The unemployed have finally admitted that the current economic disaster is all their fault and nobody else's, after it was revealed in several tabloid papers that they are all raking in an absolute bloody fortune.
"Yeah, it's all thanks to us, innit?" confessed a typical bone-idle dosser as he climbed into his Aston Martin for his fortnightly visit to the Jobcentre. "I claim Jobseeker's Allowance and I get Housing and Council Tax Benefit, which gives me an income of, oh, about £12m every two weeks. Then there's the Child Benefit for the nipper -he's taken the helicopter to Eurodisney this week, with the live-in nanny - which is worth another £20,000 a week. On top of that I've got Big Car Benefit, Exotic Pet Allowance for the tiger and a low user rebate on the phone bill. I'm bloody quids in, mate."
"Listen, I'll tell you straight, sunshine - I wouldn't get out of bed for any job offer lower than director of a multi-national," he added. "Wouldn't be worth my while, see? OK, James, take me to the Taxpayers' Bank, there's a good chap - I've got to sign my name on the dotted line at 11.40 sharp. No rest for the wicked."
The decent, hardworking folk of England were outraged by the frank admission of responsibility from the unemployed, however.
"I knew it. I bloody knew it," said one estate agent in Islington. "Well, fuck 'em. They won't get any more sympathy and understanding from me, let me tell you. They ought to be bloody strung up, all of them."
He then shouted at his crying neighbour, who had just lost her job at Woolworths: "Oi, scrounger! Yes, you! Because of you, I'm going to have to spend my summer holiday trudging round the Lake District up to my arse in sheepshit, instead of sunning myself on the glorious beaches of Thailand. Happy now, you greedy, thieving cow? Well, are you? You deserve all that's coming to you. I hope Gordon Brown fucks up your life. You lazy, fiddling bitch."
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