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31st October 2007
The monks are back on the streets of Burma. After being shot, beaten and imprisoned for
having the temerity to ask for a vote, surviving protestors have again bravely
marched through Pakokku. Last month, the
reaction of the Burmese authorities brought world wide condemnation for their
violent treatment of the pro-democracy marchers. Gordon Brown called the regime “illegitimate
and repressive” and said "the age of impunity and over-riding human rights
is over". Then he made a note in
his diary; “Must remember to avoid mentioning outlawed political opposition,
state control of the media, torture of police suspects and rule via
dictatorship when King Abdullah comes to visit.
Also need more tea-bags”
Abdullah bin Abdul-Aziz, King of Saudi Arabia and his 400
strong entourage, have received the red carpet treatment this week, amid much
consternation from those interested in human rights. Ostensibly here to strengthen diplomatic ties
between Britain and Saudi Arabia,
the state visit has been met with the traditional British response to human
rights abusers, widespread apathy.
Crowds decided not to line the streets in either opposition or welcome,
preferring to buy a chicken sandwich and read The Sun instead. It was left
to the Liberal Democrats to take the moral high ground and boycott the visit,
sending shockwaves through the diplomatic world. As the King stepped out of the horse drawn
gold carriage at Buckingham Place he was heard to exclaim, ‘But where is acting Liberal Democrat leader Vince
Cable!? He is the man I most want to
speak with in your country.’ Maybe
not. But Vince’s principled stance is to
be admired, despite its zero political risk potential. In contrast, Foreign Office Minister Kim
Howells suggested Britain and Saudi Arabia “unite around their shared values".
And indeed we do share common values - they tie up suspected criminals,
torture them and chop limbs off. We make
people watch X Factor.
While the Burmese junta, Mugabe’s Zimbabwe and Ahmadinejad’s Iran are universally condemned for their abuse of
fundamental human rights, King Abdullah is welcomed with open arms…
contracts. Worth around £20 billion,
apparently. Which might possibly have
had some bearing on the lavish reception he has been granted. If only Burma had more oil we could be
rolling out an orange carpet made of surplus monk’s robes for General Than
Shwe. Number
10 has insisted the government would continue to raise the issue with the Saudi
delegation during the week, but said it would not "dominate" talks. Because amputations, floggings and torture
have a way of dominating a conversation.
Surely Prince “Basil Fawlty” Phillip could be relied upon to put his
foot in it? Leaning across the
banqueting table to ask King Abdullah “Could you pass the oppressive treatment
of women please? I mean salt! Could you pass the salt!”, before whispering
to the Queen “Don’t mention the human rights abuses. I think I mentioned them once, but I got away
with it”
And if King Abdullah is afforded a state visit, who
next? If only Saddam Hussein hadn’t been
hanged. And Hannibal Lecter wasn’t
fictional. The great and good could happily
feast on a banquet of Prince Andrew’s liver and a nice chianti. Or perhaps Patrick Bateman could be invited
to solidify the special relationship, entertained the queen with his opinions
on classic AOR pop/rock:
‘Do you like the Lighthouse
Family, your majesty? I do. I’m a big fan. Their 1996 debut Ocean Drive is, for me, the quintessential pop album of the
90s. Tunde Baiyewu’s understated vocals
belie the anthemic quality of the music.
Something of an antidote to the cynicism and irony of the Britpop
movement, The Lighthouse Family were, in fact, one of the biggest sellers of
the decade and as a live act, simply stunning.
You want a listen?’
Then he could embed an axe in the back of her head. Political diplomacy is a messy business and Britain does
need her allies, but whilst King Abdullah presumably does not want to hack
people to death whilst listening to Huey Lewis and the News, the same may not
be said for those he employs in the torture chambers. Sales of Fore!
are apparently very high in Riyadh.
Also in the news, Heather Mills McCartney has accused the
media of "pushing her to the edge" in an interview on… erm the media. Speaking on respected news channel GMTV she said, "They've called me a whore, a gold
digger, a fantasist, a liar”. Sounds
like a prime candidate for a state visit to Buckingham Palace to me.
