Tuesday, 1 October 2013
Bloody Ozzy Osborne; I ‘ate him, the posh, Tory toff. With his toffy nose and his toffy, totty wife and all his toffy friends and all their…. Toffee. What do they know about the working man, eh? Tell me that? You can’t, can you, you toff? You toffy, toffy toff-toff tosspots, the lot of yer! With your, “Work for your dole money” and your “No more something for nothing” whines. Well we’ll bloody show you. You bloody toffs.
“A serious plan for a grown up country” he said. Making work pay? Hah! Any idiot can do that. I, on the other hand, have been a right entrepreneur; I’ve made not working pay for all of my life so far. He says if you’re not in a job you have to turn up every day at the Job Centre, or else do charity work, or jump through a bloody hoop in some other way. Training, he said, training to get some basic skills. He thinks we’re all illiterate and innumerate.
Well I have a dozen mates who’ll show him who’s innumerate. If we round up another dozen there’s twenty, straight off, ready to march on Number Ten. Wait, that’s Cameron’s house innit? Osborne’s next door isn’t he? Number twelve, it’ll be. So, we’re gonna march on Number Twelve Downing Street and demonstrate outside until we get an answer. What’s that? They’re in Manchester? Fuck off! Bloody toffs never leave that London. We know; we’ve seen ‘em on the telly with their Lamborghinis and their yachts, scoffing posh grub in their posh castles.
It’s criminal what they get away with. I mean all them expenses scandals, ripping off us taxpayers, like that. The nerve! And it’s not like they do fuck-all is it? I’ve seen ‘em, getting pissed and shouting at each other in the House of Commons and all that. Calling coppers plebs (allegedly) and flipping their ‘ouses and everyfink. And don’t get me started on the bloody Bedroom Tax. Where else am I gonna keep me ‘ydroponics? I ‘ave a business to run you know; it’s not like I can survive on the pittance I get off the dole.
You don't get me, I'm part of the Onion!
So anyway, we’re gonna show ‘em, right? My mate Dave is out there right now, nicking a minibus and we’re gonna drive down to that London and we’re gonna give ‘em bloody illiterate all right. We’re gonna march up and down outside that Number Twelve until we get our grievances heard. Now, back to them placards. Anybody know if there’s one or two I’s in ‘wiirk’?