Pride of the pack
Posted: Mon Sep 13, 2010 1:54 am
The conference was in the business complex. There was the usual fauna. A premier Inn and an adjoining bar with the typical polished wood and brass. An annex from the bar led to the conference area.
The presentation was going to be beyond dreary. A dry old crone and her partner in crime, a forty something tubby male unsettlingly familiar with technology, would lecture them on procedure and compliance. A swathe of bespoke suits milled and amiably passed pleasantries, the odd reflexive guffaw, oiling the stilted exchanges.
The car park a mix of various shades between silver and black. The odd goldy beige for good variance as well. Audi, Mercedes, Lexus and BMW the staples.
There was some time before the presentation started, which was just as well, for someone who wasn't yet in any kind of suit was playing an unchipped Barcrest. I say playing, it was more a kind of continuous cussing and stressed button rapping.
"Piece of bollocks fucking shitty game crap wank piss fuck. £20 boards for nearly a nifty and it can't turn the fucker red. Load of shit rig up low percentage crap bollocks, better be boarding still after this..."
A 2 rolled in and Add again was given. The number was an 11. The hi button was rapped until the SFX stopped. The swearing continued unabated.
Back in the conference centre, various hot drinks were dispensed via an automated drinks unit. Hands were shook and pleasantries exchanged about families, business in general and working lives. Some of the suits had milled into the main conference area. A stocky chap was plugging things into USB sockets on a laptop and messing around making the final touches to a Powerpoint presentation. The crone sat steely lipped ready for battle. Also a green felt tip marker pen lay obeyantly on the desk, ready for action in case of technical failing.
The train station was within walking distance from the business complex. By a total coincidence the business complex was also within walking distance from the train station. Another party of gentleman was approaching. This time not in suits. An interesting mix this one. A chap from near Bolton with a curved banana and a horses head. A very tall representative of Lewisham. Someone who looked like James Cordon. A spiky haired lad from Cambridge with a blonde haired girl. Somone with lots of power. Someone Scottish. Someone with a similar name to half a Sat Nav. And someone who was one bar short of a sane bar.
Elsewhere a jackpot on an unchipped Barcrest had finally been won, time had dictated the progression along the route was over and it was sage to venture to the business complex.
The coins were stashed in the glove compartment. The other clothes in the boot. Spash of aftershave. Spray some goldspot. He stepped out the car and pressed the button. The central locking active and a WHOOP BLOOP indicating the vehicle was armed and secure.
It was then with abhorrent terror that he saw the latter crew of gentleman. Oh no, not here. The two worlds could not collide. Quite simply no. Never mix business and pleasure. Or in his case business and err other business. It wasn't that he didn't like them. They were a laugh, but here? Fuck no. It couldn't happen. Could it be juggled? They wouldn't recognise him in a suit and with glasses instead of the usual contact lenses. He was even in his other car. Plan was to let them pass. If he was correct the fruits in the bar were a Bank Job and a Monopoly Boom or Bust. Let them get started and move in. As the rowdy gentleman entered the complex, a voice startled him.
"George?"
It was Baharahim Mupta or 'Bahra' for short, the owner of KDH networking Ltd. A devilishly suave Indian gentleman, hugely influential in the fields of real time data linking and also a key member of the council of professional standards, and a regulator for information commissioners within the G2 network facilitator's union.
"Bahra, good to see you, how is business?"
"Absolutely frantic, the Howard Marcus Quango has dictated that all phase 2 directives be commisioned by the end of October this year. My team is phasing the data into full connectivity and updating our hardware to be compliant to the society's guidelines for electronic phase three linking. Adhering to the new Mack-Williamson procedures has revolutionised our ways of thinking, but it has been stressful, very stressful. We are now ready for the G2 mainframe to go live within the next fortnight. It's an exciting opportunity and I expect a significant upturn in Tec3 throughputs that typically would have been run through an ordinary PC1 processing team."
JG wished he could give enough of a shit about that side of things to actually understand a single word. Truth was, the missed skill on the unchipped Barcrest, the subsequent play up, the angry landlord, still playing on his mind. It was an interesting situation. Bahra could read the disinterest in JG's eyes, but he was a smooth operator. Rather than be confrontational, he had subtle ways of delivering killer digs. Like a lamb to the slaughter; JG now sufficiently cowed, offered a distinctly boring and bland response.
