Dead Fish in a Box

The chronicles of a suburban fishpimp trying to keep it rural.

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Location: United States

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Simon Strikes Again!

It’s time for me to get back to my roots; it’s been way too long since I’ve written anything substantial about the fishhouse. If you’ve been following this site for a while you may remember I periodically pass along the pearls of wisdom offered by our sales manager, Simon. Someday I’d like to set up my archives by category so all the Simonisms could be accessed easily, but I don’t know how to write all that HTML-codey-code stuff. Anyone want to help this poor white boy pimp out his blog? I’ll hook up you with a bag of prawns.

Anyway, this Simon guy is a real piece of work. I honestly wonder where he learned to speak English. Here are some of the latest from our 22 page list:

· That’s 1200 out of 1600 Lbs, so it’s 2/3rds of the problem!
· You’re the master of your own destiny; when they cut off your head then I guess you’ll be headless.
· Like I always say: “Somebody’s ‘aw, shit’ is someone’s good deal”; our pain is somebody’s misfortune!
· It’s never our fault, even if they’ve got photos and affidavits; it’s never our fault!

Simon’s favorite target is The Baron. One full third of the list is about him, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t include some of the Baron-whipping:

· Baron, you’re pissing me off, but I’m going to constrain myself (restrain)
· He’s heading for the border? Shit, they’re gonna get scared – they see that much mass and they’ll think we’re moving troops!
· Remember that poem about all the king’s horses and all the king’s men? Well I think you cracked bigboy!
· Are you gonna parasail at the lake? You gotta! I’ll pay you. No, not $50, I’ll pay you $25. Bigboy, you gotta step up; if Goodyear’s got a blimp, the fishhouse has to have a parasail. We’ve gotta expand!

Seriously, a bag of prawns (or a nice slab of salmon) to anyone who can help me with an archival system. Word.

On an unrelated note: This is unacceptable.


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