Q: Why are there so many tits on the road?
A: Because pikey girls can't get their prams out the way in time.
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This is the most monumentally boring half term I think I have ever been party to. In fact, Les Dennis is probably the height of adventure and excitement by comparison. At present I am writing an essay on Anthony Braxton, an obscure Afro-American composer who has the misfortune of looking like Jeremy Beadle if the latter was wearing a pink thong and sporting super-long sideburns.
My chronic tedium is perhaps best illustrated by my calling up BT to inquire as to why the broadband wasn't working. When I eventually managed to get through to someone at their call centre after being on hold for upwards of 20 minutes, I was placed on hold immediately while the guy "talked to his manager" - unfortunately for him he hadn't pressed mute and I could hear him having a natter with his co-workers - who then transferred me to another guy, who couldn't help, who in turn passed me on to a completely-wet-behind-the-ears girl. At this point I was so mad at waiting for so long and having the problem still unresolved that I requested to speak to a manager. When I did eventually reach the manager, he advised me to go online and fill out an online question form.
Sometimes I despair for this country.
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