This week also saw SAGA release a social networking site for
over 50s. This is surely only the beginning as well. MySpace could produce the
sister-site ‘OhMyKnees’ and there’ll no doubt be a
‘Hmm-I-Think-I-Know-The-FaceBook’ These are, of course, much like existing
sites - only with doilies and pictures of the grandchildren in ill-fitting
frames. Yes, it seems even the elder members of society can no longer resist
the urge to live life virtually as opposed to really. After all, writing all
the mundane shite that you do down and posting it online somehow makes it seem
less mundane. Plus you can pretend to be interesting. Or lie, as it’s more
commonly known.
But with these massive strides in human achievements come
parasites waiting to feed on societies oldest and crumbliest. We are of course
referring to the grooming of elderly people by OAPaphiles. It all starts off
very innocent, with chat along the lines of ‘Enjoyed a coffee morning at the
local Methodist Church’ and ‘Waited 20 minutes for the
bus this morning’, but it soon gets more personal. Typically, the oapaphile
(who is not the 75 year old he claims to be, but actually a 20-something with a
full set of teeth and no arthritis) will move on to talk about inheritance,
before suggesting they meet up somewhere (usually a charity shop or jumble sale
where granny will feel safe) to swap documents. And that’s when it all spirals
out of control. A shotgun wedding, amended wills and a nudge down the stairs
means its payday for the scrupulous oapaphile who so cunningly took advantage
of Granny Miggins, under the seemingly innocent username of Dentafix Dan.
BoFdate Special!
Lost in translation: Men and women - Part 2.
This week the guide which aims to highlight the intricacies
of co-habitual utterances hits the road. Driving is one of those experiences
that can summon up an angry beast from deep inside any mild-mannered soul.
There are few other circumstances where adults feel comfortable giving perfect
strangers the middle finger and hollering ‘wankaaaaaaaaaaaaa!’ out of the
sunroof. But putting aside the incompetence of fellow road users, it’s in your
own vehicle where things can get most heated. Some people make bad passengers.
Some people make bad navigators. Some people are just bad people. Even the
strongest and most loving relationships can be tested on the highways and
byways. She may be the mother of you children and the light of your life till
death do you part, but telling you it was the 3rd exit from that
roundabout when it was in fact the 4th is just unforgivable…
This week: On the road
The woman as a passenger:
“Could you slow down a bit as I’m feeling sick?”
Oh my God we’re going
to die.
“How are we for petrol?”
I want chocolate.
“You’re taking a short cut?”
Presumably my past
navigational efforts have persuaded you to just drive blindly down unknown
roads in faint hope that we stumble upon the right place
“Phew! That was a bit close!”
I see that asserting
your right of way regardless of the consequences seems to be the most important
thing, even if it turns us into people pâté…
“I didn’t see the sign, sorry”
In order to navigate
successfully it may be beneficial if you’d drop your speed back below the sound
barrier.
“I know dear, he is a bastard”
He drives like you do.
“I’m telling you, this road isn’t on the map”
Just keep telling him
that, don’t admit we’re lost, la la la…
The man as a passenger
“…” [Says nothing but stamps repeatedly on the floor with
his right foot whilst sweating profusely] BREAK! BREAK! FOR THE
LOVE OF GOD BREAK WOMAN!
“I know dear, it was your right of way. He’s just an idiot.”
Once again, we almost
pay for your dithering with out lives…
“Its slow going on the roads this morning, isn’t it?”
You’re driving so
slowly that we’re being overtaken by stationary objects.
“Use your horn!!”
Use your horn, but if
he gets out of the car you’re on your own.
“I didn’t see the sign, sorry”
I didn’t see the sign
because that female jogger had a mighty fine ass.
“I’m telling you, this road isn’t on the map”
Typical - she’s bought
a shitty map with missing roads.
