Oh Mat, Mat, Mat

I should check my birth contract, I’m sure it says that I can have annoying people killed. This guy has been emailing me all day about, what is essentially, resetting his password on one of the applications we use. (After I have said abracadabra in the back end, put in your user name, leave the password field blank and hit enter. It will prompt you to chose a new password. How hard can it fucken be?) Five emails later, with me sending him more and more instructions, I called him to walk him through it. But, of course, he wanted to do it on his phone and he couldn’t do it while we were talking, so I gave him simple instructions, being very careful not to make my gritted teeth (fangs dripping blood, Mat’s blood) obvious. 

As I was shutting down my computer this afternoon, I got yet another email.

“Sorry, but it is now telling me my account is suspended,”

You know, we'd already been through this, we were starting to go on to a loop. I shot him back another email, “Give it another go, Mat.” Then I hit the shut down button on my computer and I left for the day.

In my fantasies, I have a team of five (I don’t know why) dressed in black, looking out from behind aviator sunglasses, all six foot, who act like The Borg. They would be dispatched to Mat’s office and they would gun him down.

Job done!

Too much? What with all the news coverage of the big, bad, er... Morris... ah... Isis? People are a bit angsty, because the news services have told them they aught to be angsty. If the news services told them that they had nothing to worry about, that terrorism would probably never effect their lives directly, I'm sure the world would be a much better place. You know, play the truth and not the headline. But I digress.

Okay, the family friendly version would be, "Would you like a hot chocolate with that?" (Chocolate, cafe, too soon?) Ha ha, only joking.

No, no, hang on, the guns stay in their holsters, under their jackets, on my boys hips, tucked into the back of their undies.

Be-gloved hands, all ten. (think Pippin) Mat would be surrounded, "Okay sweet heart, are you Mat?" The gloves would be removed.

"How stupid are you?"

Slap, slap. (Across the face)

"How can you get it wrong that many times?"

Slap, slap."

"Which part did you not understand?"

Slap, slap.

"You are officially an idiot."

Slap, slap.

"Do not call again."

Slap, slap."

They would turn and leave.

There would be the sound of feet walking away in unison.