"Yeah, I too have found the stress of the Tec3 file updates extremely stressful."
Mentally he throttled himself. What a dickwad thing to say. Bahra was in the thick of the data retention and upgrading composite and here he was, a standard comms tec wage slave trying to offer his own dreary work experience as way of recompense.
Bahra paused, his face frozen for a split second. The implications devastating. He knew JG was a fraudulent imposter and JG knew it as well. Even a huge fake smile couldn't save JG's bacon.
"Hmmm, well I'll leave you to your deep thoughts George. No doubt the revised Franklin-Devinson guidelines are weighing heavy on your mind, don't forget the meeting starts in five minutes and you haven't even touched the buffet. Most out of character I must say. Don't dazzle the presentators with your incisive knowledge of Tec3 servers in the Q+A session now will you? Cheerio George."
Why did he always feel like a minnow in a bay full of sharks? There was the obvious answer, but it was salient to black that out. Like it was salient to black out the rowdy noise coming from near those flashy lights in the bar.
Time to walk briskly into the bar, around the other side, away from the AWPs and into the annex. They'd be off into town soon enough anyway. Why did they have to get off at this station and not the town centre? Not that he wished they weren't here, just easier that they weren't here.
Looking away he executed his plan, probably wouldn't spot him....walk now....
"WAHHEEEEEEEEEY!!!! JG THE MAN!!!! BIG BOARDS 'R US!!!! JG or BUST. GET THE FUCK IN GEEZA, check it out....JG looking rheam all suited and booted. What ya doing here fella? Bit late ain't ya? We already had the £70 box on Boom or Bust and Keys is just going for Wank Job."
"Aha oh, yeah. Surprise! I saw you were coming to town on the Internet and I thought I bet they'll be here, so I'm in disguise as someone who doesn't play machines, to throw all the angry landlords off the scent."
"You crack me up JG, we've got the combined height of Lewisham to put pay to any gnarly old geezers who don't like us filming BIG BOARDS!!! Fifty shitty pee please carol.....awww how d'ya feel? Hey Tommo, JG is a moderator on that shitty Fruitchat, honoury Jackpotty member for the day now, better try not to mod us JG or you'lll be sorry."
"Fruitchat is about as interesting as forcing out a Bootylicious that's £2 boarding. Typical boring fruitchat attire is that JG? Fuck me that board is so boring. In fact it's so boring it could send a packet of Nytol to sleep. You better show us your skills fella, you're not on Fruitchat now"
Damn this was awkward, excuses made and time for a loooong visit to the toilet. From the toilet which he didn't need, to the annex, they couldn't see down here. Creep down. Follow the arrow. Shit! Presentation already started.
The main lights dimmed and just the hum of the laptop and projector fans, the a/c with the bland tubby suit recapping on the key points of last season's meeting.
The crone gave him a withering stare as he crept in late and sidled into the back row. The sharp suited gentleman next to him looking down on him. Had he seen him play that unchipped 'Crest so badly? Or was it as he was late? Or his car was too low a spec? Paranoia. Relax JG. The babble at first almost salient, soon turned into corporate grade pish. At least in JG's mind it did. To some people, at some point, some where it did make some kind of sense. The first part over, it was soon time to get onto the main issues of procedure and compliance.
Mr. Tangrama, JG's main boss and line directive flashed him a telling glance as the other speaker started up a new presentation. JG had recently compromised the security of the Gibbs-Parker PPS proxy zip zop updates when he had left the trans-comms portal on 128bit bi-polarity hyper link. Convenient for updating a G1 tec3 MPU to receive G2 bit parts, but totally non compliant with company procedure.
Meanwhile elsewhere in the building,
"Where the fuck has that boring Fruitchat nobhead gone? I vote we go to town without him, he's almost as sad as the gamble on this Wank Job."
"Nah, we can't go without JG, check his stories man, they're the best. Give him time to warm up."
"Warm up? Warm up? Why the fucks he need to warm up for? What's he doing?!? Getting a blow job off Carol vorderman? Fuck's sake, sack him off."
"£70 box please Carol, oh no...bust again, should be called Bust or Bust. can't believe I got involved in this shit again, all that JG's fault. Where is he?"
"Having a poo I think" piped up Crazybar.