“It does feel like we’re going the right way”
Navigating is for
girls. We males prefer to use our instincts. Oh look, a hot air balloon…
October 24th 2007
After the excessive portions of sporting crumble dished out last week, it was
down to the politicians to perk us all up. Potty mouth Gordon Brown duly
obliged by bringing the House of Commons down to the level of a drunk barred
from his favourite local, judging by the uproar. Debating the Gould
Report into the impressively disorganized Scottish Elections, ‘Chubby’ Brown
bandied about the politically x-rated term ‘misleading’, pushing Prime
Minister’s Questions into the 18 certificate bracket for the first time in its
history. As with all government enquiries, everyone was ultimately to
blame resulting in there being no one to blame. But this didn’t stop
David Cameron saying the report suggested Labour ministers had ‘put party
interests before voters’, resulting in Brown’s inflammatory use of
‘misleading’. A shocked Cameron fell into swoon on hearing this and had
to be revived by William Hague wafting smelling salts under his nose while
David Davis patted his wrist. The Speaker, Michael ‘The Enforcer’ Martin
called for ‘temperate language’ in the house, because if one accusation of a
politician being ‘misleading’ were allowed several thousand more would swiftly
follow.
Compared with the brawling and riots we enjoy laughing at in the parliaments of
less civilised and more obscure places in the world, like Italy, this slip of
the political tongue may seem mild. But just think what such aberrations
will open the floodgates to. First Cameron is accused of being
misleading. How long till Brown hollers across the floor that Cameron is
‘a twat’. Billy Hague could soon be laying into David Miliband for being
‘a gobby shitehawk’. Unlikely as it may sound, the BoF confidently predicts
that our following reconstruction of the above events may one day become a
reality:
Brown: Sit yo ass down, Rt. Hon.
bitch, you wastin’ my mother f***ing time wit dis sh*t.
Cameron: Who you callin’ bitch, motherf****r? Don't
disrespect my Rt. Hon. ass.
Brown: You talkin’ straight out yo’ Rt. Hon. ass wit dat
sh*t, no n***a is, in fact, responsible for electoral controversy as outlined
in the Gould report. Bitch.
Cameron: Yo, Mr. Speaker, you gonna pound this
motherf****r's unparliamentary ass?
Brown: Awww, you getin yo’ ity bity momma's boy
ass over to yo’ pimp so he come down an try take me out? F**k you.
See dis sh*t? Dis sh*t is call a 100 seat majority, bitch.
Cameron: F**k you, wit yo 100 seat
majority bulls**t. Ma white English Tory ass should be sat on dat bench,
no yo' hairy Scots nu-labour ass.
Brown: Yo’ Tory ass had this country wit 3 million
unemployed and interest rates at 15% bitch, I chop ma ****** ***** off befo'
that sh*t happen again.
Cameron: You already got no ***** from what yo ******
bitch says to me when I **** her ***** with ma ******* big ***** ****
And a f******g good thing too if you ask me. All this hard hitting,
straight talk from the men at the top can only inspire the rest of us. For
years the armies of professional bullshiters in the pay of the government have
been assaulting our institutions and workplaces, convincing formerly
intelligent people that the only way to be successful was to talk like a
wanker. For example, as hard as it is to believe, the following statement
was written by a human being:
"The framework develops the management competency action plan which the
workforce requires to define consistent targets, accountabilities and
continually improving performance strategies that customers demand of services
and delivery."
Or
‘meet target or get sacked’ to put it a little more succinctly. And
honestly. If you managed to get to the end of that sentence and
understood it, well done. The rest of us will now kill you. Drivel
such as this is the root of all evil because it is deception. Once a
person has taken the decision to actively deceive another the next stage can
only be cold blooded murder. So congratulations to Brown for sayin’ it
like it is. Even if he was sayin’ like it isn’t. It’s a start.
