, in their mind's eye they are talking to Red Leader about bandits at six-o-clock, as they barrel over the White Cliffs of Dover.
The last element of the ensemble has to be the reflective sunglasses, by which I mean sunglasses coated with a mirrored surface on the outer surface. I suppose that's a statement of the blindingly obvious - having the mirrored surface on the inside would just give you an up close and personal view of the inside of each eyeball, which would be somewhat disconcerting. Armed with our sunglasses we are suddenly every American motorcycle cop we've ever seen on T.V. Miscreants pale at the image of themselves captured in our lenses and then, for added effect, we can whip the glasses off to pin them down with our steely glare.
There you have it, the ideal present. Cheap, easy to get hold of and guaranteed to deliver unlimited joy on the part of the recipient. You'll thank me for it one of these days but the happiness of my fellow man is thanks enough. Ok chaps, are you receiving, over?
This is an extract from the latest compilation of stories -