[Hero, G2 Touch General] croques:
Dishy-Dev-of-the-Day: Failure report

Well fellow member of sycophats-R-us. I have to report abject failure. It's not often in my life that something gets the better of me. But it happened last night.

I was all pimped-up to the nines, badly wanting to make a good impression. I even had my heels on, I haven't worn those in ages... and the body-shaper... like Trish & Suzanna wear. It had pulled me in nicely so I really thought I might too, at last.

Anyhow to continue my report, I finally managed to get some sort of GPS fix from the 4/11 satellites being received on my phone and eventually found my way to where our Dishy-Dev-of-the-Day lived.

I successfully parked the car... it took a while though. I only put a small dent in the door of that Audi A8; I don't 'spose they'll notice. But I did need to find another space somewhere else just to be safe. And it was that that took the time.

Neasden is such a dump isn't it? I found the house and decended the very worn steps to the basement flat. Paint was peeling off everywhere. And it stunk to High Heaven of cat pee. You know what? Irony of all irony; do you know what the house and flat number were? Flat 26, 32 Carper's Crescent. Well! I ask you. How close is that to all the brouhaha over kernel 2.6.32; did he have it or didn't he? Well, specially for you, my SRU reader, I was going to find out. But between you and me I don't for a moment think he really did have that code. But I was going to ask him anyway. I thought he'd tell me afterwards.. you know... in that dreamy time after copulating... or whatever you young boys call it these days.

I knocked on the door and waited. And waited. I waited. And I waited. I would have phoned him but what with all the GPS use, the battery had died.

My ROM Dev say two hours use is quite good for a Froyo ROM. I'm really pleased and love my ROM to bits; it's fantastic! I really, really appreciate all the amazingly hard work the Dev has done on my behalf. I always make a point of telling my Dev how great his ROM is even before I've loaded each twice-daily update... they like the feedback you know. Enough; I'm continuing...

I banged on the door again... rat-a-tat-tat, rat-tat. I was getting quite musically minded with beating out that rhythm; I had visions of drumming behind Mark Knopfler. Dream on Girl! Oh, if I could have my time round again.

But I was able to force my attention back to the matters in hand, and without too much brain down-time. Does your mind drift off sometimes? Mine's more off than on these days .. but I'm wandering again - sorry.

I knew he was in because I could smell burnt cabbage via the Expelair in the window. And I'd already texted him and told him to expect me around 8. It was a few minutes after sunset and the light was starting to go. I kicked the door a bit so the glass panes rattled.

Doing that set off a chain reaction I didn't anticipate...

I only had flimsy fashion shoes on so I'd stubbed my toe with all that door kicking. Naturally I lifted my foot to give it a rub. When I put it back down again the stiletto heel pierced the tail of next door's cat that was ingratiating itself around my legs and was probably responsible for the smell. The cat squealed like a barrage balloon with a million psi leak; I jumped in fright at the unexpected noise and stumbled backwards on those heels I've been telling you about; knocking open the door to the hidy-hole behind me in the process. The cacophony woke the fox hiding in the hidy-hole. He whooshed past me up the steps, sending the milk bottles at the top crashing down.

As I tried to regain my balance, I slipped on an old festering takeaway, (at least I hope that's what it was). I promptly fell-over backwards, well and truly into the hidy-hole; knocking over the bins therein and tearing my stockings as I went. I felt the gusset pop on my body-shaper; with skirt hitched even higher and with legs akimbo. All my assets were on full view. If you know what I mean?

Empty beer cans were rolling out from the hidy-hole everywhere. They mixed in gay abandon with the bottles cascading down the steps. Well, altogether it was all one hell-of-a din. And it woke things up I can tell you.

It was the people in the upstairs ground-floor flat that were first to be roused. They weren't very polite at first telling me to clear off, but they used that F-word I don't like; and they told me to ply my trade on someone else's doorstep. Anyway to cut a long story short I managed to explain what had happened. It took me three goes, but eventually they calmed down and saw the funny side. I'm damned sure I didn't. I still can't. But they agreed to bang on their floor - his ceiling you understand - and eventually I could hear cussing and swearing advancing up the passage to the door in front of me. I'd picked myself up by this time and re-pinned my gusset so at least I was decent.