Chubby Brown
Also
this week, all the leaves are brown, or black or a little charred, as California goes up in
flames. And celebrities are at risk! 500,000 people have been
displaced by the fires, some of the worst to hit the west coast, but of course,
all anyone is really interested in is if Sting’s house burns down. The
coastal region around Los Angeles is home to, on a sliding scale of importance, Mel Gibson, Richard Gere, Pierce
Brosnan, Barbra Streisand, Dick Van Dyke and Ted Danson. Firefighters
have been instructed to rescue the most influential film stars first and leave
Steve Guttenburg to burn. One San Diego firefighter, Mitch Mendler, got
over excited, saying "It was like Armageddon” presumably because he saw
Bruce Willis and Ben Afflek in danger, except they were running around
screaming ‘save my carpet, I paid £30,000 for it’ rather than being stoically
heroic. President Bush has pledged billions of dollars in aid to the
affected areas, including Olivia Newton-John’s front room, leaving residents of
New Orleans wishing they had a former terminator for a governor and a coast full of white
actors to re-house.
And who’d of thought that an old bachelor with impressive facial hair who hangs
around with young boys a lot would possibly be gay? The literary world
was sent into a swoon worse than David Cameron’s as J.K. Rowling revealed that
Professor Dumbledore preferred to wave his magic wand at wizards rather than
witches. In a similar vein to the smash hit ‘Shaving Ryan’s Privates’
productions are already up and running on Harry Potter and the Public Toilets
of Azkaban, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Handlebar Moustache, and Harry
Potter and the Ring of Fire.
BoFdate Special!
Lost in translation: Men and women - Part 1.
Married life has a lot going for it: love, contentment,
security and happiness for starters. But any relationship between a man and a
woman is like, as Shrek would say, an onion: it has layers. Over time these
layers can be peeled away to reveal, erm, a smaller onion. But putting onions
aside for a moment, it can be hard for any novice to grasp the real concept of
what a relationship is about. Somewhere between the polar extremes of ‘just being
devastatingly honest’ and ‘saying nothing, bending over and taking it’ lies the
utopia of ‘illicit persuasion’. Most, if not all, statements that partners make
that require subsequent action have hidden meaning. In order to better
understand this complex arrangement, the BoF will be providing you with a
selection of statements and their translations over the course of the next few
weeks.
This week: 7 Questions
Woman to man:
“At some point, not necessarily now, could you do this for
me?”
Do this now.
“What’s that you’re watching?”
Despite not knowing
what this is I disapprove strongly based on the 3 and a half seconds I’ve seen.
Change the channel now.
“I’ve had enough. Would you like the rest of mine?”
See, this is
restraint. Go on, eat it piggy. Oink! Oink! Oink!
“What are you doing?”
You’re doing that
wrong.
“How is that going to work?”
Even with minimal
understanding of what you’ve been doing for the last several hours I can still
conclude that you’ve done that wrong.
“Can you show me how this works?”
I have no desire to
find out how this works. I would really like you to do it.
“How much was that?”
You’ve blown our money
on crap. Again.
Man to woman
“Do we need anything from the corner shop?”
I need beer. If you
need something it justifies my need for beer.
“This TV programme is awful isn’t it?”
Oh my God this rocks,
but given that it’s full of sex/violence/swearing I’d better pretend I hate it
and watch it when she’s out.
“I’ve had enough. Would you like the rest of mine?”
That was horrible.
“Can I give you a hand with that?”
You have shamed me
into an offer of help with your extraordinary inability to mange the task at
hand.
“Are you watching this?”
This sucks.
“Are you OK with that?”
I can’t be arsed to
help, so please just say yes.
“How are you feeling?”
Can we have sex?
15th
October
Smile though your
heart is aching, goes the song from that optimistic little tramp
Charlie Chaplin. But don’t if it’s your
teeth that are aching, because they’ll be rotten and falling out due to lack of
affordable dental treatment. That’s
according to a survey from the Commission for Patient and Public Involvement in
Heath. The snappily named quango found
that people have been resorting to slasher film tactics to remedy those painful
teeth in the absence of someone who doesn’t charge £150 for having a poke at
your molars. One person got out the
pliers and pulled 14 teeth because he was too mean to pay a dentist. Another stapled her gums back together after
walking into a tree. Someone else tied
their mouth to the back of a Boeing 747 travelling from Heathrow to New York and died after
being sucked into the engine shortly after takeoff.
