Hubert was struggling. Progress on the Business Improvement Plan requested, rather mandated, by the Directors of News Wales Live Radio was tortuous. Analytics had diagnosed a 25% audience fall -off after the third quarter- hour. Perhaps change the bumper music. Done. Replace the liner front-selling the next guest…. possible. Could be a one hour programme was simply too long. Rearranging the playlist would address the former. The latter was frightening, heralding a possible cut to his hours and a corresponding reduction in salary. With the legally- enforceable encumbrances of 3 ex-partners and 7 children to support, a Bentley Meteor to maintain and fuel, plus his 10 tank collection of non-native reptiles and amphibians to feed, house and heat, Hubert had decisions to make. He compiled a list of friends and professional acquaintances and started.
Hi Jerome. How’s the transport business?
Hubert man. Great to hear from you. All welk. I’ve just devoured a baby in my cab.
WTF! Meaning?
Delivered. I’ve just delivered a baby in my cab. All is well…. not welk. Nothing fishy
You?
I need some pointers for improving my work-life balance? Work is taking over. Not in a good way. Suggestions?
Change your job like I did ? Buy a fuck? I’m eating Barry this evening. He sells vehicles now. I’ll ask. Get a good price.
Jerome had always been the weirdest, and crudest, of his ex-colleagues. Hubert, hit delete, then block.
No, Truck NO! not fuck, I’m meetingBarry. No cannibalism here! Jerome’s response was unseen.
Raj, listed second, was one of those IT whizzes.They had re-connected at a mutual colleagues’ leaving-do. No longer cast as a pre-pubescent Pentagon computer hacker , he was now a nearing-retirement, 65 year old complete with whisky and butter-chicken pot-belly, and a few ginger strands of henna-ed hair struggling from beneath a tartan beret.
Raj. You free? I need IT help with my programme format. URGENT !
The 3-part response was slow.
Be ringing me! Difficult to cope up with the text. I am having the broken finger. It got stuck in my butthole.
Buckle.
Not knowing how to off turn auto-erection. Auto-correction.
All useless! Hubert was on the verge of admitting defeat when the name of his ex-producer Siobhan jumped out, magically illuminated.
He activated his mobile’s voice-to-text icon.
Hube the Herper here. They had a shared interest in herpetology. Her speciality was snakes: his, lizards and salamanders.
I need your vice.
My vice? Long time asking Hube!
Sorry, sorry. ADvice.
Sammy the Snake in mouse overdose again? Try genital manipulation. Worked last time
OMG! Gentle, gentle. This auto-correction makes me ****ing dick
SICK! SICK!
ME not Sammy. Got to improve ratings. I’ll get the push if I don’t. Can we meet? I’m desperate.
They discussed at his, over the salamander tank. One suggestion, the blog on auto-correction errors, exploded. Within a month advertising revenue had reached £6000. Hubert submitted his resignation to News Wales Live Radio. Siobhan, snakes and 6 extra tanks moved in.
