Thursday, November 15, 2007

On being 1337, and then not being 1337

On being 1337

My undying admiration if you can identify the TV channel"Look son!" I said, pointing to the on-screen clock on the electrical television device, "It's l33t o'clock!"

And lo, for it was 13:37, it was indeed l33t o'clock.

"LOL" said the boy.

And: "ROFL"

"And I", with just a small air of smug on my voice, "Am teh l33t-est."

"But..." said Mrs Duck, "But..."

There was a brief pause, as the wheels went round.

"But... don't you spell it L I T E?"

"LOL" said the boy.

And: "ROFL"

I shook my head in pity.

"You'll never be l33t like me."

"And I don't know why I married you."

PWN3D, and the boy LOLed again.

On not being 1337

Yesterday, whilst popping into the shops for a loaf of bread on the way to work, I fell flat on my face.

One minute I was walking along with a french stick under my arm, the next I was performing a cat-like forward roll in the gutter to prevent myself from being killed TO DEATH.

My french stick: mangled.

One woman stared at me with "Look at him - drunk at THIS HOUR" written all over her face, and there was not one offer of help to be had. I crawled back to my car pretending it didn't hurt in the slightest, waiting for the adreneline rush to wear off and the agony to begin.

"Ouchies", I said. Except it came out "CUUUUUUNT!"

What I have learned from this experience:

* This is what getting old feels like

* Public profanity does not generate sympathy from passers-by, no matter what your predicament

* I am not 1337 in the slightest. I am TEH D0RKUSS

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