“How bloody dare they?” spluttered Marcus Fellows, a Croydon call centre manager, as borough after borough descended into lawless disorder. “I pay 30% of my hard-earned salary so these ungrateful bastards can squat in their opulent council palaces, shooting up with all the horse tranquilisers they can lay their hands on. Look, I paid £650 for this bloody iPad 2 – where’s my comfortable feeling of entitlement gone when every skanky little toerag decides he’s just as entitled to one as me?”
London this morning |
“What’s called for is the same sort of heavy-handed confrontational policing that I condemned so roundly in December when the students were demonstrating over tuition fees,” he snarled. “While it was unacceptably brutal when my middle-class son Tom was on the sharp end of it, crude violence is obviously the only language the underclass understand.”
His wife Jessica, whose idea of grinding poverty is having to keep a car for three years instead of two, scoffed at the idea that people like her had in any way contributed to the creation of the underclass monster which was suddenly rampaging through Britain’s high streets.
“As Margaret Thatcher said back in the eighties, there is no such thing as society,” she pointed out shrilly. “So don’t you dare try to blame anything on me or I’ll call the police, you murdering communist bastard.”
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