Why this lack of affordable dental care when the British
economy is thriving and one of the biggest in the world?* Many complex issues surround the provision of
adequate treatment, but hell, why not just blame global warming? Ask Al Gore. He’ll tell you that along with
decline in the polar bear population and the near extinction of the rhino, man
made climate change has almost wiped out the NHS dentist. But then he’ll also say climate change is
responsible for his computer crashing and the assassination of JFK.
So perhaps it’s better to ask why privatization of the NHS
is heresy, but its fine if it’s just your teeth that you’re paying for. Oh, and eyes too. And possibly feet if you fancy a trip to the
chiropodist. How did these bodily parts,
and not the left kidney say, end up exempt from the ‘cradle to grave’ ethos
promised by the Atlee government in 1948.
Possibly the definition ‘cradle to grave’ was taken a bit too literally
by the early architects of the NHS, as, admittedly, babies don’t have
teeth. But most do have eyes and
feet. Maybe Clement Atlee just had a
very weird looking baby.
Perhaps this gummy horror show is a turning point, and in a
positive direction too. Maybe the
professionals have had it too much their own way for too long. George Bernard Shaw labelled professionalism
“a conspiracy against the laity”, shortly before successfully carrying out
heart bypass surgery on himself. Those 7
years at dental college are surely a scam to keep wages high, pension funds
full and the population frightened.
After a brief foundation year in remedial dentistry, trainees spend the
next six being taught how to be scary and make the machines sound as terrifying
as possible. So let’s hear it for the
brave DIY dentists and hope for new products to come onto the market soon that
help them along. Alongside tins of “No
More Nails” in B&Q soon could be a can of “No More Teeth”. And don’t be fooled by the hysteria
surrounding England’s
progression to the Rugby World Cup final against South Africa. All those people are just waiting to scoop up
the various incisors and canines left on the pitch after the final whistle and
glue them into their own toothless gums.
Also in the news this week it’s relocation, relocation,
relocation for our MPs. Refurbishment
plans for the crumbling House of Commons may result in a three year move away
from the Palace of Westminster to another venue in London.
Nicholas Winterton summed up the open minded attitude to change amongst
his fellow MPs: "It’s an April Fools joke.
Obviously the people who are suggesting this have no idea how Parliament
works.” Steady on there Nicholas, no
one’s suggesting, heaven forefend, that you leave London or move oop North, although having the great and the good of British politics
discussing Government policy from out of a porter cabin situated in a
Middlesbrough car park (officially the worst place to live in Britain. Famous for something at last!) would be most
gratifying.
Nevertheless, Nick goes on.
“How will MPs be able to get to votes on time? MPs have 8 minutes to get into the chamber
for votes.” What? This is the 21st century, how about a piece
of paper, a pencil and box at the end of the room for starters. Modern democracy depends on how fast an MP
can walk? Surely there’s too much room
for controversy here. David Cameron
pumping himself up on steroids to slice those all important tenths of a second
off his PB. Or maybe diversionary
tactics could be employed; a trail of brown envelopes leading to an open window
overlooking the Thames or a well placed female
parliamentary researcher looking vulnerable.
Who knows, maybe even vehicles are permitted - Cameron in the Turbo
Terrific speeding down the halls, Theresa May taking the Compact Pussy Cat and
Gordon Brown hopping out of the Mean Machine and tying an enormous elastic band
across the lobby door with a boulder in it, ready to fell Billy Hague in the
Army Surplus Special. Rumour has it that
it wasn’t crumbling support in the polls that finally did for poor old Menzies
Campbell, but rather his choice of the Arkansas Chuggabug as the Liberal
Democrats Chamber Racer. Obviously he
should have gone for the Boulder Mobile; four wins, eight 2nd places and three3rd places with a 28 score overall. Thank you Wikipedia…
*Gordon Brown figures.
