Conniving office bastards have already stolen the best holiday dates

THREE weeks into 2024 all the best holiday dates have already been booked up by the scheming bastards you work with, it has emerged.  

A quick scan of your team’s holiday rota has revealed that all of July and August, much of May and June and the whole Christmas period have all been taken by unscrupulous bastards who neglected to tell you they were doing it.

Stephen Malley of Colchester said: “Emma’s had f**king Easter? She didn’t mention that when she was sweetly offering to make the tea.

“She’s not even got bloody kids. Nor has Nikki, which hasn’t stopped her taking a week in August because she ‘might go to a festival.’ Are you or aren’t you? Because my entire summer depends on it, no pressure.

“I can’t even have the May bank holidys because Roy will be methodically towing his around medieval hotspots so he can to charge around fields reenacting the English Civil War, like a twat.

“So I’m left with mid-May, February half-term and October for my annual leave. Or spending the next few months assiduously working behind the scenes to get the wankers fired, like I did with Amelia last year.”

Colleague Emma Bradford said: “You snooze you lose, Steve. Though I’ll probably cancel my Easter leave three days beforehand. I’ve only booked it on spec.”

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Man with no desire to go to nightclub deliberately wears trainers on night out

A MAN going on a men’s night out that could conceivably end up in a nightclub has taken the sensible precaution of wearing trainers. 

38-year-old Tom Booker feared that a few catch-up pints with old friends could escalate to an all-nighter that goes all the way to a nightclub, so he has prudently worn a pair of scuffed Air Force Ones.

He said: “Me and the boys rarely get the chance to meet up, so I suspect they’ll seize the chance to go large. Not on my watch.

“I’m no longer in my twenties, so I’m not pretending clubbing’s anything but an exhausting, tinnitus-inducing absurdly expensive ordeal. If I want much younger girls to stare at me in disdain I have daughters.

“We agreed on a few rounds in a quiet snug, and thanks to my trainers that’s exactly what we’ll be f**king doing. No bouncer will countenance these. They’ll be shouting ‘Not tonight, son’ when I’m on the other side of the street.

“Sorry lads, I won’t be able to pay £10 to get into a strobe-lit hell playing a tooth-looseningly banging remix of Someone You Loved to an empty but sticky dancefloor. I’ll just have to get a cab home. Shame.”

Friend Martin Bishop said: “Tom’s working harder, not smarter. He should just use his kids to get out of it like I do. What else was the point of having them?”