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I never thought I would do this. But then again, I also never thought I would be so bereft of blog ideas. It’s a scorching desert out there, where every seed of a thought that dares harbour the ambition to grow is struck down as a sapling… one intro and then it flounders, falls in a final, flat, floppy death. I have blogcks.

I am going to blog some shit someone else wrote, therefore. 

I know what you are thinking: What happens if the article I post is a good one?

Believe, me I was scared shitless about that. What happens if  you are so impressed that it undoes all the work I have been painstakingly trying to achieve all these years, when I typed my fingers to the bone three times a week trying to get you to like me? What if you read it and forget all about me?

Just to prevent that eventuality, I am going to ask you to make a promise before you proceed. Promise that  you will always love me.

No, say it. You have to say the words.

Okay. I’m satisfied. I now present, A Hilarious Thing From The Internets (That Is Not A Lolcat.)


Dear Mr Addison, 


I am writing to you to express our thanks for your more than prompt reply to our latest communication, and also to answer some of the points you raise. 


I will address them, as ever, in order. 


Firstly, I must take issue with your description of our last as a “begging letter”. It might perhaps more properly be referred to as a “tax demand”. This is how we, at the Inland Revenue have always, for reasons of accuracy; traditionally referred to such documents. 


Secondly, your frustration at our adding to the “endless stream of crapulent whining and panhandling vomited daily through the letterbox on to the doormat” has been noted. However, whilst I have naturally not seen the other letters to which you refer I would cautiously suggest that their being from “pauper councils, Lombardy pirate banking houses and pissant gas-mongerers” might indicate that your decision to “file them next to the toilet in case of emergencies is at best a little ill-advised. 


In common with my own organisation, it is unlikely that the senders of these letters do see you as a “lackwit bumpkin or, come to that, a “sodding charity”. More likely they see you as a citizen of Great Britain, with a responsibility to contribute to the upkeep of the nation as a whole. 


Which brings me to my next point. Whilst there may be some spirit of truth in your assertion that the taxes you pay “go to shore up the canker-blighted, toppling folly that is the Public Services”, a moment’s rudimentary calculation ought to disabuse you of the notion that the government in any way expects you to “stump up for the whole damned party” yourself. The estimates you provide for the Chancellor’s disbursement of the funds levied by taxation, whilst colourful, are, in fairness, a little off the mark. Less than you seem to imagine is spent on “junkets for Bunterish lickspittles” and “dancing whores” whilst far more than you have accounted for is allocated to, for example, “that box-ticking facade of a university system.” 


A couple of technical points arising from direct queries: 

1. The reason we don’t simply write “Muggins” on the envelope has to do with the vagaries of the postal system;

2. You can rest assured that “sucking the very marrows of those with nothing else to give” has never been considered as a practice because even if the Personal Allowance didn’t render it irrelevant, the sheer medical logistics involved would make it financially unviable. 


I trust this has helped. In the meantime, whilst I would not in any way wish to influence your decision one way or the other, I ought to point out that even if you did choose to “give the whole foul jamboree up and go and live in India” you would still owe us the money. Please forward it by Friday. 


Yours Sincerely, 

H J Lee Customer Relations


I would link it, but hey, it’s all over the internet. Just google the first sentence. I know I desperately need your love, but please. I’m not your houseboy.