Not necessarily accurate
12th
October 2007
The posties are on strike and frankly it’s not on. The tat
we bought on ebay is trapped in a sorting office on some God-forsaken
industrial estate. Part 97 of ‘Building the HMS Bounty in 150 fortnightly
issues’ could be delayed for weeks, meaning the rigging remains incomplete. And
there’s the fear that those final 6 stickers we ordered to complete the
Transformers Sticker Album may get lost forever…
Yes, it’s fair to say the postal workers are unchuffed and
things are getting a bit heated in certain places. None more so than in Greendale, where Postman Pat has seemingly drawn a line
in the sand. Mr. T. Glen sent the following report to the BoF:
“We knew that action
was planned, but we just assumed that Pat being Pat, things would carry on as
normal. The first sign that things were awry was when Pat launched a half-brick
at Mrs Goggins as she tried to open up. Then he screamed ‘SCAB!!’ and put his
foot through the window of the Greendale post
office. Later on, the Reverend Timms spotted Pat stoking his ‘brazier’ (which
is actually Miss Hubbard’s patio fire-pit) with second class post. But it was
when Sam Waldron appeared that things turned really ugly. Pat overheard Sam offering
to drop off any post in his mobile shop, so he hit him with a cricket bat. The
doctors say Sam should pull through. Since then Pat’s been on the roof of the
post office demanding a helicopter to Bermuda,
piloted by a naked Myleene Klass. Any attempts to communicate with Pat seem to
result in him telling you to ‘get bent’ before he moons you…”
So there you have it: ‘Postman Pat, angry pratt. A one man
strike with a black and white cat’. Closer to home there have been flurries
of pathetic illegal strikes following on from the official ones: stories of
postal workers who failed to show up for work, but then did show up a bit later
(commonly known as ‘being late’). Anyway,
strikes are soooo 1980s. Nowadays the preferred method of industrial action is
the renowned ‘half-arsed approach’ to work. This is not a 24 or 48 hour protest;
it’s a 24/7 showing of contempt for your employer and the shite you have to
deal with. If you’re being treated badly, bring the organisation to its knees
with gentle neglect not loud protests*. Besides, get yourselves back to work
ASAP postpeople: its nearly Xmas bonus time or ‘well it had a tenner in it when
I posted it’ time as it’s known in the trade…
Al Gore: Nobel peace prize winner and a misleader of
schoolchildren everywhere. Mr Gore's Oscar winning documentary ‘An Inconvenient
Truth’ has ‘nine scientific errors’, apparently and should be viewed with
accompanying advice. The shameful errors highlighted by a High Court judge are
as follows:
1. Before the
invention of the internal combustion engine, the sea did not taste of Vimto.
2. High CO2 emissions can not turn your owl rabid
3. There is no such being as ‘Greeny the Greenhouse Gas Man’
and he will not take away your toys in the night.
4. The African alternative to motorised transport is not to
put wheels on rhinos
5. You can not stop the polar ice caps melting by sending a
bag of ice cubes and a cheque for $5 to Al Gore
6. George Bush is not a ‘biatch’
7. When sea levels rise you will not automatically grow
gills like Kevin Costner in Waterworld
8. 40% of the worlds CO2 emissions do not come from Panda
farts
9. You can not power a conventional aeroplane with Skittles
and Kryptonite
However, after checking more carefully it appears the judge
had been watching ‘Debbie Does Global Warming’ instead of the intended
documentary. He refused to apologise for the mix up.
