Off Message

I have no work ethic. Never have. Other people are naturally industrious and feel the urge to work. Not me. Given half a chance, I’ll happily do absolutely nothing. Indeed, doing nothing is what I do best. So it follows, logically, that in the ideal society – the, dare I say, utopia – we’re all presumably aiming for, where a person’s role in life is determined by his or her unique talents and abilities, I shouldn’t really have to work at all. Really, there should be some kind of government slush fund set up for those of us who have no desire to work, so we can go about the serious business of having a bit of a think, making the occasional witty remark to no one in particular and watching telly. I mean, most of us are happy to donate a portion of our income to the less well off and the disadvantaged. Why not set a little aside for the genuinely bone idle too?

In fact, on reflection, I demand something be done about this!

At least, I would if I could be arsed. 

It’s an old adage, but it sometimes does seem as if famous people die in threes. In recent days we’ve had the deaths of three giants of the entertainment industry: Michel Serrault, Ingmar Bergman, and Mike Reid.

What’s that you say? Mike Reid doesn’t deserve to be bracketed with the likes of Serrault and Bergman? Well, my friend. Did Serrault ever play a loveable old rogue with a heart of gold in Eastenders? Did Bergman ever host a kids’ TV quiz show where the child contestants were required, upon being bellowed at to do so by said host, to run around like ADHD crackheads with ASBOs?

I. Think. Not.

RUNARAAAAAHHHND!

No no, no no,

No no, no no,

No no,

There’s no limit. 

Don’t let it get you down, ‘cos it won’t… stop;

Don’t let it get you down, ‘cos it won’t stop;

Don’t let it get you down, ‘cos it won’t… stop;

Don’t let it get you down, ‘cos it won’t stop;

It won’t…

stop.

no, I’m not sorry,

no, I’m not sorry,

no, I’m not sorry.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

OK?

I’m sorry.

Fuck me with a broomhandle we had a lot of views yesterday, presumably the result of a post that was essentially offensive and sweary, you shower of fucking twats. Clearly this is the fucking way forward, you cockmunching felchmeisters. Off Message’s limited readership of fucktards and wankstains evidently responds to being sworn at and abused, like the shitting tossweasels you obviously are. So fuck right off and shove a fucking great spiky pineapple up your swollen fucking bell-ends, you shit-loving piss-drinking bunch of spunk-guzzling cheesefuck cunts.

Just fuck off? Will you? Will you fuck off? Will you just?

Will

you just

fuck off? 

Further to the Tories’ current woes: a great quote in this week’s New Statesman, from an unnamed ‘rising star of the party’ in search of a seat, on the problem with the Conservative Party: “We are too fat and too rich and we look like we don’t give a shit.” T’was ever thus…

Looks like the great unwashed British public (not to mention large, slightly more scrubbed tranches of the Conservative Party) are finally waking up to the fact that David Cameron is nothing more than an overblown PR man. This is good in one respect: it bodes well for a Labour victory at the next general election. But it also means that, down the line, William Hague could well replace Cameron and eventually lead the Tories back to power.

And you can stop sniggering at the back. Despite being largely ineffectual when he was leader of the Conservatives before, Hague is slowly turning into a force to be reckoned with. Mark my words: one day, he may well be Prime Minister.