The Independent on Sunday just did a survey which asked people if they'd seen Kate Middleton's tits. They've been asking the same question for years. It's only this week that it became relevent. To be honest I found it a bit creepy when 20 something years ago they were asking it about the unknown 6 year old girl, Kate Middleton. Anyway, the results were as follows...
75% of people haven't seen her tits.
19% of people have seen her tits.
6% of people DON'T KNOW if they have seen her tits.
That must be one potentially forgettable pair of tits. My thinking is that that 6% are wondering as to whether Kate Middleton has a Kate Middle-tit that is essentially a Men in Black style 'neuralyzer'. This 6% have no memory of the royal rack but fear that they may have been brain washed by it's powers. Food for thought. Food for thought.
Moving on to less important matters - I just posted my American girlfriend's voter registration form to the U.S. This is as close as I will ever get to effecting an American election. Her vote will count in the vital swing state of Florida so I have have just changed the course of history. It's worth noting that she is a religious extremist with some pretty scary opinions on the rights of Capricorns so I'm not sure I've effected our futures for the better.
Actually, and I think I deserve a pat on the back for this, I have just carried out three tasks. I have, in this order... paid in a cheque, posted a letter, bought two sausages. This took a total of 1 hour and twenty minutes. Amazingly this was despite not being an elderly woman living in a 'rural community'. The bulk of my time was taken up by queuing.
HSBC made £14 billion in profits last year. Unfortunately this wasn't enough to stretch to more than one teller at their Camberwell Green branch. This was my third attempt to pay in this cheque. The first was thwarted by my forgetting that banks close at 4.30 so as to avoid the danger of allowing anyone with a job (not me) some convenience. My second was thwarted by me looking at a queue and deciding against it. On the third attempt I bravely stood in line for 25 minutes and avoided mingling with the 'plebs'.
The post office visit was uneventful but for another, quicker moving queue. People always say that us Brits are 'obsessed with queueing'. We're not. I have no queueing DVDs. I am not a member of any queueing clubs. It's just by far the most obvious way to organise a group of people who all want to do the same thing at once. In other (dirty) countries mobs gather in packs and push their way to the front. In such a society the small and weak are unable to post their radically right wing girlfriend's voting forms.
My final task was a spontaneous decision to buy two sausages. On the adverts for Morrisons the butcher is a smiling northerner who snaps pork crackling all day saying 'Oooh! Would you listen to that!'. My Morrisons butcher was useless. I asked him what's in a Lincolnshire sausage.
'Pork' he said.
'Yeah, but they're all pork. What else is in it?'.
'Dunno'.
'Ok, two Lincolnshire sausages'.
Then it was my last queue of the day (that is unless there is a 10 deep queue for my toilet tonight - again!) - the queue for the self check-out. The self check-out is the best example I can think of of capitalism failing the consumer. No one *wants* to scan their own items in. It feels like I'm back in 1997 working at the Co-op. I thought I'd moved on from this. But a few years ago all supermarkets realised that they could save a shit load of money by getting their customers to do it themselves.
What this means is, once I've sucked the last bit of good will out of this industry (March 2013) and am forced to get a job, the only one for which I am qualified will be taken by a machine. Miserable and skint I will return to my girlfriend - only to find that the radical right wing government she elected has fitted her with neuralyzing tits.
75% of people haven't seen her tits.
19% of people have seen her tits.
6% of people DON'T KNOW if they have seen her tits.
That must be one potentially forgettable pair of tits. My thinking is that that 6% are wondering as to whether Kate Middleton has a Kate Middle-tit that is essentially a Men in Black style 'neuralyzer'. This 6% have no memory of the royal rack but fear that they may have been brain washed by it's powers. Food for thought. Food for thought.
Moving on to less important matters - I just posted my American girlfriend's voter registration form to the U.S. This is as close as I will ever get to effecting an American election. Her vote will count in the vital swing state of Florida so I have have just changed the course of history. It's worth noting that she is a religious extremist with some pretty scary opinions on the rights of Capricorns so I'm not sure I've effected our futures for the better.
Actually, and I think I deserve a pat on the back for this, I have just carried out three tasks. I have, in this order... paid in a cheque, posted a letter, bought two sausages. This took a total of 1 hour and twenty minutes. Amazingly this was despite not being an elderly woman living in a 'rural community'. The bulk of my time was taken up by queuing.
HSBC made £14 billion in profits last year. Unfortunately this wasn't enough to stretch to more than one teller at their Camberwell Green branch. This was my third attempt to pay in this cheque. The first was thwarted by my forgetting that banks close at 4.30 so as to avoid the danger of allowing anyone with a job (not me) some convenience. My second was thwarted by me looking at a queue and deciding against it. On the third attempt I bravely stood in line for 25 minutes and avoided mingling with the 'plebs'.
The post office visit was uneventful but for another, quicker moving queue. People always say that us Brits are 'obsessed with queueing'. We're not. I have no queueing DVDs. I am not a member of any queueing clubs. It's just by far the most obvious way to organise a group of people who all want to do the same thing at once. In other (dirty) countries mobs gather in packs and push their way to the front. In such a society the small and weak are unable to post their radically right wing girlfriend's voting forms.
My final task was a spontaneous decision to buy two sausages. On the adverts for Morrisons the butcher is a smiling northerner who snaps pork crackling all day saying 'Oooh! Would you listen to that!'. My Morrisons butcher was useless. I asked him what's in a Lincolnshire sausage.
'Pork' he said.
'Yeah, but they're all pork. What else is in it?'.
'Dunno'.
'Ok, two Lincolnshire sausages'.
Then it was my last queue of the day (that is unless there is a 10 deep queue for my toilet tonight - again!) - the queue for the self check-out. The self check-out is the best example I can think of of capitalism failing the consumer. No one *wants* to scan their own items in. It feels like I'm back in 1997 working at the Co-op. I thought I'd moved on from this. But a few years ago all supermarkets realised that they could save a shit load of money by getting their customers to do it themselves.
What this means is, once I've sucked the last bit of good will out of this industry (March 2013) and am forced to get a job, the only one for which I am qualified will be taken by a machine. Miserable and skint I will return to my girlfriend - only to find that the radical right wing government she elected has fitted her with neuralyzing tits.
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