A trip down to the shops.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Last Days of The Raj.

I was walking outside earlier in the day and was faced with a bizarre image. Lumbering towards me, with a slender but unattractive friend, was something I can only describe as a monster, the nastiest thing you would have wanted to see all day, a beast in female form. I know it's unkind, and that there's not much that can be done about it outside the realm of extensive facial surgery, and even then there's only so much that cosmetic procedures can do, but is a bag out of the question? I wouldn't mind about eye-holes, even a loosely fitting balaclava would suffice. First, the excessively ugly need to be put on a national register and those in the vicinity warned that sudden aesthetic shock might be a likelihood. Second, state sponsored masks should be distributed to the ugly free of charge, but must be worn at all times. Third, those that fail to register or fail to wear their masks will be imprisoned in special windowless units being constructed throughout the North and in Wales, two areas of extreme ugliness insurgence. Fourth and finally, the residences of those deemed a danger to the eyes will be marked by a painted Medusa logo as a warning for unwitting passers-by. I say this not out of spite, but duty. It is the responsibility of every single one of us to eradicate this problem that has become the scourge of a once beautiful nation. Raj Persaud, the man you may remember as the doctor on 'This Morning' has put his name to a governmental bill, along with a substantial dossier that states the following:

My recent studies are suggesting that a terrifying trend that has been with us for many years in on the increase. Being a proper doctor I decided to investigate the thoughts of my more elderly patients to see if we can not learn things of the past from them; a rather scientific study that a proper doctor such as myself might be expected to perform, and I am one, a proper doctor. From my investigation into the thoughts of the elderly I can only draw two obvious conclusions straight away, although others are heavily suggested.

(i) Global warming is a definite reality.
This, it transpires, is shown by the replies I got from a simple question, namely, "What were the winters like when you were young?", and the answered were striking. Over seventy percent of my geriatrics remember the winters being much worse when they were younger, nothing like the mild winters we see these days. What other evidence does one need to see that the climate has warmed to such an extent as to create a marked difference in the very seasons we experience. This is the opinion of myself and many other proper doctors like me.

(ii) People are becoming more ugly.
This conclusion, that has been arrived at by a qualified doctor, a proper one, has arisen from my many conversations with my control group of pensioners. It was concluded that the younger generation looked very scruffy and sloppy; a conclusion arrived to in a group session which adds even more weight to the argument. My thesaurus informed me that scruffy and sloppy can both have similar meanings to ugly, providing a single cause for the numerous effects.

(iii) Sundry conclusions alluded to but never fully agreed to in group sessions.
Manners are a thing of the past was a widely held belief, although it was decided by others that this was more a lack of respect in general. The closure of Post Offices was widely frowned upon, but not by me. One final matter worth mentioning is that the extended version of Countdown and its new time of showing is not agreeable with my work hours and should therefore be reconsidered.

As a result of this study being performed there is clearly a need for immediate action to be taken on points (i) and (ii), and certainly serious consideration should be taken with the cluster of matters I directed you towards in point (iii). Being a proper doctor it is not up to me to make legislation suggestions like some I refrain from mentioning (Andrew Wakefield), but whatever must be done it must be done soon before we all drown in melted ice-cap surrounded by the bloated corpses of the ugly.

The Doctor, Raj Persaud.

Far be it from me to scare-monger, but surely the time for panic is now. Without my extreme, yet essential measures it may soon be considered 'normal' to resemble the horror that my eyes beheld today, and where is the good in that? I ask you, if not for my sake, for the sake of your children, do you want them dead and surrounded by people who make Thora Hurd look like a nymphet who delivers herself upstairs by her own erotic means of transport? Of course you don't.

Are you are one of these people, these revolting minions that wander like roaming pocks across the face of this once lush country? If you aren't sure you should ask a sullen looking stranger just to make certain. If you fall into the category of freakish deviants that soil the very essence of what it is to be British, then I implore of you, please register and take your mask, spray-paint and stencil without any trouble on your part, because the authorities don't want to restrain you, they simply must.

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