"Wasshsup?" He called, standing behind the door and slurring his speech badly. I could tell he was three sheets to the wind. I poked open the letter box and peered through into the gloom. He was wearing just his vest and pants. His pecs weren't up to much but his tackle looked ok. Contrary to what all those spam emails say boys - I can tell you - girls don't care about size very much. So I'm sure all you weeners will be ok.

Well, there he was in his vest and pants; I say 'his' but they were so dirty they looked as if that had had a few dozen owners before. I could feel my desire level dropping markedly as that wave of deja-vu disappointment crept over me.

"It's me!" I called through the letter box, trying to keep my spirits up and sound cheerful. "I texted you earlier about an interview for my web-site."

"Web site?" He asked, still slurring like billyo.

"They've banned me... the bastards. Me?! The best ROM developer that'sshsever lived. Me! The bastards.... but I'll show'em.... I will ... I'll show'em. Basshtards"

I quickly decided I needed to steer him back to the purpose of my visit and try and put a stop to his burgeoning melancholia.

"I've come to ask you to share a few things with my ..." Before I could finish my sentence with the word 'reader', he interrupted, roaring like a wounded animal.

"Share?" "Did you say - SHARE?" The volume rose on the last word; even the questioning-lift at the end rattled my fillings.

"Are you bloody well taking the piss Woman?" He boomed.

"No Sir, I'm not Sir." I though it was a smart move to sir him and show much needed respect. (They're all the same these Devs - just so bloody needy. But I'd remembered the 'Sir' technique from 42TurkeyTwizzlersInOneSitting Brown-Nosers How-To). I continued before he could interject...

"Its just that my reader likes to find out about our favourite Devs, Sir, and we're having this special week called 'Thank-a-Dev-Week', Sir, and I thought you might like to share something of yourself with us, Sir - you know through my website." I gushed like a gawky-embarrassed-14-year-old on her first date.

But it was too late. I realized I'd used the 'share' word again. Not all the 'Sirs' in the World could undo that calamity.

Well, as you can imagine, dear reader, the game was well and truly up! Any plans I'd had for scoring that night were now zilch, terminated and kapput. Thank you very much and goodnight, as John Cleese might say!

Our Not-So-Dishy-Dev kneeled at the door, peering back at me through the letter box with glassy unfocused eyes. Peering back I could see the gravy stains down his vest. They had been smeared as he'd tried to wipe them away. I could see his pupils were huge, like saucers.

Sharpening up his gaze and giving me a quick once-over he made his decision. I could see his brain working; he didn't look that bright to me, despite what they say.

"Clear off you miserable scrawny tart and tell 'em all - I SHARE NUFFINK WITH NO-ONE... Bastards..."

And with that he got up and disappeared up his passage. I could hear him repeating the word 'bastards', muttering to himself as he slipped from view.

So todays Dishy-Dev-of-the-Day is He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and he wants you to know he shares nothing with anyone and he thinks we're all bastards. I've interpolated a bit; please excuse the artistic license.

Share Code	: No
View of XDA-Devs	: Bastards
View of XDA-Mods	: Bastards
View of XDA-Users	: Bastards

Now, I want you to know I played no part in his demise on XDA. There were things I could have said at the time but decided, quite rightly in my view now, not to. Just like any good SRU member, I always fully support the Mods. They do a wonderful job. Thank you Mods! (For anyone interested I've just casually dropped a couple of other methods from 42TurkeyTwizzlersInOneSitting's Brown-Nose How-To - i.e unquestioning support and gratuitous thanks.)

And it's too late to carp now isn't it? No one likes resurrecting old flames or re-telling the mis-fortunes of others. Especially me. And so I wish him all the best and hope he finds himself again soon. (Methods 3 - explain away lack of action on your part, with 4 - plausible deniability, and 4 empathetic hope for some improved future state; BNHT)

So, on a lighter note, there you have it folks! And look out for tomorrow's Dishy-Dev-of-the-Day coming soon to sycophants-R-us! Are you a member yet? Remember pm 42turkeys if you want to join!

(I do hope we can get a better Dev response next time - any other committee member want to try? And what news from the American and Canadian Sycophants-R-us Chapters? Wasn't there an SRU group starting in India too?)

(c) Piss-Taking Productions Ltd: Pimlico, Poplar, Purley, Penge & Penzance. Distribution agreement with Cambridge Romano Anglo Press (c) C.R.A.P. 2010