Monday, 17 January 2011

Day 114

Obviously there's no crimes in London, then. Given that when one stringy little hippy kicks up a fuss half the Met are free to thunder along, pummel its back until it falls to the floor, grab its dreads and grind its face into the ground. One officer would've been sufficient. Okay, maybe four: one for each flailing limb.

Is there really nothing else for the police to do? At night? In LONDON? Because if not, I have a few ideas:

1. Take down that Billy Connolly billboard. It's out of date.
2. Outlaw fried chicken, or at least up the price by 500%.
3. Arrest ______ for _____ in that ___ ______ on a _____.
4. Figure out why this olive oil tastes like petrol.
5. Figure out why there's olive oil in the petrol tank.
6. Maybe go for a walk.
7. Put Camden on this side of the Thames, and Deptford over there please.
8. Arrest the IT guy for giving out wrong IT instructions.
9. Arrest the campus.
10. Arrest Rudolf Elmer.
11. Pass me the cider. Thanks.
12. Bring me Steven Moffat. I have questions for him.
13. Pick that up.
14. Anything else. This is New Cross. The takeaway round the corner has a sign above the kebab menu that says "no drug, get out", and the Newsagents across the road has a ___.

By the way, don't you think the internet claiming that it "failed to validate your identity" is a bit philosophical for a computer?

Actually don't answer that. Quiet time now. You've been jabbering non-stop.

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