Being old, Mym likes to talk about himself more and more. I got wind of his future plans and decided to quiz him about what he'll be up to in 2012 - 2013, and here is what he had to say:
-=-=-=-=-
Me: Hello, Mym.
Mym: Exactly.
Me: Right. It's your birthday, which means that you have lost several million brain cells since this time last year. Important as it is to keep the brain active as one ages (rapidly), I understand that you are going to be taking a more helpful, practical role in the future development of UTA?
Mym: Yup, that's right.
Me: OK, so what will you be doing by way of community improvements? Leaving, presumably.
Mym: No, quite the opposite.
Me: You're staying forever?
Mym: Well, no. In fact I will be involving myself more with IT.
Me: HA!
Mym: Pardon?
Me: Nothing. Sorry, I often shout with laughter into people's faces for no given reason. Do, go on.
Mym: Yes, well, I will be running an IT helpline, sorting out any and all computer problems that people might... are you smiling?
Me: Wind. You were saying?
Mym: That people might have. I mean let's face it, what I don't know not about IT couldn't fill a book that didn't.
Me: I think I followed that. You're saying that if you did write a book it would ideally be filled with what you do or don't know about IT?
Mym: I suppose so. And anyway I have.
Me: You've what? Written a book?
Mym: Yes, my unauthorised autobiography is available now in all good bookshops. And loads more shit ones.
Me: Hang on... your unauthorised autobiography?
Mym: Yup.
Me: How can an autobiography be unauthorised? You wrote it, you idiot.
Mym: I know. But so many people said they wouldn't let me.
Me: Jesus. So it's out now, is it?
Mym: Uh-huh.
Me: Right, and what's it called? 'Bigger Than A Fat Jesus?'
Mym: Fuck off. Actually it's called 'Mym'll Fix IT'.
Me: ...
Mym: Good, innit.
Me: Rejoice, ye wonky table legs. Anyway, stop changing the subject, what about this helpline of yours?
Mym: Ah yes, well, people's computers break, they phone the Mym Hotline. And I sort stuff out.
Me: You do, do you? OK, let's role play just so I understand how this will work. So, I'll phone you up with some problem and we'll see how you handle it, right?
Mym: Sure, hit me.
Me: OK, here we go. Ring ring.
Mym: Hello?
Me: Hello, police? I've just chopped up my grandmother and stuck her in the -
Mym: CLICK. What are you doing?
Me: I'm just -
Mym: What does this have to do with computers?
Me: Well, you might know if you didn't just hang up. Do you want to try that again or what?
Mym: Sigh. Fine, go.
Me: Right. Ring ring.
Mym: Hello?
Me: Hello, Samaritans? My monitor keeps flickering with a sort of -
Mym: Hang on, hang on. Why are you phoning the Samaritans now?
Me: Well, I did just chop up my grandmother.
Mym: What, you're the same bloke from before?
Me: Can't think why else I'd be holding a cleaver.
Mym: But you phoned about your monitor!
Me: What, murderers can't have IT problems? Fascist. Anyway, you picked up.
Mym: Oh, right, so you're an axe murderer...
Me: Cleaver.
Mym: Cleaver murderer, phoning the Samaritans with a computer problem, you dial the wrong number and just happen to get straight through to an IT specialist? That was lucky, wasn't it?!
Me: Not really, Mr. 'Specialist', I've heard your IT advice before. And accusing me of being an axe murderer when I clearly said cleaver has to be libellous. I could report you to the police.
Mym: Oh, god.
Me: Anyway, come on, this computer isn't going to fix itself.
Mym: Well... it sounds like your graphics card might be overheating. Take it out and stick it in the fridge for a bit.
Me: It won't fit in the fridge.
Mym: Why not?
Me: Bits of my grandmother are taking up the room.
Mym: Christ!
Me: Come on, this phone call's costing me 45p a second. Forgot to warn me about that, didn't you?
Mym: Fuck sake. Erm, lemme think. Is it making a noise?
Me: What, the grandmother?
Mym: No, the fridge!
Me: Er -
Mym: No, not the fridge, the card! Argh!
Me: If you'd stop shouting, maybe I could hear. Right... no, it isn't.
Mym: So take the card out of the PC, take the grandmother out of the fridge, put the card in the -
Me: Sorry, you're breaking up. Did you say put the fridge in the grandmother or -
Mym: Put the card in the fridge! And let it cool down!
Me: What do I do with the grandmother?
Mym: I don't know, do I? Have you got a spade?
Me: I've got a spade.
Mym: Right, put your cleaver down, pick up your spade, go into the garden, dig a five and a half foot... wait, what am I doing?! I'm giving fucking gardening advice to an axe murderer! I should be phoning the police!
Me: Well, good luck, I tried them a minute ago and some wanker hung up on me.
Mym: Argh!
Me: And it was a cleaver, get it right. I mean I'm not usually litigious but I really feel -
Mym: CLICK
Me: Did you just hang up on me again?
Mym: This is the stupidest conversation I have ever had.
Me: Look, I gave you two perfectly ordinary, everyday IT scenarios there and you totally failed to address either of them. You'd be out on your arse if this was PC World. Or the Samaritans. Possibly not the police.
Mym: Stupidest. Conversation. Ever.
Me: Right, well, you hardly covered yourself in glory there, but good luck with the helpline.
Mym: Ever.
Me: Pardon?
Mym: I said get out.
Me: Oh, shut up and cut the cake. Here, you can borrow my cleaver.
-=-=-=-=-
Having read this interview back, it occurs to me that several million brain cells sounds a little low. Call it upwards of more.
