Brenda : The "Approaching Obsession" Years

Brenda was on a bit of a roll, yesterday. I listened to it for half the day, and I was getting to such a state of frantic desk-scratching, that I decided to boot myself up the arse and do something about it. Did I confront her, and ask her to stitch a zip on the mush? Pih! Did I offer to help her with her backlog of work, which would give her the opportunity to thank me, but say in that superior way “only I can do it”, so that no-one else ever gets to see how little she really fucking does? Bof! Did I turn on my Nintendo and play Castlevania under the desk? Not yesterday, no.
What I did do, was turn my dictaphone on for three minutes and see if she said anything particularly shit. Although she was running low on steam by 2pm, there’s still some classic Brenda moments.
It’s 700k and two minutes of mp3, hidden behind this link. I would have done an embed link, but someone complained that it crashed their computer. Sorry.

19 thoughts on “Brenda : The "Approaching Obsession" Years”

  1. I only just realised that you probably only hold the Nintendo under your desk, on your lap. Until now, when you’ve said “played Castlevania” under the table, I always pictured you squatting, or on all fours, right under the desk like a den, probably with a box of Poppets and a carton of Ribena. With the sound not turned down. You don’t do that, do you?

  2. No, I rest it on my knees, and try to play it without holding the console from underneath – so I can rapidly move my hands back to the keyboard should people notice that I’ve stopped typing on MSN messenger. This gives me a dainty four-fingered play style. Unfortunately the shoulder buttons are unavailable in this mode, and when I tried to draw a magic seal on the touch screen I flicked it onto the floor by accident. :ß

  3. You have to put up with that FUCKING squawking every day?
    To paraphrase Gorgeous George Galloway, “Sir, I salute your courage, your strength, your indefatigability…”
    Why doesn’t she fucking listen?

  4. i licked the mp3 – it made me chortle – although I liked it slightly less when I realised you’d dubbed the commentary over the top, rather than simply said it under the desk. To be honest, though, she looks like the sort of lady who you could say “fuck off you cunt” right into her face and she’d just keep blabbing about her pension or summit.

  5. I had earlier composed a reply to one of the Brenda posts in which I was going to point out how you had proved that hate was truly subjective, in so far as I DIDN’T hate Brenda, as amusing as I found your writing about her, and that the overall conclusion was that ‘we all have our Brendas’.
    Having heard that, though. Jesus fucking Christ. What a CUNT.

  6. Repeating herself. Christ. Its like some kind of pigeon moaning about not being able to get some chips out of the bin. Make her a t-shirt with ‘birdbrain’ written on it.

  7. I’m on Brenda’s side here. I mean, the poor woman can’t get in the network. She can’t get in the network. When she gets in, it crashes. She can’t get in the network. She gets in, it crashes, in, crashes, in, crashes, in, crashes, in, crashes, in, crashes, in, crashes, in, crashes, in, crashes, in, crashes. She can’t get in the network.
    You probably just don’t understand how hard that is for her.
    Plus, it’s probably distracting sitting opposite a large ginger man who appears to be masturbating for half the time.

  8. I used to have a brenda. She was called Debbie. She hovered like a dark cloud of incompetence over my head for six months a couple of years back. We were both working on a magazine for teenage girls. A teen mag. She was the acting picture editor. Nothing seemed to work properly in her brain. She was quite astonishing. Hypnotic in her idiocy.
    The readers of our teen mag were a feisty lot. Full of spunk. Some of them liked nu metal.
    Because that’s what people sometimes liked then.
    Once, after some extensive market research, a spattering of focus groups and a heavy flow of meetings, we decided it would be nice if we put in a poster of the nu metal group Linkin Park.
    So we asked Debbie to get us a choice of pictures. But because Debbie and her brain were no longer on speaking terms, and her brain had taken to constantly undermining her best efforts to impress, she somehow ended up getting us a selection of photos of this:
    A thousand acres of greenery, lagoons and flowers, with a zoo and a bloody big statue. Lincoln Park. A park. In Chicago, Illinois. :*(

  9. I have now listened to this, from home, because on MY network you can’t hear sound, at all. Can’t hear sound. At all. There’s nothing anyone can do, apart from listen to things at home, like what I now have.
    OHMYGOD. I don’t know whether I want you to kill her, or to record more. Depends how selfless I am feeling. Maybe you could record killing her. “You’ve stabbed me in the tits. I can’t believe it, you stabbed me. You stabbed me in the tits. In the tits! OW you stabbed me in the cunt. My tits and cunt. Someone call the helpdesk. Hello? Helpdesk? I’ve been stabbed in the tits and cunt. No, there’s nothing anyone can do.”
    I imagine.

  10. No. But she’s a freelance picture editor, so we could have a whip round and for the low, low price of £100 we could book her for the day. Then we could all meet up and enjoy a Festival Of Stupidity. £100 for eight hours of foolishness! Come on!
    She could tell us about her little son, who has been “costipated”, bless him. Have you ever heard of that? “Costipated”? It means he can’t do his number twos. Can you imagine such a thing? Can you?

  11. No I can’t. I’m such a failure…
    How difficult can a picture editor’s job be?
    “Find me a photo of a duck”
    :two days later:
    “Here you go! That’ll be 300 Euros, please.”

  12. Jesus suffering fuck. I’ve got an annoying woman in my office who I’d vaguely imagined to be as annoying as Brenda, until I listened to that clip and realised that my one is nothing. Nothing at all. Brenda. What. A. Cow.
    Mind you, next time the woman at work tucks her used tissue under the straps of her dress, I’m still going to kick her neck off.

  13. Started a job last week and have my own Brenda – Jackie.
    She sat in my chair today and because it wasn’t set up in EXACTLY THE SAME WAY AS HERS she started going off on one and making a noise like someone had stuck a rampant rabbit in every fillable orifice.
    Then she began to complain that the air conditioning was making her cough. ‘That’s why I wear neck scarves you see. Does it make you cough?’ ‘No’, I said, ‘I think it’s my smoking habit that does that’. ‘Oh, WELL’ Jackie was at pains to point out, ‘ I USED TO WORK FOR MARIE CURIE CANCER CARE so you won’t get the sympathy vote from me anymore.’ When I pointed out that I hadn’t asked for and didn’t really want this apparently priceless sympathy vote the conversation ground to an abrupt halt.
    I spent the rest of te day making spastic faces behind her back while she phoned around trying to find someone to do my job for less money.


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