"A poo? No chance, no one poos for thirty minutes on a Jackpotty meeting, not even Silent G after a double man up, JG's a stupid C**t plain and simple. I vote we flush him out this complex and get him to bash this CoB button, the sad f**ker must be around here somewhere.....oh shit it has autocollected £1.20, JG you dozy cockhead....let's go get him."
The old crone was really a joyless, dry old bat, devoid of anything but total devotion to a cause more tied up in red tape than Harry Houdini in a tax office. Even the hardcore devotees from the regulatory arm of the technical council were finding it hard going.
"Tinkerson-Higgins guidelines stipulated that you simply cannot put a standard ASDL non encrypted interface in series with zip drives containing type 2 security encoded personel files. Yet the local trust statistics show almost 68% of Tec3 employees failing to adhere to their job descriptions as data linkage automators and instead going off on a stupid tangent with discrepancies in procedure such as this one. I have many more examples and I urge you to take great heed. Particularly those of you with pending infringement notices which may restrict your salaries to that of a Tec2 operative."
Surely she didn't know his personal career history? Or could she?
They were only on slide 2/34, he was almost looking forward to the bound-to-be-nauseating group role play exercise. Oh why hadn't he had more buffet?
Meanwhile,
"Fuck's sake G, sort it out will you?.....There's a £70 cashpot on the Banker Wanks Me and Jeff Vickers off Twice in town. Power Kyle spotted it yesterday. Go and get that dickwad JG!"
"I vote we leave the bonkers suit behind."
"Nah, we are Jackpotty, we follow the Jackpotty code of conduct. JG is an honourary member for today, I made it so...he comes with us and we film him cobbing the BRT. I Buddylove, your leader, have spoken. NOW FIND JG!!!! AT ONCE!!!! CAROL!!!!!!! GET IN!!! GET HIM!!!!"
They split up. Crazy Bar checking the perimeter of the car park. Silent G spinning some lines to the girl on reception of The Premier Inn. If anyone could weedle out guest names, surely he could. Bruce George checking the nearby leisure complex. Scots Bob to remain posted by the bar. Buddylove and Winning Babe getting long range footage with an N95 to try and pick up JG and Tommo to check the Business complex. Key to go undercover as a horse and check the nearby equine complex.
Meanwhile at reception....
"Yeah that's right, I am working for the CID. I believe you have a guest staying at your facilities."
"What's the name?"
"Jeff Vickers."
"No one of that name here, we'll keep a look out for him though."
"Yep, he is a hardened criminal, we wish to contact him regarding the theft of some photos of David Cameron."
With one deft movement, G pulled the USB stick out the premier Inn computer. A quick attachment via adaptor to his phone and he had access, no guest by the name of 'JG'. Barking up the wrong tree.
They all met back in the bar. Only Tommo had a possible lead. A load of suits in a room at the end of the annex and some sandwiches.
It was time for Jackpotty to find JG, after manning up.
"Look at these shitty little sandwiches, I bet I could eat four of these" claimed buddy unadventurously.
Key picked up eight of the cheese and tomato sandwiches.
"CHUBBY BUNNT" he expostulated with reasonable levels of announciation given the volume of cheddar.
"Time for the Ferrier estate to show you pussies how to man up properly."
G picked up a whole plate of tortilla crisps, sixteen tuna and cucumber sandwiches and a bowl of fruit salad.
"Down in one boys...check this out.....Hey check out this mayo, guess that Jeff Vickers has been around here with that Cameron photo...."
The conference room was fairly well sound proofed. Triple glazed and well insulated, not much could be heard from outside. The question and answer session approached.
"With the authorities now granting us licence to effectively launder category A data to the registered secondary parties, what is to stop total proliferation of unlicenced data hitting the propsed G3 mainframe?"
The tubby suit stepped up to the plate, backed by the steely gaze of his crone like accomplice.
"Category A data should only be shared on iBIOS proxy 3 internal servers and is for use only for internal comparisons. Anyone found uploading primary BIOS offloads to the proxy board or associated board will have their licence revoked and their contract will revert back to T2 phase III on the old wave, not to mention a potnetial £10,000 fine. So be warned."
"But what's to stop a competitor signing up and hijacking the basic composite iBIOS settings so that a divert is created to a Tec3 insurgency?"
Outside,
"What are they talking about?"
"I don't know, looks boring......"
