Before Top Gear was good...
I used to work for a large IT company, or subcontract out to it at least, and after a year of spreadsheet toiling gash, the prime contractor threw a big old party for all of us lucky employees (these were the heady days of IT, when people had budgets!)

It was a whole day of corporate-entertainment shenanigans, culminating in a fancy dinner with champagne reception at Madam Tussauds. It was debauched. A whole raft of engineers, sick of being over worked and grossly underpaid took it upon themselves to drink as much as humanly possible. These guys lugged servers and the likes around in their transits, and were very savvy people. Which made the job of the after dinner speaker that very much more interesting.

Enter Quentin Wilson, of Top Gear, now Fifth Gear fame. Full slick hair and smarm at the ready, his anecdotes about why a Jag E-Type has nothing on a...something or other, fell on deaf ears and shouts of "Yeah, but my transits better you wanker!" followed by much laughter.

As the dinner ended, Benjamin Franklin may have been defiled, a then current world leader may have been decapitated. As I stood out on the front carpet with my engineer colleagues awaiting our taxi, Wilson emerged, looking distinctly hurried, focused on his cigarette and getting out of there.

Full of a heady mix of champagne, red wine, over-priced Park Lane hotel beer, I summoned up the most awesome cutting remark I could make against this man, to slay my colleagues and to leave the smarm-master on his way:

"Oi, Quint.......TWAT!!!!"

Best I could do. An engineer licked my face as a gesture of appreciation for my efforts, badly executed as they were. I had alcohol poisoning the next day.

(pop)
(tittybumwhizz funced by lung butter, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 15:08, Reply)