Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Apparently There Was An Election

November 5, 2008

So Senator Obama is the new president of the United States!  Congratulations to him and his crazy supporters for staging the biggest rock concert campaign on Earth, ever.  Let’s hope he brings some positive change.  He’s certainly a reason to hope so, anyway.


I thought Senator McCain might cry during his concession speech or at least refer to Obama as “Osama” or something equally bitter and twisted, but it turns out he’s classier than that.  Nice speech too.


I was sort of hoping Obama would come out and do his victory speech shirtless, a hooker on each arm and hoisting a keg over his head while yelling “BOOOOYA!!!!” but you can’t have everything I guess.

Me, I had beer or seven though, HELLO!

Thought while watching victory rally: No one’s assassinated Jesse Jackson  yet, how can that be?

In other news, while watching CNN’s coverage I noticed Wolf Blitzer can’t find a real chick who’ll talk to him so he decided to beam up a hologram one instead.


One minute she was totally standing in line in Safeway and the next…CNN.  Why they did this I do not know because it wasn’t exactly compelling viewing.  I mean she didn’t even have on the Princess Leia gold bikini or anything, which would’ve been awesome and spiced things up a little.

They did it again later with the dude from the Black Eyed Peas who couldn’t string a coherent sentence together (he wasn’t wearing the gold bikini either, probably for the good of mankind, in his case).


Totally off subject but is anyone else having problems with Yahoo’s mail services lately?  I haven’t been able to access my Yahoo mail in four days.  I can access the account but can’t get into my inbox.  What gives Y?


Play The Game

August 27, 2008

Everyone’s all about video games nowadays. Well guess what, I suck at video games. I always have. I used to find a lame one I sort of liked and stick with it for about seventeen years till it bored even me. And it was always the crappiest game like Sonic the Hedgehog, full of catchy hypnotic, highly annoying music and bright colors that would induce acid flashbacks and where I’d get to go around collecting gold rings with gay abandon till some bastard little spiky beetle type thing would smash into me and make me drop them all. Fuck those spiky beetle things, man, I hate those. I am over those little shitheels.

Then I used to play “Doom” sometimes. I couldn’t tell you if I was any good at it because after about ten seconds I would take on the exact shade of an under ripe banana and vomit on my cargo pants. It’s hard to waste bad guys when your innards are busy becoming outards. Games that induce motion sickness are not my friend even if they do promise the chance to blast several shades of cak out of any opponent, which, as you can guess, the Guv’ner is all about. It is just not meant to be.

I tried playing with Microsoft’s flight simulator for a while because I love planes and airports and all that business. I do, however, hate to fly so this seemed like a fair alternative. Soaring to wherever the hell I want in the world without actually leaving my armchair! Awesome squared.

Or not. I wasn’t up for starting off easy by flying a gentle little Cessna over the Hudson River on a tourist sightseeing trip or something simple like that. No. I wanted to commandeer a big, fuck-off sized 747 right over Manhattan and all the way to Europe. How hard can that be, right? Seriously. You get it in the air and point it east, all you need is a compass and some good cheer.

On my first attempt to take off I crashed. Right slap bang into the control tower at JFK. I mean there’s a 5 mile long, quarter mile wide runway right in front of me but I can’t find it, however a little control tower somewhere to the side is no problem for me at all. The second time I hit the grass and started a fire. Oops. When I finally made it into the air I had no idea which way was up and happily floated upside down till I crashed into the ocean. * Then I spent a happy hour trying to detect some famous landmarks of merit so I could smash into them, because crashing mythological planes into cyber versions of buildings seemed like a fun, innocent thing to do at the time before that shit started for real in the land of the T word. This was all before nine eleven I hasten to add, I’m not crass or anything.

I guess the moral here is, should you ever find yourself on a plane with me and both pilots mysteriously die from like…the plague or something…leaving me to fly the aircraft, it’s probably best to make sure you’re pre-armed with something small and sharp so you can slit your throat/wrists at any given moment to save prolonging the agony. There are worse things than ** motherfucking snakes on a motherfucking plane is all I’m saying.

So yeah. I’ll stick to my boring-ass old school computer games like Jewel Quest and Puzzle Express (shut up) and let you guys do the big, grown-up video games.