"What the fuck are we doing here boys? We're supposed to be looking for JG, more importantly we're supposed to be filiming some cobs, man ups, deals and leps, is JG there or not?"
Back inside,
"I think it's important we hear from the grass roots Tec3 maintenance counsulate here. How about the chap who turned up late, presumably T-bypassing his remaming clients on non WAN enabled proxy linkages? Can you tell me how you think Phase 4 implementation under the Pratt-Findelsohn mandate will make the proposed data consultancy act redundant as many of your peers are suggesting?"
JG panicked. This didn't usually happen. These meetings were about eating the buffet. Going to sleep and looking like you gave a shit. He hadn't even done module one on update proxy wotsits, he was walking into his own grave. The head of the regulatory council, potential employers, influential movers and shakers, he needed a miracle to save him.
The door opened or rather, flamboyently (not in a gay way) burst open.
A combined noise erupted....
<<WHOOP! BLOOOP! WHOOOP! JACKPOTTY CREW TO THE RESCUE!!! CASH OR BUST PLEASE CAROL TWO TEN FUCKING MEGA STREAK BOIIIII!! GET THE FUCK IN THERE. WANK ME OFF. WHAT YOU DOING WITH THESE STIFFS JG? THERE'S A SEVEN OH SHEET, THAT'S SEVENTY SEVEN TEEE OF THE QUEEN'S SHEETAGES ON THE CASHPOT IN THE DOG AND CRUMPET DEAL OR NO DEAL GOOOOLD BOI!!! GET THE MUTHA IN THERE WANK ME OFF CAROL VORDERMAN HAVE THAT BIG SHEETS BIG SHEETS HERE COME THE POT STEPPER BIG GOLD SHEETS BOI HAVE SOME OF THAT JG JOIN THE JACKPOTTY CREW WINNING BABE WILL WIN IT FOR YOU JG WHILST SILENT FLICKERS UP THE COUNT AND KEY KEYS THE KEYS <<<PARRRRAAAAAAPP PARRRAAAAAAP PPPPAAAAAAAAAAAAARP>> G UNIT ON THE AIRHORN BOI!!! CHECK IT OUT!!!! PARP!!!! GET THE FUCK IN AND MAN UP THREE LAMB BHUNAS BOI!!! CURRY NIGHT IN SPOONS LETS HAVE THAT SEVENTY FUCKING SHEETS BOY AND THREEE LAMB BHUNAS AND A CHICKEN DOPIAZA 'AV THAT GET THE MUTHA FUCK IN THERE! GIVE ME THOSE MUTHA FOOOOKING SHEEEEEEEEEEEEETS!!!>>
A SHOCKED SILENCE, sorry I mean a shocked silence reigned.
The old crone and tubby techhead went to press the red button simultaneously.
"Security has been alerted and the police are on their way. Gentlemen, I suggest you leave immediately"
"We're just here to talk to JG."
"There is no one of that name here. There is no JG. Please leave NOW!"
"Keep your hair on., that's JG there."
"That is not JG, that is George Rogers an employee of KDG composites Ltd"
"Nah, you silly witch, it's JACKPOT GEORGE!!! BIG UP JACKPOT GEORGE!!! ON THE PISS WITH JACKPOTTY <<PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARPPPPP>> G UNIT BACK ON AIRHORN...DUMDUMDUMDUMDUM 200BPM CLARKEY ON THE PIONEERS HAPPY HARDCORE WITH ORTOFAN STYLIII BIG IT UP!!!! <<PAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRP!!> JACKPOTTY GEORGE WINNING THE BIG SHEETS!!"
"Right I've had enough of your nonsense. Mr. Rogers, do you know these dreadful louts?"
JG spoke up. He could not reveal the secret double life. The collision of the worlds must not happen. This was a true work night. He had to blank off Jackpotty.
"I've never seen them before. I'm slightly concerned as to how they know my name. Although I think they were lurking in the bushes, planning to sabotage the conference. I'm sure I recognise the tall one with the air horn. He must have overheard my name when I arrived."
"NEIGH NEIGH It's all lies" neighed Key through his horse's head.
At that moment the police arrived.
"Alright gentleman, you'll have to leave the premises, you have no business here...please leave...."
Law and order reigned once again and George, or 'JG' checked his watch. Hopefully in less than an hour he'd be in the Dog and Crumpet, eating a lamb bhuna and joining in the banter as CoB after CoB after CoB went cashpot bust cashpot.......BUST please Carol.
