You’re a plum throated double breasted disdain distributer, you fucking…

You’re a plum throated double breasted disdain distributer, you fucking grown up Walter the Softy. You’re like Niles Crane devoid of charm, wiping your chauffers seat with your hanky so you don’t catch poor. You look like a childs interpretation of a tory from 150 years ago, drawn solely from a description of you by a pissed up Marxist. You’re a shit Charles Hawtrey. You probably employ someone just to buy the light bulbs for your personal light bulb fitter, you privileged cunt. You’re a fox hunt personified, a side parted circle spectacled silver spoon inhaler. You look down on people more than Quasimodo in full hunch from the bell tower, you filibustering double barreled bastard.

Pemberton and Shearsmith are the only comedy writing and performing…

Pemberton and Shearsmith are the only comedy writing and performing duo who can hold my attention for a full 30 minutes, whilst making me laugh and cry within seconds between scenes. They get stronger with each series and are massively underrated. If you’re not familiar with the League of Gentleman then watch it. If you are, watch Psychoville, then save the best till last and watch Inside Number 9. National Treasures in the making the pair of them.

“Oh don’t give them any money, they’ll only spend it…

“Oh don’t give them any money, they’ll only spend it on booze and drugs”

No fucking shit! If I were sanctioned because my local Job Centre was having a bonus driven sanctioning contest with all the other Job Centres in the area and they chose to punish me because my bus broke down, making me five minutes late, which subsequently left me relying on foodbanks before ultimately making me homeless I’d want a fucking drink.
Homelessness has doubled whilst government help for homeless people has halved. Throw sanctioning into the mix and it doesn’t take a fucking genius to work out that they’re not all lazy bastards.
If you think there isn’t a problem then go for a walk around your city centre at 8pm. It’s like night of the living out there with thousands of people spiced out of their heads.
It’s all good and well getting on your high horses but I can say unashamedly that after a week on the streets I’d be snorting fucking arsenic if I thought it would give me some form of relief.
They’re humans, make eye contact, have a chat, buy them a fucking sandwich or give them some change but for fuck sake don’t adopt this “don’t feed the pigeons” mentality the government are throwing at you. If you ignore them they don’t cease to exist. If you install metal spikes they’re still sleeping rough further up the street.
So fucking what if they’re twatted? What else have they got apart from harsh morning sobriety to remind them that no one gives a fuck. Don’t judge until you’ve walked a mile in their damp ripped shoes.