Monday, November 9, 2009

Big Government suckz!

A good friend of mine from the UK, and one of my best regular suppliers of Internet jokes, sent me this one this morning, being both hilarious and tragic at the same time . But so true! Enjoy the reading as much as I did:

A letter from a concerned citizen to a UK Government Service:

"Dear  Sirs,
 
I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this. How is it that Sky Television has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a bleeding satellite dish from them back in 1977, and yet, the Government is still asking me where I was bloody born and on what date.
 
For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand?  My birth date you have on my pension book, and it is on all the income tax forms I've filled for the past 30 years. It is on my National Health card, my driving license, my car insurance, on the last eight damn passports I've had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off the plane over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable census forms.
 
Would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Mary Anne, my father's name is Robert and I'd be abso-fucking-lutely astounded if that ever changed between now and when I die!!!!!!
 
I apologize, I'm really pissed off this morning. Between you an' me, I've had enough of  this bullshit!  You just sent this application to my house, then you ask me for my fucking address !!!!
 
What is going on?  Do you have a gang of Neanderthal arseholes workin' there?  Look at my damn  picture.  Do I look  like Bin Laden?  I don't want to  dig up Yasser Arafat, for shit sakes.  I just want to go and park my arse on some sandy beach somewhere. And would someone please tell me, why would you give a shit whether I plan on visiting a farm in the  next 15 days?   If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a chicken or a goat, believe you me, you'd be the last fucking people I'd want to tell!
 
Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other end of the poxy city to get another fucking copy of my birth certificate, to the tune of £30.  Would it be so complicated  to have all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a new passport the same day?? Nooooooooooooo, that'd be too damn easy and maybe makes sense. You'd  rather have us running all over the fuckin' place like chickens with our heads cut off, then have to find some arsehole to confirm that it's really me on the damn picture - you know, the one where we're not allowed to smile?! (bureaucratic fuckin' morons) Hey, do you know why we couldn't smile if we wanted to?
 
Because we're totally pissed off!
 
Signed
An Irate Citizen.
 
P.S. Remember what I said above about the picture and getting someone to confirm that it's me?  Well, my family has been in this country since 1776 ........ I have served in the military for something over 30 years and have had full security clearances over 25 of those years enabling me to serve my country all over the world. However, I have to get someone 'important' to verify who I am - you know, someone like my doctor WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN FUCKING PAKISTAN !
 
Sincerely,
 
You Sure The Hell Should Know Who."


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2 comments:

Nikolaos Antoniou said...

Repetition is the mother of Knowledge and Minimalism is the public adminitsration's music. They ask for the same information over and over again to make sure that we are aware of it, that we know who we are, that we DON'T FORGET that we are someone with certain data that defines him/her. This way we EXIST and we LIVE. Life in the Realm would not be worth living if it would not had been for the authorities to which we bow discreetly in order to travel, sleep, eat, buy and sleep around. No?

VJK said...

Jeez, I never saw it this way. It even syncs with my previous blog about us, good people, losing our memory in time. We should be grateful to big government then, who keeps training our brains... they know our data, it is us they wanna make sure we don't forget. Very creative rationale, Niko...