Reprographics - The repro man blog

Cheers guys.

Sytex didn’t do hygene.
That stuff was for lasses.
And puffs.
He used to come to work day after day with the same bits of selotape stuck to his arms.
He would come in with the same docked tab behind his ear.
He’d slept on it.
He smelled gamey.
He looked gamey.

One time, he looked to be in pain.
“Here, Genuflect. What’s wrong with Sytex?”
“It’s his piles, Lucifer. You can always tell when it’s his farmer’s playing up.”
“How?”
“He’s going for his drawer. Watch what he gets out.”
Sytex rummaged around, and pulled out a big, grubby pot of Vaseline.
Then he ambled across the studio like John Wayne, heading for the toilets.
“Pretty grim, huh, Lucifer?”
“Pretty grim, Genuflect.”

Later on, I needed the toilet.
Not really.
I just wanted to get out of the studio for a bit.
I’d forgotten about Sytex.
Not for long.

I’ve never seen anything like it.
There was Vaseline everywhere.
It was all over the door, the toilet, the bog seat, the flush handle.
On the wall was a big, bloody hand print.
Oh God.

“Genuflect! Genuflect! You won’t believe what the bogs look like…”
“I know. Blood everywhere? Vaseline everywhere? I’ve seen it before.”
“How did you know?”
He nodded towards Sytex.
I looked.
He was bent over the light table, working.
He looked like someone had shot him in the arse.
Dark blood seeped through the back of his jeans.
“What the fuck…?”
“His piles have burst, Lucifer. It must really hurt.”
“Why doesn’t he go home? Or go to hospital?”
“I’ve no idea, Lucifer. I’ve really no idea…”
He stayed at work all day.
He left blood wherever he sat.
Arse blood.

Years later, Sytex had a heart attack.
They fitted a pacemaker.
He had to stop working.
They sent him for loads of test, but couldn’t work out what was wrong with him.
After a while, they worked it out.
He had been bleeding from his dirty arse for so long, his blood pressure had dropped dangerously low, giving him heart arrhythmia.
The doctors sorted his arse out.
He was cured.
I didn’t envy the doctors who got that job.

V good. subscribed

Lucifer, private message me the name of your company; I'm working on a project who's using a shit repro house at the moment...

Don't fall for it GL! Shhhhhh!

The good times

exactly.

Propers...where there's muck there's brass...

He hadn’t worked at our place long, but it had been decided.
He was a knob head.
I was forced to agree.

I had my head down.
Doing some work, for a change.
Someone was banging on a window.
There was Major, rapping on the glass between our departments with one hand.
He was making the internationally recognized ‘wanker’ sign with the other.
Nice. Really nice.
I went to the door.
“What?”
“You made a mistake, Lucifer! I was checking a job you’d done, and you made a mistake! You WANKER!”
“Right.”

Major was a prissy little man, mid fifties, ram rod straight, with an obsessively trimmed moustache.
He had a thing for marching bands.
He read the Daily Express.
And believed every word.
You know the type.
That’s right.
A knob head.

He believed we should all have to do National Service.
He was casually racist.
He had a knack for alienating everybody with a throw away remark that was guaranteed to offend.
“Is that your girlfriend? Good grief…”
“Put them all back on the boat and send them back. I don’t care if it sinks.”
“I’m serious. They should all be sterilized. Council estates would soon be a thing of the past…”
“It’s a year since your wife died. Get over it.”
“You made a mistake, Lucifer. You WANKER!”

It was a tiny error.
An error, I grant you.
But not the end of the world.
He liked to find errors, did Major.
Not to save a job from going wrong.
But simply to prove his superiority.
‘I spotted that error, therefore I am superior to you.’
Knob head.

“Ah! Lucifer! I understand your friend is an electrician!”
“Yes, he is.”
“Do you think he might do a job for me?”
“I’ll ask him.”
“He would do it for a special rate, naturally?”
“Yes Major. He’ll give you a very special rate.”

“Hi, J-Dogg.”
“Lucifer! How you doing?”
“Good, thanks. Got some work for you.”
“Yeah? Good rates, I hope.”
“Better than that. Major wants a job doing.”
“What, that knob head?”
“Yes. Put him on the special rate.”
“You want me to screw him?”
“Exactly.”