* I would never condone ACTUALLY crashing planes into buildings, honestly, except in cyber form where it is hella fun.
**This joke was topical in 2006 probably, thanks

Gary Glitter Sets an Example

August 21, 2008

Child molesting glam-rocker Gary Glitter has something to declare at customs.  Oh don’t look at me like that, it’s funny.

Gary Glitter picks up some Chinese takeout en route back to the UK

Gary Glitter gets some takeout en route back to the UK

Random Nonsense Just For You

August 19, 2008

I went swimming at the weekend because it was as hot as the inside of an Olympian’s gym shorts.  I love to swim or just basically flail around attractively in the water while waves bash the hell out of me and force their way up my nostrils to make me splutter in a most ladylike manner, while trying to drag my shorts down around my ankles because no, right now I do not have a swim suit.  I also, despite the factor 70 “fuck you” strength sunscreen, still managed to get some burn on my upper arms and nose.  Basically I could coat my nose in peanut butter, gauze and whatever the hell that stuff is they make astronaut suits out of and I’d still get a burn there.  I’m a pasty white enigma ladies and genitals. Envy me.

Usually on sunny days I resemble a mean alcoholic.  You can spot me in a crowd by my large, red conk.  It’s like a warning beacon.  I could probably get employment by the coast guard to stand on top of cliffs to warn ships off the rocks.  I burn, is what I’m saying.  Religiously.  My hair also lightens up and I almost look like a beach blonde Aussie surfer.  It clashes awesomely with my lobster red nose and shiny forehead.   It’s even MORE attractive than it sounds.

Still it was awesome because I like the water and I like summer and I aim to squeeze every last drop of sunshine out of it before it gets cold and I start to sulk for four months and whine about being cold.  Basically this happens the second the mercury drops below 50 degrees.  I wasn’t born to be cold, oh no.  Still, every year I suck it up and dream about balmy summer nights while wrapped in a giant fleece sweatshirt and a frown.

Then, to start the week right, last night was what I call a “satisfyingly fat night” in that I spent it in bed eating brownies, crackers and cheese and watching “South Park”.  I mean I defy the Queen to have had a more luxurious, ass-fattening evening than THAT.  Go on Queenie, I defy you.

Random Wednesday Stuff

August 13, 2008

* some “lady” content

I’m in the laundry room today, frowning under the weight of the monumental decision of, “Will my bra make it through a non-delicates cycle?” when a woman decided I was her long lost friend.  I met her last time  I did laundry and she might as well have sat me down with a 100 strong questionnaire on who I was, what was I doing there and what did I do, etc.  I mean nice lady, don’t get me wrong, but Jesus H. on a pogo stick.  Cease the yapping, lady!  She was an older, Asian lady and she liked to talk like I enjoy cake.  This is Guv’ner hell.  I like to grunt.  And even then I’m selective.  Especially while folding my underwears.  Yes, I fold them, and?

Talking of underwear, I bought a ton of Hanes  3-packs of boy shorts a short while ago.  All cute and soft and girly boxer-shorty.  And the fuckers keep on busting on me.  Now I know my butt isn’t anorexic but it’s not the size of Texas either and the shorts are kind of loose so why the elastic keeps splitting is anyone’s guess.  Panty ghosts?  Phantoms with scissors in the laundry room?

Cheap workmanship much?

I bought a bunch of Victoria’s Secret underwear around the same time in their sale and those are going strong.  However, to bring up a delicate subject, ladies, is it just me or do some of their panties have unfathomably skinny gussets?  I mean like a little, tiny peninsula of fabric that would break in a breeze?  That’s just not right.  A gusset should be like a giant kite swamping and protecting the principality of your netherlands not a tiny, anorexic sliver of fabric that gives you a stupendous front wedgie every time you move.  Or do I just have an unfeasibly wide hoo ha?  No.  I do not.

I already wish I hadn’t started this topic.

I also had a badass dream last night about being in a giant elevator on the 260th floor and this elevator was suspended by only one wire in the center so it swayed around alarmingly.  Even more fun – the floor was soft like a trampoline!  Yes, really!  I don’t know what goes through my mind sometimes, I swear, but I blame watching “Paranormal State” before going to sleep.  Because I could not possibly be that warped all on my own steam.

The Quick Brown Horse Jumps Over the Frustrated Secretary

August 8, 2008

There are a bunch of mutant freaks out there who can type 140 words a minute. Imagine that – fingers flying like fan blades in all the right places and not an error in sight. Those people -and some of you might be members of this elite team of alien superbeings, in which case, SCREW YOU GUYS – are miraculous wonders of humanity.

