The things that people have to have spelled out for them nowadays. I blame the education system, I really do. The fact that some young people nowadays truly believe that the police is a crime. I’m not sure which section in comes under in the catalogue of misdeeds (that well known comprehensive list of wrongdoings kept under lock and key in some high court of our great nation) but it’s definitely in there somewhere.
Allow me to reassure you. If you’re five, fifteen or fifty, you are entitled to be lent the services of the police. That is, only if someone’s done you wrong or you’ve got lost or you think someone’s giving you a funny look (I may need to have another look at the job description of a policeman) or something along those lines.
It turns out that those not especially in the know, under this strange misapprehension, have been holding off making the all important phone call. Rather than getting the professionals to track down their burglars or solve their murders, they’ve been trying to sort things out for themselves. While this approach to life has led to some very famous success stories (well, if Scooby Doo or The Killing are anything to go by. And I have absolutely no reason to suspect that they aren’t) there are reasons why said tales are so remarkable.
So the next time you’re in something of a tight spot, don’t depend on Superman to swoop in and save you. He’s far too busy inventing new powers for himself and sighing over the continual discovery of fresh batches of Kryptonite. Instead you can whip out your mobile communications device and hail a personal saviour of a very different kind. Young or old or anything else in between, the police are at your disposal thanks to your taxes (or those of your parents if you’re some sort of delinquent who doesn’t contribute to society as of yet. Possibly because you’re still at school).
You’re hardly going to have time to fill in something as mundane and inedible as a tax form if you’re spending every available moment stuffing pies into your face now are you? It’s vaguely possible that I’m oversimplifying a dangerously complicated situation and relying on stereotypes for a cheap laugh. However, you can hardly deny that eating cake is a lot more fun than dedicating time and effort to your personal finances.
Eminent scientists have done a lot of staring at statistics lately in a drive to uncover patterns of behaviour for methods that might drastically improve our lines. They’ve drawn lots of graphs and written on them in marker pen in order to find a whole host of interesting correlations. It turns out that as the number of obese people in our cream tea guzzling nation has increased so has the level of late tax returns being submitted.
The way forward is so starkly clear that I’m terribly surprised you haven’t already spotted it. It was right in front of our faces all along, we didn’t even really need the numbers to back us up even though it is lovely to have a degree of validation and I am absolutely not stalling for time until some idea manages to click into place. I’m quite disappointed to be honest that you would dare to suggest such a horrid thing.
What we need is a Haribo based honour system. You hand in your statement on time, you get to have your pick from the bucket of sugary delights (there will probably be a non hazardous alternative for our diabetic friends). If you’re especially early you’ll get to lick your hand before you put it in so that you can have the satisfaction of passing on your disgusting germs to the next unsuspecting upright citizen. My system might have one or two bugs admittedly.
Oh don’t tell me that wouldn’t be a lot more fun than watching twenty two obscenely overpaid men kick a ball around a field. Of all the bafflingly popular games abounding in the world today football really has to be one of the most cripplingly dull.
At least in cricket you have a few more opportunities for point scoring (even if a single game does insist on lasting for either days or what seems like the rest of your life). And in rugby there’s always the chance that someone might dislocate their head and satisfy our insatiable bloodlust. We are a people of slightly morbid fascination (don’t lie and say that you can resist slowing down as you pass a particularly gruesome accident).
The premise is simple. You take a squad of highly trained (well, trained) rats. Then indulge your mad scientist aspirations by tinkering with their DNA just a little. Once you have your team of massive super-rats with mind bending powers and unparalleled reflexes you’re ready to play. Stick them in your arena of choice be it crate, back garden with industrial grade electric fence (you really don’t want those nippers escaping now do you?) or ingeniously tricksy maze.
At this juncture you might begin to wonder as to what the rules of your game ought to be. What should the point scoring system be? What is the overarching goal of the endeavour? Well my dears, this is very much up to you and what you look for in your competitive sports. Do you wish for your rats to operate as a team? Is it a winner takes all (and by all I should hope you’re providing an especially choice lump of cheese) scenario? Are you seriously expecting the rats to overcome their newfound crazed natures and refrain from tearing their freshly deformed brothers to shreds?
Come on, was anyone really surprised to find out that bribes were afoot? I’m not sure that Qatar, with its sweltering temperatures in the shade and staggering death toll related to the necessary construction work for hosting such an event, was the natural choice. Obviously, there was a more than usual amount of corruption (even by the especially advanced standards of the sporting industry) going on at the time.
Waiting until now to say how disappointed we are in their behaviour and that they really mustn’t do it again is simply woefully inconsistent. However, believe it or not there’s actually an even darker side to this tale of misery. You don’t fork out an obscene amount of money (because, for reasons best known to yourself, you simply had to have the world cup on home turf) only to walk away when things don’t pan out as you would have wanted.
