Sheffield Sex City

I am revenging myself on my criminally poor-tasted neighbours by playing Babies very very loudly. I have some real issues with those people. The shit choice of music or, rather, radio stations, the volume of said ick, and the sheer bloody bad taste of anyone who listens to Love Song Dedications at seven a.m. on Valentine’s Day are more than enough to be getting on with. Clearly severe musical cuntiness at work. Generally speaking, I don’t give a toss what people inflict upon themselves. I do mind them inflicting it upon me. [Wait, I have to replay Babies now, I don’t think they’ve gotten the hint.] Now, I understand that there are those of you out there who consider forced listening of Pulp as cruel and unusual torture but I mostly blame that on your inability to understand the sheer bloody sex-godliness of Jarvis Cocker. I mean really, who wants your Babies, kid? [If it’s Jarv reading this then the correct answer is me me me me me me me…] Oh yeah, sidetracked, what wasn’t I talking about? That’s right, everything and nothing really.
If I read distracted then it’s the fault of Sheffield Sex City which is, er, leading me right back here and reminding me of work at the weekend. It must be noted that I generally don’t find work pleasurable and it’s almost never erotic. However, the other day I had this bloke phone in. Not merely a bloke, a man with one of the sexiest voices I’ve ever heard. [I bet he was short. Damn.] Possibly the sexiest. I’ve been feasting on this all week. The conversation was brief and pretty damn typical given my job; my desire to hump the desk was not. My voice dropped so low I think I must have sounded like a tranny. I purred at him as I gave him what he wanted. I got all nervous and shaky. I practically panted down the phone line and I’m pretty sure I did when I got off the phone. I needed a cup of tea and a cigarette after that call. Seriously. The only other person in the room at the time was also the hottest boy on the floor [not much by way of competition but could hold his own in most situations] who very nearly received an extremely inappropriate proposition from me. Actually, if he wasn’t something of a twat and didn’t have a very wrong, memory inspiring name then I mighta…oh yeah…no. He’s already commented on my sexy phone voice too…maybe next time. Maybe I should have dialled his number and panted at him. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been too obvious.
I wonder why I’m having trouble marshalling my thoughts to write a proper post.