Now I have been touch typing for maybe 15 years since I got bored tapping on two fingers and taught myself and I’m fairly speedy and decently accurate (accurate at correcting errors at least!) but I’m not in that super human range of the people mentioned above. I know I can type 90 words a minute on an average. I know this because I have transcribed for a living and my times are slick, y’all. 90 is good but not super-good. I can probably squeeze out 100 if all the words are fairly short and maybe even 110 if they’re all ‘a’, ‘the’ or ‘or’. Ha.

Having said that, my ego just deflates the second I see a typing test. I hate those goddamn things. You know the ones I mean – where you have to type what you see on the screen in front of you EXACTLY – ‘exactly’ meaning every space, capital letter, piece of punctuation must be identical.

“So what?” you say. Well I’ll tell you if you’ll just shut up for a second. I suck at those tests. My brain gets all nervous, turns my fingers into like…giant CARROTS…and I proceed to spend three intense minutes making every error known to man. And you can’t correct stuff! When you type normally, you make a mistake, your brain knows it before you even do it and you correct it swiftly and automatically, but those typing tests? Mais non! You attempt to make the correction you get another error. Mamanfuckers.

Also, some of those tests subscribe to the clearly misguided notion that there’s only one space after a period. Hello? No. I hear that’s a new-fangled way of doing it but I’m a child of the 1980s people, I’m old school and if there aren’t two spaces after a period you need to be flogged with a salty whip. I’m just saying, because some of those software programs serve it up one way and some the other. WTF?

Then I get pissed because the smug, self-righteous computer software thing gloats “WELL DONE GUV, YOU TYPE 62 WORDS A MINUTE, AREN’T YOU FREAKING SPECIAL FOR A RETARDED PERSON?” and you are pretty certain you heard it snort. Then you pick up a sledgehammer (that you keep in your backpack for such emergencies) and beat seven shades of shit out of that computer while growling like a wolverine.

I hate typing software. That’s where I’m going with this. I might add a pie chart to this later as I’m feeling inspired. And a touch bitter.

Fond Memories

August 4, 2008

Something reminded me today of the moment I first realized I hated the Uberlord and his over entitled, giant ego. I may have mentioned this before but if I did, pretend I didn’t and just suck it up, ok? Ok.

It was my first couple of days working at the company and for him in particular. He wanted to get a couple of his team members together for a chat about some rubbish or other, so he said to me, “Order coffee and half a dozen doughnuts for the chat”.

Now call me old-fashioned if you want, but when someone gives you a direct, specific sounding order like that one, your work is pretty much cut out. So I contact our cafeteria who do the catering and ask for half a dozen doughnuts and a large pot of coffee, figuring he and his two buddies will be well taken care of.

Imagine my surprise to find the “Chat” turned out to be a full-blown meeting in the conference room with 13 attendees all dying for coffee and doughnuts (I mean why else attend a boring meeting about progress reports, right?). That works out, for you math buffs out there, as less than half a doughnut per person and a nice little demi-tasse of coffee that wouldn’t satisfy a wood sprite.

When people commented on the lack of snackage, the Uberlord proceeded to make fun of me in front of everyone – “The Guv ordered the snacks, but she’s new and hasn’t quite got the hang of it yet.”

That old pile of rancid flesh.

I calmly said, “You asked me to get half a dozen doughnuts and some coffee, so I got half a dozen doughnuts and some coffee. You didn’t mention the 13 people thing at all!”

“Well you need to anticipate these things better.” he replied.

I spent the next ten minutes in that room, red as a lobster, fuming and “anticipating” all the sharp, metal objects I’d like to wedge up his anus with a sledgehammer and from that moment on I hated the man with a violent passion.

It never really improved. People would tell me on a weekly basis, “Oh you work for the UBERLORD! You are so lucky, he is SO NICE!”

No. No he isn’t nice. He’s nice to YOU, sure because he doesn’t know you and has an image to project. He’s the king of schmoozing because who knows, he might need you for something one day. It’s all about appearances. To me he’s vague, he asks for things he doesn’t really want then complains when he gets what he asked for and conveniently “forgets” ever telling me in the first place in a really passive aggressive, head-bashingly irritating way (“Well if you say I told you that I GUESS I must have but I really don’t remember, maybe you should double check these things with me first…”).

