Dont Joke About It
by tommaz jay
My brother, who has been in protracted negotiations (Begging for benefits that are rightly his by law), had a conversation with the DWP. He tried without success to get the so called decision maker to look at medical evidence of his disability. Getting nowhere and at considerable expense on their premium rate 0845 number he said and I quote, We are getting nowhere with this conversation, you don’t or won’t see my point of view so we need to end this (The conversation) now goodbye”.
Within ten minutes three of our best in blue turned up on his estate with helicopter, full riot gear and ambulance support looking for him. His crime, he had worried the decision maker who thought that he may have been going to hurt himself (as if that wasn’t government ideological policy any way!).
As the plods pissed themselves laughing on the way out after a cup of tea and a few chocolate Hobnob biscuits, the estate returned to its usual serene self, safe in the knowledge and at quite an expense to the tax payer that all was well. The tax payer who was just about to get up throw back the curtains and start the journey to work, trudging through the snow to his nightshift part time job without a contract on minimum wage, felt all warm and fuzzy inside because he was striving to keep his 2.5 children from a life of crime while struggling paying off his mortgage and the arrears on his payday loan.
A fully paid up member of this land of the free wallowing in its own putrid shit run by an elite of infantile nobody’s.