8th February 2013
Oh, pesky people! Even the Beeb are reporting about the dodgy nature of Work Capability Assessments. Who on Earth are these MPs who dare to suggest it’s not working? Can’t you declare them UNfit for work? You really need to make sure that the Sun or the Daily Mail come up with a good article to prove beyond a doubt that the fraud rates among these “disabled” people are astronomically high and get back the public suspicion of all claimants. They’re the only ones who get their facts straight, after all. I mean, this whole thing about someone in a coma being found fit for work. That’s just an urban legend, and besides which, I’m sure that chap would have made an excellent coat rack if propped up enough.
As for all of the disabled scroungers who are whinging about the forthcoming bedroom tax, what on earth is wrong with three people sharing a double room? What’s more, where are the news articles about the poor MPs who are suffering malnutrition, living in poverty and using candles to heat their tiny homes? I bet poor old Freudie has to have candles delivered by the lorry-load because of all the draughts in his hovel. But we don’t hear him or any of the others complaining, because MPs just don’t whinge as much as the feckless council estate layabouts with their king-sized beds and mirrored ceilings. You don’t hear ME whinging about my disability either, even though many of my letters are written to you from my bed, where I lie thinking of you, my darling (apart from when I’m watching Jezza and guzzling cheap cider from the local Co-op).
Oh Dave, Dave, my darling, my sweet beloved pickled onion, these plebs seem sent to try us to the very last. It seems they want the very shirt from your back before they will be happy. Please darling, I implore you, take me on as Chief PM Morale Officer. We’ll get those plebs on our side in no time, and I don’t even want an unreasonable salary. Just £86,250pa and a lot of biscuits (and a house for my Mum to live in, natch). That would be a fair amount, right?