Anyway, it’s afternoon and I’ve had no cake in about three days so I’m feeling the hate today. Suck it up Uberlord you old fucktard.

Some Random Nonsense

July 30, 2008


The song I can’t seem to get out of my head today is, “If I Was A Rich Man” from Fiddler on the Roof. Why? I have no freaking idea unless some ghost was whispering it in my ear as I slept. Make it stop, immediately. If I could send a “cease and desist” order to my brain I would do it. Even the two weeks I was singing “Funky Town” every ten seconds was preferable to this nonsense. Are YOU singing “Funky Town” now? I AM sorry. Ha.

How come mosquitos can find their way into a tent through a tiny space the size of a nickel and buzz around your head all night, infuriatingly, yet, confronted with a huge, one-whole-side-of-the-tent open flap to the great outdoors, they fail to find it and get the hell out?

What’s so great about Beyonce? I don’t get it. Not even a little bit. Sure, she’s nice to look at but will someone write her a goddamn SONG please? The noises she makes is like the sounds a baby makes when someone is trying to pull its entrails out through its belly button. I’m only guessing though. I hate to sound like everyone’s grandmother but didn’t songs used to have tunes? Melodies. Contrarily, “Funky Town” has melody that stays in your head for months but it still sucks ass so maybe I should shut up.

Why some people deserve to be beaten to death with a tire iron

In Other News…

July 24, 2008
Reason 762 to love Fox News

Reason 762 to love Fox News

I’m thinking it possibly already did…

If you’re bored, over at Space Pie I’m looking at stupid pix I found on my work computer.

Today’s Musings

July 22, 2008

You know what would be funny?  If they made GPS systems for cars using much more kick-ass voices than those electronic nasty ones they currently use.  You know, monotone lady and Germanic dude?  Wouldn’t it be great if you were told to turn left in 200 yards by say…Mr. T. “LEFT, FOOL!” or like…hear Fran Drescher telling you there’s a bridge coming up?

Or you could listen to Woody Allen say “Recalculating route!”

Maybe some Southern Britney-type chick could say “Y’all missed yo’ exit!”

It would also be sort of fun to have a gay voice to represent all you ‘mo drivers.  “OH MY GAWD, you TOTALLY mithed that turn, girlfriend, but blue is TOTALLY your color!”

Was that sexist? I’m a bad Guv’ner.

My GPS would have the voice of Jack Nicholson from “The Shining”.  “Take the next fucking left or I’ll beat your brains in!”

I’m giving this way too much thought.  But you know I’m on to something.

Journey Pie

July 18, 2008

I think someone should pay me for this research.  It’s the truest data ever gathered.  I dedicate it to Pistols.  It’s the “True Breakdown of Journey’s fan base” Pie.  Yes, it’s a slow day.  So?


July 17, 2008

you can clicky for bigger version, compadres

Euro Trash

July 16, 2008

A couple of weeks ago the Uberlord was taking a vacation in Southern Italy.  Capri to be exact.  Capri is a beautiful, expensive, rich person’s resort but it isn’t a straightforward place to get to – it involves flying to Naples, getting from the airport to the harbor and transferring to a hydrofoil or ferry then, once arriving on the island, catching a local taxi or shuttle bus to your hotel.

Now armed with this information and a thorough working knowledge of the Uberlord, even the most experienced administrative person would pull hair out and contemplate alcoholism or an expensive drug habit when faced with the daunting prospect of having the man and his equally inept spouse, make this journey unaided. I mean planes AND cars AND boats AND buses?  Mon dieu!  The possibilities for bad things happening during that are pretty darn high.

We’re talking about a man who is used to five star luxury and being pampered and catered to at every stage.  He certainly isn’t armed to deal with economy flights from London to Naples and a public hydrofoil, for God’s sake.   I mean those are transportation means that involve traveling with common people like you or me, ripe with the cooties and foreign germs?  Euro germs?  And you’ve seen the infomercials – everything “EURO” is bigger and better.

I prayed he’d have lost control of his faculties and accept this method and that somewhere in the middle he’d get confused, forget all about the hydrofoil, try to swim and get eaten by a shark.