All braced for a big weekend of sport? English victories in
the Rugby and Football would be great and lets
hope Lewis Hamilton can keep is nerve. If not, lets just hope for the Rugby
victory and that Hamilton runs over Wayne Rooney. Ooooh, harsh. Yet fair…
* The BoF does not condone your lazy attitude to work
5th October 2007
It was
with a heavy heart that we at the BoF decided to announce that this was to be
the final ever BoFDate. Because we won
the lottery! Look:
FINAL
NOTIFICATION
We are notifying you on [you mean about]
our Online Draw held on 25/09/07, where your Email [‘address’, cretins] emerged [‘from’]
one of the Two lucky winners [hang
on, my email emerged from the winners? What, they shat it out?] who won the
first prize of a total sum of 1,000,000.00, [a million what?] from a total payout prize pool of 2,000,000.00 in
our Online Lottery Draw. Your e-mail was attached to [no, it wasn't] Ticket no:89072610547345, Serial
no:2113-05,Luckyno:12-18-22-30-45-05,bonus no:14,REF NO:BRLFGP245/09, [ah, simple as that then] You have been
selected for a cash prize of 1,000,000.00(One Million Pounds Sterling) [of course I have]
The
selection process was carried out through random selection in our computerized
email selection system from a database of over 250,000 email addresses
drawn from which you were selected [hoho,
overuse of the word ‘selection’ methinks]
The
BRITISH NATIONAL LOTTERY is approved by the British Gaming Board. [hmm] To begin the processing of your
prize [WTF?] you are to contact our
fiduaciary [WTF??] claims department
for more information as regards procedures to claim your prize [WTF???]
You are
to contact the Claims Consultant:
Mr.
David Hamstrong [he's as strong as a ham]
Tel:+44
703 192 8540
Email:
2504076@gmail.com [looks legit]
(1)
FULL NAME
(2)
FULL ADDRESS
(3)
NATIONALITY.
(4) AGE
(5)
OCCUPATION
(6
)TELEPHONE NUMBER
(7) SEX
(8)
TOTAL AMOUNT WON [Shouldn't you know that?]
(9)
COUNTRY [erm, isn't this the BRITISH
LOTTERY?]
NOTE:
YOU MUST ENDEAVOUR TO STATE THE FOLLOWING: Ticketno:89072610547345,
Serial no:2113-05, Lucky no:12-18-22-30-45-05, bonus no:14,
REFNO:BRLFGP2551445/09, so that they can attend to you timely. [Because if there’s one thing I can't stand,
its tardy attending]
*Winners
are advised to keep their winning details/information from the public [i.e. the police] to avoid fraudulent
claim (IMPORTANT) pending the prize claim by Winner. [to allow us to rip you off]
*Winner
[‘winners’] under the age of 18 are
automatically disqualified.
*Staff
of the British Lottery [of which there
are zero] are not to partake in this Lottery.
Congratulation!!
[CONGRATULATIONSSSSSSSS with a fucking S
on the end]
Sincerely,
Mrs. Celine Morgan. [ahahahaha, Celine]
Happily,
the BoF legal department annotated this winning notification for our benefit and
warned us to watch out for similar emails asking us to contact John
Porkpower, Elizabeth Beefweight and Nzogbe Venison. Thus were our eyes opened to the cunning
super villains and their fiendishly complicated scam of asking for people to
send personal and financial data over the internet to strangers with a poor
grasp of written English. Others have
not been so lucky. The Serious Organised Crime Agency this week swooped
on fraudsters, seizing fake cheques used to ensnare helpless victims who hand
over around £3.5 billion a year. That’s
right, 3.5 billion’s worth of stupidity in cold hard pounds sterling. The Home Secretary Jacqui Smith said:
"This type of fraud is a despicable crime that is costing UK victims huge
sums of money every year, many of whom are elderly or vulnerable”. “Or feckin
morons” she added under her breath. So
the BoF heard.
And speaking
of stupidity, David Cameron has transformed the fortunes of the Conservatives with
a triumphant speech at the party conference in Blackpool. Rather than stunning the nation with his
amazing plans for the governance of Britain, people were awed by the
fact that he could deliver a speech without an autocue. Content it seems comes an emphysemic second
place to novelty of delivery in the race to grab those precious polling points,
a fact grasped by the Liberal Democrats.
In readiness of their party gathering next week Menzies Campbell is
preparing to deliver his key note address submerged in a tank of water whilst escaping
from a straight jacket. A 15% rise in
the polls is guaranteed.
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