Have you ever been roped into contributing to some cunt's birthday present when you'd rather not have chipped in? You know the scenario, "do-gooder" Justine from Accounts decides that the Director's forthcoming birthday ought to be marked by the presentation of a gift from his staff. The fact that he is well off, and doesn't need or want a gift is neither here nor there - Justine is on a mission.
The envelope gradually fills after numerous prompts and under duress, people cough up. Justine is somewhat disappointed that she's extracted £61.24 from the twenty-strong workforce, but then devotes three days to considering what to buy and doing no fucking work in the process. She then fucks off to town for three hours to buy something shit with the pooled money. The hard-up workers trudge on while the top-man is actually on the golf course.
On the day, a 'present' is handed over by Justine, who likes to take rather more credit for her efforts than her £2.24 input warrants. The recipient is gracious, unimpressed, annoyed, and embarrassed all at once, but doles out a thank-you while deciding whether he can recycle the gift at Christmas.
The government is not going to ask taxpayers to pay £80million for a new Royal Yacht (thank fuck!!!) but the Prime Minister has suggested that he'll back plans for such a gift to the Queen if the money is raised through private donations. Hmmmmm. Justine is going to need a fucking big envelope, and will have to set aside about five years rather than three days. I, for one, will be contributing fuck all to this pointless exercise being overseen by toadying twats. We are in a cuntin' recession. Harriers are gone, we've no pissing aircraft carrier, soldiers are being made redundant three days before they are due to qualify for pensions and here we have a call for a fucking boat for royalty to piss about in!!
Britain is fucked.
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