Surprisingly, he didn’t have a coniption fit, he merely frowned into his coffee and questioned the ‘no first class and do i really have to slum it this much?’ thing.  He then provided the expected Uberlordian reaction by asking me to look into more “exclusive” transportation.

Hence began a day of researching alternate means of delivering the giant ass and his lady to his destination without the aid of grubby common types like us.

I made him a nice short list of options which were basically like this:  A motorboat company who would pick him and Mrs. Uberlord up at the airport, take him in a nice car to the harbor at which point they would put him on a private speed boat with champagne and a personal tour guide and would whisk him off breezily to the Island where another very nice car would cart them to their rather expensive spa and hotel.  Sounds quite lovely doesn’t it?

And it should for $600 per person one way, don’t you think?

The Uberlord liked this option quite a bit.  Private boat?  Butler service for the bags?  Champagne en route?  How very exclusive.  How very him.  He liked it right down till he reached the bit about the $600.

“Guv’ner…” he called snootily.  “I know I make a nice living but not THAT nice!  Please find  something more economical.”

This is a man who is rich as shit and who insists on a $800 a night hotel in London every other week, dinners that cost more than I make in a two week period and first class travel absolutely everywhere or he will sulk and refuse to do it.   Naturally though, when something occurs where he has to pay for it himself he manages to lower his demands somewhat.   Basically if the company isn’t paying he’s not paying.

So I called his hotel who agreed they could transfer him from the airport to the harbor, provide him with a Hydrofoil ticket then personally put him on the shuttle on the island, while having a minion carry his bags.  For $200.

“Much better!” said the Uberlord, satisfied although somewhat miffed at the hotel’s lack of offer of a private yacht with wet bar and totally oblivious to the fact this was pretty much the same option as the cheapo “slumming it” one I gave him at the start.

The moral of this story is, the Uberlord is a giant, expectant ass and I should’ve put him in an Italian cab (ha!) and made him take a row boat to the island at which point his luxury hotel would’ve mysteriously turned into the Italian equivalent of a Motel 6.

I always think of these things too goddamn late.

Five Paragraphs of Blather

July 15, 2008

I had all sorts of crazy dreams last night about jumping around on top of train carriages and wielding bananas in a suspicious manner.  The first part I put down to an abundance of Die Hard movie viewings last night (Die Hard 2 and Die Hard With A Vengeance to be exact) and I think all that Bruce Willis did something to reconfigure my brain.  What a badass mofo John McClane is.  It almost made me want to cover my tank top in blood and oil and jump around in elevator shafts today.  Luckily I have some self-control and a built in need to shower regularly.

The banana thing I have no idea about except I like bananas and would have liked to chomp on one.  I do not usually choose them as weapons, preferring instead to go with nunchuks or battery operated chainsaws with interchangeable blades.

So hi!  How are you all?  Is everyone ok?  Nice and fruity?  Hanging in there?  My life’s been 25 kinds of crazy lately but I think I’m doing ok now thanks to a brand new attitude and a cocaine habit.  Haha, sorry I’m kidding.  My attitude’s as nonchalant as it ever was.

I have decided I like trees.  There is a severe drought of trees in NYC unless you’re in Central Park or similar areas.  Since I am not in NYC at present there are trees everywhere and I like them.  I think it may tie in to the banana thing because maybe I am a monkey.  In any case I am mesmerized by the trees.  Although I did just see “The Happening” the other day and my love affair with trees did dissipate for a moment.

I think that concludes today’s entry about nothing.  I’m back, but I never claimed to be interesting.

The Guv’ner Is Alive And Breathing

July 9, 2008

Not yet publishing entries but alive and breathing.  And quite alright, thanks to those of you leaving me concerned emails and comments and stuff.

I’m just recharging my sarcastic battery then me and my pie charts will be back in action.

Just so you know, people.  Be afraid.  Hope your wicks are all sufficiently dipped.  Whatever that means.

– Guv


June 10, 2008

I’m still alive. Kind of. Just not inspired! Inspire me, damnit.

* Also, I’m being bad over at the ‘Stache today. Come on over! There’s free beer. And like…little cocktail sausages on sticks.

Memorial Day

May 26, 2008

Hey there American peoples! It’s Memorial Day (not to be confused with “Mammorial Day” which occurs only in porn). It is a day to not be at work – gets full points right there, really – and remember stuff. I’m not sure what stuff but I think it’s to do with wars and servicemen and veterans and people no longer with us and I probably should not make light of it at all, however, since this is me and I don’t see a blue moon, I probably will anyway.