“Thanks for doing that job, Mr Dog.”
“It’s J-dogg, Major.”
“Yes, yes. Of course it is. I’m very happy with your work. Excellent job. I’ll walk you to your van.”
“No need, really…”
“I insist! I want a quiet word, without the wife hearing.”
“Fair enough…”
“Here we are! What it is, Mr Dog…”
“J-Dogg.”
“Quite, quite. What it is, well, I happened to notice you had some videos on the front seat of your van…”
They both look at the van.
On the front seat is a stack of videos, labeled ‘J-Doggs Porn! Do not nick!!’
J-Dogg shrugs. “What about them, Major?”
“Do you have easy access to… erm… blue films, Mr Dog?”
“Yeah, I suppose. Why?”
“I was wondering if you might be able to purchase a couple for me?”
“Don’t see why not. What do you want?”
“Erm... what do you mean?”
“I mean what type of porn do you want? Girl on girl, oral, orgies…”
“ANAL!” screams Major, grabbing J-Dogg by the lapels.
“Lots, and lots, of ANAL!!!”
“Oh. I’ll see what I can do. Bye, Major.”
“ANAL!!!”

“Hey, Bear. Don’t want to worry you, but Flint and Hugs have been at it again in the garage. It’s ducks this time. Right fucking mess.”
“BOLLOCKS!!!”
Bear was stressed.
The phone had been going all morning, three machines were broken down, nothing was getting printed, and it was his job to get shit running again.
Now this.
Flint and Hugs were poachers, hunters and badger baiters.
I liked them.
Badgers didn’t.

I could never get the badger thing out of my head.
“Why do you do it, Flint? What the fuck have badgers ever done to you?”
“I do it coz it’s a right laugh, Lucifer. Ever gone twatting badgers?”
“No.”
“Right, well don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
Try badger baiting?
I think not.
“As for all this ‘what have badgers ever done to you?’ shit, well them nasty stripy bastards made a right mess of my best dog, Gary.”
“Was Gary doing anything to annoy the badgers?”
“Course he was. He was trying to rip their bastard throats out.”
“Can’t really blame the badgers then…”
“Yes I fucking well can! Stripy bastards…”
I wasn’t going to win.

They’d go hunting really early in the morning.
They’d bring their kill in to work, and gut it in the garages.
Sometimes rabbit, sometimes pheasant, even a deer one time.
Gutting and skinning is messy work.
I’d seen the aftermath one time.
It was grim.
And the smell is just as bad.
Bear had been standing amongst the blood and entrails, purple in the face, swearing continuously.
He didn’t like them doing it.
It didn’t stop them.

This time it was duck.

Ring ring.
“Hello, this is Bear. Yes, yes I’ve heard about the garage! As soon as I get a second I’m going to go over there and gut those two fuckers with my bare hands, AFTER I’ve made them clean up their crime scene!”
“Hi, Bear. Have you seen the garage? There’s ducks all over the place. Never seen anything like it! There must be thirty of ‘em and…”
“I. FUCKING. KNOW!!!! I’m going there now..”
Ring ring.
“Hello? I know, sir. The presses should be in working order in an hour. That’s right, an hour. Goodbye.”
“Fuck…”
Ring ring.
“Hello, this is Bear. No, the part hasn’t arrived yet, Scorcher. When I get it, you’ll get it. Alright? Good. Now fuck off!”
Ring ring.
“Hello, this is Bear. No, I haven’t seen the fucking garage yet!! I know there’s fucking ducks everywhere, I know it’s a right fucking mess, but I haven’t had the bastard time to get down there and kill everybody responsible yet! It’s at the top of my to-fucking-do list!!”
Ring ring.
Bear snapped.
He’s a big bloke, but when he has a mind he can move pretty quick.
He lumbered across the factory, his face purple, shoving machines and staff out of the way with shovel hands.
He was over the edge.
There would be murder.
“Hey, Bear, if you get a minute, check the garage. Ducks...”
“FUCK OFF!!!”
The door to the back yard shivered on its hinges.
Bear stomped across the yard to the garage.
He broke the door, he pulled it open so hard.
There were Flint and Hugs, caught in the act.
They sat on either side of a kids paddling pool filled with water.
They each held a fishing rod with a hook on the end.
In the paddling pool, three dozen yellow plastic ducks bobbed merrily around as Flint and Hugs tried to catch them.
All the colour drained from Bear’s face.
He sagged against the wall.
“It’s for the kids Christmas Party at the weekend,” said Flint.
“It’s Hook a Duck,” said Hugs, helpfully.
“Quack quack,” said Flint.
Bear left without a word.
He ambled back to his office, and closed the door.
Ring ring
“Hello, this is Bear. No more calls today.”
Click.

ducks = cracking.

bloody hell that's brilliant. Nice seeing scorcher having a little cameo

Thanks, Sorethroat!