The shelling out of a bribe is an implicit contract. You give with one hand, they do precisely what you tell them. Should they fail for some reason or choose to defy you, taking away with the other hand is merely par for the course. An insidious shadow has fallen across the lives of high ranking FIFA officials. They’re not worried about the impending threat of massive fines (they’ve got the funds to pay those off without breaking a sweat after all) or potential incarceration (they’d positively welcome a spell in sweet, safe prison).
They’re out for blood. The intolerable delays in the staging of the Qatari world cup (as it will soon come to be known) must be rectified. Heads will roll (and I do mean literally. They might even end up as the ball if they’re not careful). I very much doubt though that there will be especially massive outpourings of sympathy. You really ought to know what you’re getting yourself into when you make a deal with the devil.
In this merry little world of ours there are those who are able to let it go with a certain amount of grace and others who cling on like mangy dogs with bones. Once the latter have managed to get the bit between their teeth there’s next to nothing that will actually get them to shut up about whatever the pressing issue happens to be.
Sometimes it’s possible to distract them. Possibly with an even more juicy mess of a situation for them to get spectacularly worked up about. I’m not saying that these people aren’t incredibly justified for getting into a lather, it’s merely a rather irritating state of affairs for those in charge and it’s hardly surprising that said people want to make the first lot go away.
Upon occasion the only thing to do is to make it worth their while to absolutely shut up for a bit. Greasing the wheels, flashing the cash and generally making life that iota or two more pleasant for those involved can have a wonderfully calming effect. This is the route that dear old Dave has opted for so that he can get on with his destined role of running the country.
All of those who are rightly concerned about human rights and refuse to keep quiet about it are about be in for a lucky day. It’s flying in the natural order of things of course. Usually protesting about injustice achieves at the best absolutely nothing and at the worse some sort of entanglement with the police over a matter of broken property or general rowdiness. Now it’s going to correlate to cold hard cash.
The malcontents will be getting a juicy tax rebate or slash in the money owed or something along those lines. I’m not sure that the finer details have been completely ironed out yet. Just goes to show, getting outraged about something the government wants to ignore can really pay off. Sometimes.
The words ‘Wolverine Triple Killer’ must surely be a gift to those hoping to do some imminent chatting up. There’s the senseless tragedy aspect of it, not to mention the unfortunate hijacking of popular culture so we must do our best to find the tiny glimmer of hope in the steaming mountain of fresh effluence.
The greasy, the slimy, the helplessly creepy and other similar undesirables can only stand to gain from the sad situation. However unpleasant they are as a romantic prospect, odds are in favour of them not being a whole lot worse than a sadistic killer who can’t even be bothered to invent his own gimmick. And they are more than happy to remind you of this fact.
We really ought to pay attention to the cooper in question. Perhaps they’re an experienced seducer of the fairer sex trying desperately to invent new techniques. Maybe cooper has absolutely nothing to do with their name and is more related to their profession. A barrel maker happened to catch the news and was so horrified by it that he sought comfort in the arms of someone with two X chromosomes.
On another hand, perhaps it was someone famous with the surname Cooper. Bradley might have found the comedown from Hangover related fame a little too much and felt the need to come up with new schemes to get women into bed. Gordon Cooper could have risen from the dead and decided that topical news items were the way to steal the still beating hearts of his fancies.
It’s an outside chance but this whole thing might not be remotely romantic. Yvette Cooper of the Labour party might be invoking the name of a terrifying killer in order to stir up support for her so recently beleaguered party. I know, what politician would ever dream of stooping to such demeaning behaviour?
Well it’s hardly fair for the young people to have to spend their entire working lives paying back money owed by the generations before them, is it? Obviously, loans have to be repaid and everything but a little magmanimousness (magmanimosity? I should probably have gone for a slightly less grandiose word) is a great way to buy some future goodwill.
Of course making things a hell of a lot more pleasant for one generation is sadly bound to have an unfortunate knock on effect for another. So anyone over the age of eighteen who can’t presently afford to purchase a home of their own is completely and utterly screwed. It’s fine though (from a strictly political standpoint), we’ll be far too busy working ourselves into the ground in order to be able to buy shoes and food to have the time to vote, rebel or actually find a spare moment or two to reproduce.
The current teenage population will therefore have every opportunity to make hay while the sun shines or download rad tunes for their stereos or some modern equivalent or other, When the inevitable economic shit storm comes sweeping in as we all know it must there will be a brand new clutch of toddlers. They’ll be primed and ready to shoulder the surplus of blame and take up the slack.
However, what about the conscientious members of the sixteen and seventeen year old collective? What if they survey the unjust and sticky mess of a situation and declare that they wish to help out? Tough. Cameron’s not going to let them fritter away their hard earned savings on anything as inconsequential as international debt. It’s up to them to get down to the all important business of stimulating the economy through buying gadgets and doodles while the rest of us rub their feet and such.