Here are some random things I remember:

The time the Evil Queen and myself superglued Mr. Panty Waist’s stapler to his desk so he had to staple all day at a really weird angle.

One afternoon spent drinking red, white and blue margaritas on July 4th and having a blue tongue the rest of the day

Hiding from Daleks when I was little.

Driving in a convertible over the Golden Gate Bridge on a sunny day

Living here in lower Manhattan on September 11th 2001

Getting drunk before my band played a show, tripping over a cord and falling off the stage onto my ass (And no, I don’t have a donkey)

The first time I got on my moped I accidentally twisted the grip and shot across the road into a fence at the speed of light. Well, OK, 30MPH. It FELT fast. The only thing injured was my dignity. And the framed photo of Bill O’Reilly I carry with me at all times. Well one of those things, anyway.

Would you like a pie for Memorial Day? Your wish is my command. Here’s one I just baked especially.

Do Not Fuck With The Guv’ner

May 14, 2008

I am what you might call “severely awake” today, which is a) scary, b) unusual on a weekday for me (or indeed any day if we’re being honest here) and c) is good for me – bad for everyone else, because this means I will get up to no good, attack all your blogs with ridiculous comments and might even attempt some work! Yes, really!

Talking of work, I’ve been trying to pull this meeting together for weeks that involves ten people all situated in different parts of the world. Naturally, all these people are ‘muy importado’ and expect the meeting to revolve around their particular needs, forgetting everyone else involved is equally important and absolutely as needy. This always turns into one ginormous clusterfuck of nuclear proportions filled with passive aggressive office politics that makes me want to take everyone out back, line them up against the wall and shoot them in the head. Quite honestly, I’d get more done if they were all lying in a pool of blood in the courtyard. Well let’s face it, I wouldn’ t have to schedule that meeting for a start.

Ok, I maybe wouldn’t kill them but I’d definitely enjoy tasering (tasing?) their genitals.

I’d spare this one guy though. This guy, no matter when I email everyone for information or to give instructions for something – no matter what it is, this one guy always responds promptly with the exact information required. He’s like a ninja, with his finger on the pulse. No sooner does my email drop onto his inbox than his finger is on the dial to call me or he fires back a response. That guy is awesome. Or in love with me, I don’t know.

Oh wait, I just saw my crazy hair in the mirror and conclude that no, he’s definitely just diligent.

He’s the only one though. I have to threaten to castrate people or boil their babies to get answers normally. Or people contact me giving totally the wrong information that I didn’t ask for.

And of course when people do respond correctly, none of them actually ever AGREE on a date or time or location. So it’s pointless. A bit like this blog entry. Well not pointless exactly, there IS a chart:


May 10, 2008

Happy weekend day of not being at work (I hope!) people! I just popped online to point all you fine people over HERE today, since it’s that time of the month again. No, not THAT time of the month, you filthy beast. I mean I’m being typically obnoxious for the Mustache.

Come join in the fun!

Brain Melt

May 8, 2008

My brain is so fried today that I managed to book a conference call for participants in NY and London for 8:30am London time with the smug knowledge that “With the five hour time difference that’s 1:30pm New York time and everyone will be happy!”

And they were.

Until two hours later when we all remembered that London is actually five hours AHEAD and I’d actually booked the call for 3:30AM in NYC, which caused decidedly LESS hilarity. Ha! Much as it thrills me to think of these hosers having to get out of bed in the middle of the night to talk about brand marketing and other scintillating subjects of that ilk, I think I prefer breathing without a respirator, so I reluctantly changed it to something more reasonable (and boring). Bah.

I also had to edit a presentation which involved me inserting a pie chart. I think you all know my affinity for pie charts by now, although the one I did today was infinitely less fun than the ones I normally produce for this blog. I always think a slice of any pie chart should be reserved for “Who cares?” because they’re always concerned with the most banal facts or figures ever – the sort of thing that if you read it in paragraph form would turn you glassy-eyed and homicidal in moments. My theory is, that’s the only reason anyone uses pie charts at all – to break the monotony of a bunch of typed figures with some pretty colors and gay abandon.

Plus they make you think about warm apple pie and custard which is never a bad thing. Although that might just be me… Mmmmm pie.