The presentation was going to be beyond dreary. A dry old crone and her partner in crime, a forty something tubby male unsettlingly familiar with technology, would lecture them on procedure and compliance. A swathe of bespoke suits milled and amiably passed pleasantries, the odd reflexive guffaw, oiling the stilted exchanges.
The car park a mix of various shades between silver and black. The odd goldy beige for good variance as well. Audi, Mercedes, Lexus and BMW the staples.
There was some time before the presentation started, which was just as well, for someone who wasn't yet in any kind of suit was playing an unchipped Barcrest. I say playing, it was more a kind of continuous cussing and stressed button rapping.
"Piece of bollocks fucking shitty game crap wank piss fuck. £20 boards for nearly a nifty and it can't turn the fucker red. Load of shit rig up low percentage crap bollocks, better be boarding still after this..."
A 2 rolled in and Add again was given. The number was an 11. The hi button was rapped until the SFX stopped. The swearing continued unabated.
Back in the conference centre, various hot drinks were dispensed via an automated drinks unit. Hands were shook and pleasantries exchanged about families, business in general and working lives. Some of the suits had milled into the main conference area. A stocky chap was plugging things into USB sockets on a laptop and messing around making the final touches to a Powerpoint presentation. The crone sat steely lipped ready for battle. Also a green felt tip marker pen lay obeyantly on the desk, ready for action in case of technical failing.
The train station was within walking distance from the business complex. By a total coincidence the business complex was also within walking distance from the train station. Another party of gentleman was approaching. This time not in suits. An interesting mix this one. A chap from near Bolton with a curved banana and a horses head. A very tall representative of Lewisham. Someone who looked like James Cordon. A spiky haired lad from Cambridge with a blonde haired girl. Somone with lots of power. Someone Scottish. Someone with a similar name to half a Sat Nav. And someone who was one bar short of a sane bar.
Elsewhere a jackpot on an unchipped Barcrest had finally been won, time had dictated the progression along the route was over and it was sage to venture to the business complex.
The coins were stashed in the glove compartment. The other clothes in the boot. Spash of aftershave. Spray some goldspot. He stepped out the car and pressed the button. The central locking active and a WHOOP BLOOP indicating the vehicle was armed and secure.
It was then with abhorrent terror that he saw the latter crew of gentleman. Oh no, not here. The two worlds could not collide. Quite simply no. Never mix business and pleasure. Or in his case business and err other business. It wasn't that he didn't like them. They were a laugh, but here? Fuck no. It couldn't happen. Could it be juggled? They wouldn't recognise him in a suit and with glasses instead of the usual contact lenses. He was even in his other car. Plan was to let them pass. If he was correct the fruits in the bar were a Bank Job and a Monopoly Boom or Bust. Let them get started and move in. As the rowdy gentleman entered the complex, a voice startled him.
"George?"
It was Baharahim Mupta or 'Bahra' for short, the owner of KDH networking Ltd. A devilishly suave Indian gentleman, hugely influential in the fields of real time data linking and also a key member of the council of professional standards, and a regulator for information commissioners within the G2 network facilitator's union.
"Bahra, good to see you, how is business?"
"Absolutely frantic, the Howard Marcus Quango has dictated that all phase 2 directives be commisioned by the end of October this year. My team is phasing the data into full connectivity and updating our hardware to be compliant to the society's guidelines for electronic phase three linking. Adhering to the new Mack-Williamson procedures has revolutionised our ways of thinking, but it has been stressful, very stressful. We are now ready for the G2 mainframe to go live within the next fortnight. It's an exciting opportunity and I expect a significant upturn in Tec3 throughputs that typically would have been run through an ordinary PC1 processing team."
JG wished he could give enough of a shit about that side of things to actually understand a single word. Truth was, the missed skill on the unchipped Barcrest, the subsequent play up, the angry landlord, still playing on his mind. It was an interesting situation. Bahra could read the disinterest in JG's eyes, but he was a smooth operator. Rather than be confrontational, he had subtle ways of delivering killer digs. Like a lamb to the slaughter; JG now sufficiently cowed, offered a distinctly boring and bland response.
"Yeah, I too have found the stress of the Tec3 file updates extremely stressful."
