Wassamatter with them, sitting there like a gurgling blubber mountain, telling the whole world that they've just won all that money? You'd think it'd be enough, just winning the jackpot, without going on TeeVee to gloat.
These teletubbies are laying themselves open to begging letters, blackmail, hate mail, abuse, assault in the streets and having members oif their family kidnapped and held to ransom. And that's just from me.
12 comments:
By the looks of them, their children will inherit quite a lot quite soon!
The Guardian is reporting that, Mr & Mrs Blubber are richer than the luckiest moron in history, Mr Ringo Starr; I am sure there is a grain of comfort, somewhere in that revelation.
Someone informed the soon-to-be-liposuctioned duo that they are as rich as Golden Balls. Mr Blob quipped he didn't have the wife to go with the money. Sing along with me: 'There may be trouble ahead...'.
Hard to see how there wouldn't be trouble ahead.
I think even liposuction has its limits, mr ptb. I supect they'll eat themselves to death on deep-fried Mars bars, dusted with platinum.
I'm having trouble figuring out which one is male and which one is female - or are they both male/female?
Any sensible counsel by a grown-up would be "Keep youse traps shut and have a nice life, and hope that we can keep this out of Philip Beresford's Rich List."
Observe here, though, that the real subject of the picture is not Mr and Mrs Lard but the logos of the National Lottery and Euromillions, and to a lesster extent RBS.
This picture does not happen because of the winners; it happens because Camelot have the props ready and arrange the PR event to suit themselves for advertising purposes. Why is there a 'no publicity' box? It should be the default, the thing Camelot recommend to all winners irrespective of the size of the win and if you want publicity, you go out and court it yourself.
The only thing which Camelot should be doing is protecting the interests of the winners if the news gets out as people tend to blab.
Camelot will try to say this IS managing the news. Nonsense. This is making it deliberately for their own purposes on the back of a pair too inexperienced to realize they have made a mistake.
That's wassamatter. Those two fingers are ruin's logo.
Maybe Cleopatra bathed in asses' milk, £161 million buys a lot of lard. Ejeets.
And what is the point in having one couple win £160 million? Surely it is a better use of our time to have 160 couples win £1million each? Or even better hundreds of mortgages paid off in the twinkling of an eye.
Of course, the cunt in me tells me that there is no way they will have the wit to protect that dosh and so in a decade or two's time, HMRC will snaffle half of that back once again through IHT. The bastards wouldn't have a fucking plan, would they? Surely not, mongoose, you suspicious little sod.
There is a serious undertone to all this. At one stroke, John Major made fantasists of a large part of the nation, even your correspondent occasionally daydreams about a massive win, or even a paltry million or two. When I sometimes buy a lottery ticker I see numbers of what we would call poorer citizens handing over tens and twenties in exchange for various lottery tickets and scratchcards - and then, of course, buying a couple of hundred cigarettes. Such is the random nature of this business that millins of people can realistically dream that they will be winners. somebody wins, why not them, with the knock-on narcotising effect on political consciousness amongst those who should be the most active. The lottery is a bit like the blogosphere, in a way, short-circuiting revolution. Those who bleat, worthily and stupidly that so-called social media helped bring revolution to the land of the Pharoahs and elsewhere should, of course, by now, be eating their hieroglyphics.
Johnny Underpants himself? well he won several lotteries with his post-retirement speaking engagements, or bungs as we properly call them, from grateful business, although, for him, probably his best win was bedding the undelectable but foulmouthed Edwina Salmonella and being forgiven by the dreary, Norma, welcomed back into the bosom of fa,ily. And peas with everything.
In the mythical land of Ishmaelia we would seek to thwart Ruin by having a referendum, which we would win, about things like the lottery. And especially about the introduction of personal communications devices - mobiles as we now so inelegantly call the wretched things. And so the answer, mr mongoose, to your question is that a hundred and sixty-one million pound jackpots might be construed as far too egalitarian, which, as we know, is against human nature - where IS mr jgm2, by the way, with hios crackling bile? - Greed is our aspiration, money for nothing and chicks for free.
Mrs woar makes the same point obliquely, this is all about the Lottery operators, about RBS and the enslavement of a doltish, bovine population, nothing left to chance about that.
I have been spending time recently with my brother and mum. Being ancient, Ma watches Countdown - and why not? Following this comes the odious Parkinson dishing out his Parker pens and then comes the cunt Edmonds with "Deal or No Deal". God help us all this is hope, cruelty and humiliation TV crammed into a single hour-slot. "You could win 250k; oh, you didn't; and then you ran you cowardly bastard, poor person when offered a few paltry grand." The maths behind this game is child-like in its simplicity and so the show only works to see how long it takes the poor, desperate person to break when consistently offered about a third of the value of their holding.
The show is the same as a heap of scratchcards on the counter by the fags. It's just a quid, just a quid. All this I might give you. It's just a quid, two quid. And then they win a tenner and buy ten more. More certain with every purchase to achieve the mean outcome - which is being relieved of all their dosh. A tax on the daft and the desperate. Fucking horrible country we live in. We should all be gassed and let someone else start over.
It is a mystery to me, the Edmunds phenomenon, I comfort myelf with the thought that he cannot be but inpossibly lonely, stroking his snufflers beard at home and cudgeling his meagre brains for newer, more banal TeeVee formats. Along with Wogan and Parkinson, Edmunds is one of the sins of Ruin for which the BBC should be held to account. A million knowledgeable, self-effacing Bob Harrises would not compensate for this ghastly trio.
A Scottish headline this morning was Lottery Winners On The Run. Now, that'd be a sight.
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