Happy birthday, Mym
-=-=-=-=-
Me: Hello, Mym.
Mym: Exactly.
Me: Right. It's your birthday, which means that you have lost several million brain cells since this time last year. Important as it is to keep the brain active as one ages (rapidly), I understand that you are going to be taking a more helpful, practical role in the future development of UTA?
Mym: Yup, that's right.
Me: OK, so what will you be doing by way of community improvements? Leaving, presumably.
Mym: No, quite the opposite.
Me: You're staying forever?
Mym: Well, no. In fact I will be involving myself more with IT.
Me: HA!
Mym: Pardon?
Me: Nothing. Sorry, I often shout with laughter into people's faces for no given reason. Do, go on.
Mym: Yes, well, I will be running an IT helpline, sorting out any and all computer problems that people might... are you smiling?
Me: Wind. You were saying?
Mym: That people might have. I mean let's face it, what I don't know not about IT couldn't fill a book that didn't.
Me: I think I followed that. You're saying that if you did write a book it would ideally be filled with what you do or don't know about IT?
Mym: I suppose so. And anyway I have.
Me: You've what? Written a book?
Mym: Yes, my unauthorised autobiography is available now in all good bookshops. And loads more shit ones.
Me: Hang on... your unauthorised autobiography?
Mym: Yup.
Me: How can an autobiography be unauthorised? You wrote it, you idiot.
Mym: I know. But so many people said they wouldn't let me.
Me: Jesus. So it's out now, is it?
Mym: Uh-huh.
Me: Right, and what's it called? 'Bigger Than A Fat Jesus?'
Mym: Fuck off. Actually it's called 'Mym'll Fix IT'.
Me: ...
Mym: Good, innit.
Me: Rejoice, ye wonky table legs. Anyway, stop changing the subject, what about this helpline of yours?
Mym: Ah yes, well, people's computers break, they phone the Mym Hotline. And I sort stuff out.
Me: You do, do you? OK, let's role play just so I understand how this will work. So, I'll phone you up with some problem and we'll see how you handle it, right?
Mym: Sure, hit me.
Me: OK, here we go. Ring ring.
Mym: Hello?
Me: Hello, police? I've just chopped up my grandmother and stuck her in the -
Mym: CLICK. What are you doing?
Me: I'm just -
Mym: What does this have to do with computers?
Me: Well, you might know if you didn't just hang up. Do you want to try that again or what?
Mym: Sigh. Fine, go.
Me: Right. Ring ring.
Mym: Hello?
Me: Hello, Samaritans? My monitor keeps flickering with a sort of -
Mym: Hang on, hang on. Why are you phoning the Samaritans now?
Me: Well, I did just chop up my grandmother.
Mym: What, you're the same bloke from before?
Me: Can't think why else I'd be holding a cleaver.
Mym: But you phoned about your monitor!
Me: What, murderers can't have IT problems? Fascist. Anyway, you picked up.
Mym: Oh, right, so you're an axe murderer...
Me: Cleaver.
Mym: Cleaver murderer, phoning the Samaritans with a computer problem, you dial the wrong number and just happen to get straight through to an IT specialist? That was lucky, wasn't it?!
Me: Not really, Mr. 'Specialist', I've heard your IT advice before. And accusing me of being an axe murderer when I clearly said cleaver has to be libellous. I could report you to the police.
Mym: Oh, god.
Me: Anyway, come on, this computer isn't going to fix itself.
Mym: Well... it sounds like your graphics card might be overheating. Take it out and stick it in the fridge for a bit.
Me: It won't fit in the fridge.
Mym: Why not?
Me: Bits of my grandmother are taking up the room.
Mym: Christ!
Me: Come on, this phone call's costing me 45p a second. Forgot to warn me about that, didn't you?
Mym: Fuck sake. Erm, lemme think. Is it making a noise?
Me: What, the grandmother?
Mym: No, the fridge!
Me: Er -
Mym: No, not the fridge, the card! Argh!
Me: If you'd stop shouting, maybe I could hear. Right... no, it isn't.
Mym: So take the card out of the PC, take the grandmother out of the fridge, put the card in the -
Me: Sorry, you're breaking up. Did you say put the fridge in the grandmother or -
Mym: Put the card in the fridge! And let it cool down!
Me: What do I do with the grandmother?
Mym: I don't know, do I? Have you got a spade?
Me: I've got a spade.
Mym: Right, put your cleaver down, pick up your spade, go into the garden, dig a five and a half foot... wait, what am I doing?! I'm giving fucking gardening advice to an axe murderer! I should be phoning the police!
Me: Well, good luck, I tried them a minute ago and some wanker hung up on me.
Mym: Argh!
Me: And it was a cleaver, get it right. I mean I'm not usually litigious but I really feel -
Mym: CLICK
Me: Did you just hang up on me again?
Mym: This is the stupidest conversation I have ever had.
Me: Look, I gave you two perfectly ordinary, everyday IT scenarios there and you totally failed to address either of them. You'd be out on your arse if this was PC World. Or the Samaritans. Possibly not the police.
Mym: Stupidest. Conversation. Ever.
Me: Right, well, you hardly covered yourself in glory there, but good luck with the helpline.
Mym: Ever.
Me: Pardon?
Mym: I said get out.
Me: Oh, shut up and cut the cake. Here, you can borrow my cleaver.
-=-=-=-=-
Having read this interview back, it occurs to me that several million brain cells sounds a little low. Call it upwards of more.
Happy birthday, Mym
Last edited:
DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
MyMster