Mentally he throttled himself. What a dickwad thing to say. Bahra was in the thick of the data retention and upgrading composite and here he was, a standard comms tec wage slave trying to offer his own dreary work experience as way of recompense.
Bahra paused, his face frozen for a split second. The implications devastating. He knew JG was a fraudulent imposter and JG knew it as well. Even a huge fake smile couldn't save JG's bacon.
"Hmmm, well I'll leave you to your deep thoughts George. No doubt the revised Franklin-Devinson guidelines are weighing heavy on your mind, don't forget the meeting starts in five minutes and you haven't even touched the buffet. Most out of character I must say. Don't dazzle the presentators with your incisive knowledge of Tec3 servers in the Q+A session now will you? Cheerio George."
Why did he always feel like a minnow in a bay full of sharks? There was the obvious answer, but it was salient to black that out. Like it was salient to black out the rowdy noise coming from near those flashy lights in the bar.
Time to walk briskly into the bar, around the other side, away from the AWPs and into the annex. They'd be off into town soon enough anyway. Why did they have to get off at this station and not the town centre? Not that he wished they weren't here, just easier that they weren't here.
Looking away he executed his plan, probably wouldn't spot him....walk now....
"WAHHEEEEEEEEEY!!!! JG THE MAN!!!! BIG BOARDS 'R US!!!! JG or BUST. GET THE FUCK IN GEEZA, check it out....JG looking rheam all suited and booted. What ya doing here fella? Bit late ain't ya? We already had the £70 box on Boom or Bust and Keys is just going for Wank Job."
"Aha oh, yeah. Surprise! I saw you were coming to town on the Internet and I thought I bet they'll be here, so I'm in disguise as someone who doesn't play machines, to throw all the angry landlords off the scent."
"You crack me up JG, we've got the combined height of Lewisham to put pay to any gnarly old geezers who don't like us filming BIG BOARDS!!! Fifty shitty pee please carol.....awww how d'ya feel? Hey Tommo, JG is a moderator on that shitty Fruitchat, honoury Jackpotty member for the day now, better try not to mod us JG or you'lll be sorry."
"Fruitchat is about as interesting as forcing out a Bootylicious that's £2 boarding. Typical boring fruitchat attire is that JG? Fuck me that board is so boring. In fact it's so boring it could send a packet of Nytol to sleep. You better show us your skills fella, you're not on Fruitchat now"
Damn this was awkward, excuses made and time for a loooong visit to the toilet. From the toilet which he didn't need, to the annex, they couldn't see down here. Creep down. Follow the arrow. Shit! Presentation already started.
The main lights dimmed and just the hum of the laptop and projector fans, the a/c with the bland tubby suit recapping on the key points of last season's meeting.
The crone gave him a withering stare as he crept in late and sidled into the back row. The sharp suited gentleman next to him looking down on him. Had he seen him play that unchipped 'Crest so badly? Or was it as he was late? Or his car was too low a spec? Paranoia. Relax JG. The babble at first almost salient, soon turned into corporate grade pish. At least in JG's mind it did. To some people, at some point, some where it did make some kind of sense. The first part over, it was soon time to get onto the main issues of procedure and compliance.
Mr. Tangrama, JG's main boss and line directive flashed him a telling glance as the other speaker started up a new presentation. JG had recently compromised the security of the Gibbs-Parker PPS proxy zip zop updates when he had left the trans-comms portal on 128bit bi-polarity hyper link. Convenient for updating a G1 tec3 MPU to receive G2 bit parts, but totally non compliant with company procedure.
Meanwhile elsewhere in the building,
"Where the fuck has that boring Fruitchat nobhead gone? I vote we go to town without him, he's almost as sad as the gamble on this Wank Job."
"Nah, we can't go without JG, check his stories man, they're the best. Give him time to warm up."
"Warm up? Warm up? Why the fucks he need to warm up for? What's he doing?!? Getting a blow job off Carol vorderman? Fuck's sake, sack him off."
"£70 box please Carol, oh no...bust again, should be called Bust or Bust. can't believe I got involved in this shit again, all that JG's fault. Where is he?"
"Having a poo I think" piped up Crazybar.
"A poo? No chance, no one poos for thirty minutes on a Jackpotty meeting, not even Silent G after a double man up, JG's a stupid C**t plain and simple. I vote we flush him out this complex and get him to bash this CoB button, the sad f**ker must be around here somewhere.....oh shit it has autocollected £1.20, JG you dozy cockhead....let's go get him."
