THE FALLACY OF EXHAUSTIVE HYPOTHESES

Apologies for the delay in bloggering chaps.
This whole kerfuffle with St. Iain 'Peace Be Upon Him' Duncan Smith has left rather a sour taste in my mortgaged-up mouth, and Mrs.Mac is beside herself over who will win Top Gear.
Needless to say, the fellow that's taken over at DWP HQ appears to be cut from the same cloth-cap as St.Iain, and it's more of the same for Broken British Benefit Bolsheviks & Their Gypsy Wedding Council Houses.

Stick them in the ruddy army I say!
That'll sort the tweets from the chavs!

Anyhoo.
On to this bally Referendum thingamajig.
I was terribly undecided for a while.
Far too much choice.
When Jeremiah Corbine stuck his trotty little snout into the mix, I was very much in favour of going all-out with Rupert, Bernard and Bojo.
But when I saw that David & Gideon had plans for a Google-Airbus sponsored European Super Army,
AND they were going to sell-off our failing NHS to the Yanks, I must say I was torn like Imbruglia.

Luckily Mrs. Mac wants nothing to do with the whole shebang, favouring the Rosberg/Hamilton dichotomy over central party policy.
Therefore I shall take her proxy vote from her Chablis-stained trotters, and have two stabs at voting myself.

I'm thinking I will stick one in the back of the Euro Soccer net and go all out with Nicky Morgan and the Remain lot.
But I shall also move heaven & earth and the Isle of Wight to a more defensive position in the mid-Atlantic, and join Nigel & Govey for a damn good Leave vote as well.
Win/Win.
Job's a good 'un!

God save the Queen!

WHY TESCO COULD START SELLING GUNS

I'm beginning to feel a little bit out of touch with society.
I'm actually beginning to think that Lady T was right, on the one issue we disagreed.
How can so many British people be opposed to a Workshare scheme that offers good, solid, back-breaking opportunities, to the millions of hopeless kids from Generation i, that will keep them off MyFace and Bobo, and prevent them watching endless Jeremy Vine shows?
IDS and Chrissy G were right to call these luddites 'job-snobs'.
If Lowestoft John(my Personal Adviser) is correct in his calculations, there's a job for everyone out there. Not just me.
The work-shy have just got to get their fingers out of their eye-pods, and find one.
I myself applied for both the Wolverhampton Wanderers' manager's job AND the Chelsea manager's job this week.
(Chelsea were quick to respond that they didn't have a vacancy yet).

And I see that even more 'pseudo-capitalist' Trotskyite organisations are joining Jammy Oliver's Sainsburys lot.
I've no idea who Maplins, Argos or Superdrug are, but their withdrawal from this brilliant scheme just goes to show how liberal-lefty we've all become.

Only the other day I went to the theatre to see a play about John Peel's Shed by that Osborne fella; not the one who's spent too long under the bed with Red Vince (when did it become Tory policy to maintain taxation for heaven's sake? I sincerely hope Dr.Fox and his Network Chart can overthrow this ruddy pinko soon, and prevent further public spending!)
No. This Osborne was an arty-farty type with a shoddy haircut.
So after a huge argument with Mrs.Mac over whether I should wear Blue Stratos or Paco Rabanne (the latter won; as it always should for theatre engagements) we set about enduring an hour & ten minutes of idle tosh about 'popular music' of all things!
There wasn't one reference to John Peel's National Service days; something myself, and most Radio Times readers know him for, only too well.
We would've left early were it not for the hoardes of unwashed kids standing and clogging up the aisles.
Was this theatre or a bally pop concert?

Anyway, it led me to thinking about what Kinky Clegg had been saying with regard to all these so-called 'neets'.
If they really were a ticking time-bomb, and in the light of the recent defence cuts, why not use this explosive mass of apathy for military purposes?
Tesco's wishy-washy stance about offering these benefit scroungers a living wage, as well as a bit of discipline and a uniform, could be harnessed and packaged as a form of National Service, if you like.
It didn't do John Peel any harm, and just think how many Clubcard points one would get on the purchase of a GPMG or a Lee Enfield?
Give all of these eye-phone gazing hoodies a decent haircut, a tin of Kiwi boot polish, a bit of Duraglit and a massive dollop of elbow grease, and we might just save the Faroes from Argentine invasion.
I'm not necessarily advocating sending the Tesco feckless into battle with the Talibanese, but I am suggesting that if we have to give them money, let's prop up the nation before we prop up Tesco shareholders.
They get the experience, Tesco get the gun & polish sales, and we reap the Clubcard point rewards.

I might even think about applying for a PT instructor's role at boot camp!

(Providing it doesn't involve too much standing, or raising my arm at a right angle for prolonged periods).