THE POSTHUMOROUS PICKWICK CUTTINGS

Forgive me my impudence, Mr. Prickwick. A matter of form? Quite. Joe The Fatboy Slim. How do you do? Anything the matter? Transient thermal pleasure. Carting your huge postmodern bulk around, please make 'aste with the narration or the Pickwikipedians will not be best 'appy. Prepare to Ballydoran Post Office directly, bill of costs, pop in the shops for a warm, the psychologist expressly said so, on spec' ulashun Mr. Picklewink, they names the baby seal they found 15 nautical miles inland in a barn Gulliver, on account Miss Abigail of his great love of satire, Swiftian plunderings steadfastly adhered to, conversing henceforth more than the law says you need, still now, the state's inflexible resolution, warm port keeps a body a-going, a-misteltoing, a-missing intimacy, a-pining for the warmth of her body, vixenish ladies. The local economy heavy and subdued, demeanour grim. Recollect yourself. Worksearcher, workfarefinder, workhouselodger. Is that how it works? JOBSEEKERS' DISALLOWANCE. What has decomposed you, madam? DEPARTMENT OF WORKFARE & PENURY Let us contract a Hackney cabriolet my good man and despatch to indebtors' prison. GO DIRECTLY TO JAIL. DO NOT COLLECT TWO HUNDRED POUNDS. More than you need to live on. The law says. The law? The law is an ass, sir! Arsehole of The Bailey, Mr. Rumpun. Don't try yourself, Mrs Winklepicker. My sister's a saint. We have looked at your claim ladies following a recent change. This is Fleet Prison: a place of debasement in the depths of depression. Stone the Russell Crowes if the whole financial system don't go and get itself in danger of collapse. State capital my dear Mr. Malevolent Bankster. THIS IS NOT OUR FAULT. But now in the run up to Christmas. Sod it. Spend spend spend. Augustus Nathanial Lotterywinkle. You don't snuff, do you? I think not, Ballydoran was produced and recorded in Liverpool. Shopping as drug addiction, beastly energetic, put you in a perspiration. Time for a glass to bid farewell, to celebrate the end of that melancholic adwenture. May a working-class anarchist make so bold as to question, sir? Shopping exertions barbarous. Conspicuous consumption. Consumption. TB1 and TB3 for the little 'uns. The petit bourjoirsee, one in twenty-five of whom are morphine addicts, imbibe five and twenty gallons of porter a chapter, Mrs Winkle. So I goes to insolvency court on behalf of the Halewood debtors' group. NO NO NO POLL TAX. Tax credits. Tax debits. National Insurance pyramid scheme for proles and pensioners. Turn it over in your mind. Obesity hypoventilation syndrome. Very Pickwickian. What an annoyance! Drank copiously port and porter for several episodes while sermoaning temprance. Humungersaurus hypoventilation, hypocrisy and hip-hop, hippy to the hop, took the hippy to the hop, now he love real ale. What's the matter lager boy? A-feared you'll taste something. You do the cumshot for a change. A scene of misery and debauchery Mrs Winkle. We cannot pay you. IF YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THIS DECISION. The law says you need to live on. to live on. to live. to. live. A little warm water, slice and sugar. The busiest day of the year for our inflexible friend online. FLEET INSOLVENCY COURT (1165) Credit your debit card. Debit your credit card. You're reprobate, Mr. B. Mr. Corporation Tax Virgin. Wery good, Mr Goodwin. Clue's in the name. Wery Dickensian. One in twenty-five are equally sociopathological. You are not privy to ungrateful remarks, my dear Mr. Jingle Jobseeker. Legs shaky. Head queer. Earthquake-y feeling. In the qwuick of double time I'm a-feared he's working on the side, cash in hand for a-misteltoeing? Nourishment. Would you relish another of the same dimension Mrs.Cockleworthy. Sixpenneth for a good half crown Mrs.Winkpickle. Port/East India Sherry from Jerez, Bollywood. YOU ARE LIABLE FOR THE CHARGES STATED IN THIS NOTICE. Old fossils! Your father'll be the dearth of me. I reckon him and his piano don't count as work. I know they ain't wery good sir, so they ain't, Ballydoran so it is. My Dear Mr. Mockney Puckwit. How do you find yourself? Satnav sir. Satnav. Wouldn't be where am I today without satnav, sir. Capital Mr. Puckwith. Capital.