The old crone was really a joyless, dry old bat, devoid of anything but total devotion to a cause more tied up in red tape than Harry Houdini in a tax office. Even the hardcore devotees from the regulatory arm of the technical council were finding it hard going.
"Tinkerson-Higgins guidelines stipulated that you simply cannot put a standard ASDL non encrypted interface in series with zip drives containing type 2 security encoded personel files. Yet the local trust statistics show almost 68% of Tec3 employees failing to adhere to their job descriptions as data linkage automators and instead going off on a stupid tangent with discrepancies in procedure such as this one. I have many more examples and I urge you to take great heed. Particularly those of you with pending infringement notices which may restrict your salaries to that of a Tec2 operative."
Surely she didn't know his personal career history? Or could she?
They were only on slide 2/34, he was almost looking forward to the bound-to-be-nauseating group role play exercise. Oh why hadn't he had more buffet?
Meanwhile,
"Fuck's sake G, sort it out will you?.....There's a £70 cashpot on the Banker Wanks Me and Jeff Vickers off Twice in town. Power Kyle spotted it yesterday. Go and get that dickwad JG!"
"I vote we leave the bonkers suit behind."
"Nah, we are Jackpotty, we follow the Jackpotty code of conduct. JG is an honourary member for today, I made it so...he comes with us and we film him cobbing the BRT. I Buddylove, your leader, have spoken. NOW FIND JG!!!! AT ONCE!!!! CAROL!!!!!!! GET IN!!! GET HIM!!!!"
They split up. Crazy Bar checking the perimeter of the car park. Silent G spinning some lines to the girl on reception of The Premier Inn. If anyone could weedle out guest names, surely he could. Bruce George checking the nearby leisure complex. Scots Bob to remain posted by the bar. Buddylove and Winning Babe getting long range footage with an N95 to try and pick up JG and Tommo to check the Business complex. Key to go undercover as a horse and check the nearby equine complex.
Meanwhile at reception....
"Yeah that's right, I am working for the CID. I believe you have a guest staying at your facilities."
"What's the name?"
"Jeff Vickers."
"No one of that name here, we'll keep a look out for him though."
"Yep, he is a hardened criminal, we wish to contact him regarding the theft of some photos of David Cameron."
With one deft movement, G pulled the USB stick out the premier Inn computer. A quick attachment via adaptor to his phone and he had access, no guest by the name of 'JG'. Barking up the wrong tree.
They all met back in the bar. Only Tommo had a possible lead. A load of suits in a room at the end of the annex and some sandwiches.
It was time for Jackpotty to find JG, after manning up.
"Look at these shitty little sandwiches, I bet I could eat four of these" claimed buddy unadventurously.
Key picked up eight of the cheese and tomato sandwiches.
"CHUBBY BUNNT" he expostulated with reasonable levels of announciation given the volume of cheddar.
"Time for the Ferrier estate to show you pussies how to man up properly."
G picked up a whole plate of tortilla crisps, sixteen tuna and cucumber sandwiches and a bowl of fruit salad.
"Down in one boys...check this out.....Hey check out this mayo, guess that Jeff Vickers has been around here with that Cameron photo...."
The conference room was fairly well sound proofed. Triple glazed and well insulated, not much could be heard from outside. The question and answer session approached.
"With the authorities now granting us licence to effectively launder category A data to the registered secondary parties, what is to stop total proliferation of unlicenced data hitting the propsed G3 mainframe?"
The tubby suit stepped up to the plate, backed by the steely gaze of his crone like accomplice.
"Category A data should only be shared on iBIOS proxy 3 internal servers and is for use only for internal comparisons. Anyone found uploading primary BIOS offloads to the proxy board or associated board will have their licence revoked and their contract will revert back to T2 phase III on the old wave, not to mention a potnetial £10,000 fine. So be warned."
"But what's to stop a competitor signing up and hijacking the basic composite iBIOS settings so that a divert is created to a Tec3 insurgency?"
Outside,
"What are they talking about?"
"I don't know, looks boring......"
"What the fuck are we doing here boys? We're supposed to be looking for JG, more importantly we're supposed to be filiming some cobs, man ups, deals and leps, is JG there or not?"