"Morning Weasel. How was the holiday?"
"Not good, Lucifer. Not good."
"That's a shame. What spoilt it?"
"Well, me and our lass, Olive, went to Torquay because York were playing Portsmouth on the Wednesday. On match day she went to the pool, while I went to the game."
"Was it a good match?"
"I don't know. I didn't get to see it."
"How come, Weasel?"
"It's like this. I was going to get a taxi on the seafront, but I had to be careful. I didn't want to be seen."
"You didn't want to be seen? By who?"
"By anyone, of course!"
"Erm... why?"
"Why? Because I was wearing my York City strip, that's why!"
"I see loads of people in footie shirts, Weasel. No need to be embarassed."
"I wasn't just wearing the shirt. I had a full strip on."
Weasel was painfully thin.
Mid fifties.
Big moustache.
Quite a picture.
"Oh. Long socks?"
"Yeah. Long socks."
"Little shorts?"
"Yeah. Little shorts."
"Football boots?"
"Don't be fucking stupid."
"Sorry."
"And stop fucking laughing. It's not funny. Anyway, I had to run through town, using any cover I could. Trees, bus stops, parked cars, you know the kind of thing. After a bit I got to the taxi rank. I jumps in. 'Take us to Portsmouth mate!' I says. He says 'No. Not worth my while.' I couldn't believe it. I says, 'I'll give you twenty quid,' but he says, 'I can make that in half an hour. It's high season.' I say 'I'll give you thirty.' and he says 'No' so I said 'Fuck you then!' and got out. None of the cabs in the rank would take it. I ran off behind a bush. They were all laughing at me. I felt like a right tit."
"You never."
"I did. I ran back to the hotel, hiding all the way. I were really embarassed. I got back, but then I realised I'd left the key with Olive, and she were by the pool!"
"What did you do, Weasel?"
"There were some bushes by the pool, so I crept into them, and got down, crawling along on my hands and knees. I could see the pool, but our lass, the stupid cow, she's only gone and set up camp on the wrong side of the pool. I started trying to call to her, but she couldn't hear me. Other people could though. They were starting to get suspicious. So anyway, I saw this kid. I thought I'd get him to take a message to our lass, so I called him over, trying to get him to come into the bushes."
"Fucking hell, Weasel..."
"I didn't bloody know, did I? Anyway, his dad saw me. He pulled me out, and there was a right do by the poolside. I thought I were gonna be lynched! Luckily Olive saw what was happening and stepped in."
"That's awful, Weasel."
"Yeah, I can tell you sympathise by that fucking smirk on your face. Go on. Fuck off."
"Bye then."

The tone of these is consistently brilliant! bleak in the extreme. great characters, I can't wait for the novella!

have massively enjoyed reading this thread and checking back for updates, thanks for a lot of laughs general lucifer..

I'm not sure if you have read this, but this is quite an interesting article about how a blog can take off:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2009/oct/15/christian-lander-stuff-white-people-like

the stuff white people like blog is pretty LOLz too..

Also, I don't know anything about blogs, but it'd probably be worth spending a couple of hours reading about how people make money from blogs - google adwords etc

good luck with it all

Thanks, a1astair. I had a look at the article, and it's pretty helpful. I need to get some tips on how to get my blog noticed - this forum has been really helpful so far!

http://generallucifer.wordpress.com/

Lucifer, look up Stumbleupon and linkwithin. Hope this helps.

Will do, mc_nebula. Cheers!

Stumbleupon is a good thing to use - you can pay, i think, or you just get people to click ' i like it' when stumble directs them to it.

Thing is, though, Lucifer - it will take time - very few things are an overnight success. don't be discouraged if no-one's beating down your door yet. Relax about it slightly, and the numbers will steadily grow, and one day, without realising how it happens , you'll realise you have 10 thousand visitors a day or something.

I think you need to work on getting a more stylised visual feel to it as well, with the illustrations that were talked about. that's something that could really set it apart, i think.

I think you should speak to Tynan about some illustrations, he is a whizz in Photoshop, and you guys seem to have a really similar sense of humour.
Great storied by the way, keep up the good work, your little tales have cheered me up on these boring winter autumn days!

Thanks, Crazy James!
You reckon Tynan will do it?
I'll PM him and see if he will.
Feel a bit cheeky, that's all.
Owt comes of it, I'll split the winnings with him!

Owt comes of it, I'll split the winnings with him!

Hmm, has ever a post been regretted more?

:)

He'll have that contract nailed down by lunchtime

Give it to me straight:
Am I doomed?

I dont think you're doomed... but most artists are worth more money when they are dead.

Funny shit BTW.