...and I can prove it. I was getting on a bus the other day, grasping a tenner in a warm hand. 'Ain't got change of a tenner, mate. You'll have to go in the shop,' the less-than-cheery driver indicated by grunting 'Nah' and poking a simian fist in the direction of the local newsagent. 'I've *been* in the shop,' I said, patiently, but with a hint of dark menace in my voice, 'and they haven't *got* change.' The evolutionary throwback at the wheel waved a podgy appendage at a neighbouring establishment, as if to suggest I spend the rest of my days travelling from shop to shop in the vague hope of splitting this monstrous denomination. I cracked. 'Look,' I said firmly, 'I'm just going to get on.' and with that I marched the length of the bus and plonked a pair of righteous buttocks into a window seat. 'Eeerh! Naaah!' roared the Neanderthal indignantly. I sat my ground. The tension mounted. A pair of grannies, narked, no doubt, by the driver's pig-headedness, disembarked to continue their journey on foot. Juddering, the engine spluttered and died. I stormed up to the aisle. 'It's *legal* fucking *TENDER*,' I thundered, waving the tenner angrily in that fuckwit's mouch. 'Now DRIVE!' Unmoved, he folded his arms and prepared to sit it out. But it was not to be. A charming lady member of the proletariat, resplendent in cheap H Samuel merchandise - her ear was clanging like cutlery in a sack - came to my aid. Was it right, I asked myself, to allow so obviously impoverished a specimen pay my seventy pence toll? Of course it fucking was. This is life and I'm playing hardball. On a belle and sebbie related note, I think I speak for us all when I point out that Isabelle has a whiney, annoying, cloyingly twee voice and an arse the size of a small Eastern European nation. She can shove her family tree. Earl Sheridan d'Orange III -- ____________________________________________ From the offices of HRH Earl Sheridan d'Orange III Buckingham Court London W1A 3ST Private Secretary Mr C. Hawkes KBE Important: This e-mail is intended for the above named person only and should be treated as confidential. If this has come to you in error you should take no action based on it, nor should you copy or show it to anyone; please telephone us immediately. That we have neglected to provide a telephone number is no excuse. Stand up straight and take your hands out of your pockets. God, you people make me sick. ____________________________________________ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+