Back inside,
"I think it's important we hear from the grass roots Tec3 maintenance counsulate here. How about the chap who turned up late, presumably T-bypassing his remaming clients on non WAN enabled proxy linkages? Can you tell me how you think Phase 4 implementation under the Pratt-Findelsohn mandate will make the proposed data consultancy act redundant as many of your peers are suggesting?"
JG panicked. This didn't usually happen. These meetings were about eating the buffet. Going to sleep and looking like you gave a shit. He hadn't even done module one on update proxy wotsits, he was walking into his own grave. The head of the regulatory council, potential employers, influential movers and shakers, he needed a miracle to save him.
The door opened or rather, flamboyently (not in a gay way) burst open.
A combined noise erupted....
<<WHOOP! BLOOOP! WHOOOP! JACKPOTTY CREW TO THE RESCUE!!! CASH OR BUST PLEASE CAROL TWO TEN FUCKING MEGA STREAK BOIIIII!! GET THE FUCK IN THERE. WANK ME OFF. WHAT YOU DOING WITH THESE STIFFS JG? THERE'S A SEVEN OH SHEET, THAT'S SEVENTY SEVEN TEEE OF THE QUEEN'S SHEETAGES ON THE CASHPOT IN THE DOG AND CRUMPET DEAL OR NO DEAL GOOOOLD BOI!!! GET THE MUTHA IN THERE WANK ME OFF CAROL VORDERMAN HAVE THAT BIG SHEETS BIG SHEETS HERE COME THE POT STEPPER BIG GOLD SHEETS BOI HAVE SOME OF THAT JG JOIN THE JACKPOTTY CREW WINNING BABE WILL WIN IT FOR YOU JG WHILST SILENT FLICKERS UP THE COUNT AND KEY KEYS THE KEYS <<<PARRRRAAAAAAPP PARRRAAAAAAP PPPPAAAAAAAAAAAAARP>> G UNIT ON THE AIRHORN BOI!!! CHECK IT OUT!!!! PARP!!!! GET THE FUCK IN AND MAN UP THREE LAMB BHUNAS BOI!!! CURRY NIGHT IN SPOONS LETS HAVE THAT SEVENTY FUCKING SHEETS BOY AND THREEE LAMB BHUNAS AND A CHICKEN DOPIAZA 'AV THAT GET THE MUTHA FUCK IN THERE! GIVE ME THOSE MUTHA FOOOOKING SHEEEEEEEEEEEEETS!!!>>
A SHOCKED SILENCE, sorry I mean a shocked silence reigned.
The old crone and tubby techhead went to press the red button simultaneously.
"Security has been alerted and the police are on their way. Gentlemen, I suggest you leave immediately"
"We're just here to talk to JG."
"There is no one of that name here. There is no JG. Please leave NOW!"
"Keep your hair on., that's JG there."
"That is not JG, that is George Rogers an employee of KDG composites Ltd"
"Nah, you silly witch, it's JACKPOT GEORGE!!! BIG UP JACKPOT GEORGE!!! ON THE PISS WITH JACKPOTTY <<PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARPPPPP>> G UNIT BACK ON AIRHORN...DUMDUMDUMDUMDUM 200BPM CLARKEY ON THE PIONEERS HAPPY HARDCORE WITH ORTOFAN STYLIII BIG IT UP!!!! <<PAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRP!!> JACKPOTTY GEORGE WINNING THE BIG SHEETS!!"
"Right I've had enough of your nonsense. Mr. Rogers, do you know these dreadful louts?"
JG spoke up. He could not reveal the secret double life. The collision of the worlds must not happen. This was a true work night. He had to blank off Jackpotty.
"I've never seen them before. I'm slightly concerned as to how they know my name. Although I think they were lurking in the bushes, planning to sabotage the conference. I'm sure I recognise the tall one with the air horn. He must have overheard my name when I arrived."
"NEIGH NEIGH It's all lies" neighed Key through his horse's head.
At that moment the police arrived.
"Alright gentleman, you'll have to leave the premises, you have no business here...please leave...."
Law and order reigned once again and George, or 'JG' checked his watch. Hopefully in less than an hour he'd be in the Dog and Crumpet, eating a lamb bhuna and joining in the banter as CoB after CoB after CoB went cashpot bust cashpot.......BUST please Carol.
ops: 