Inspector Pigshit was not a man for writing letters. Only once in the last 10 years had he bothered to write a letter, and even then, he got Mrs Pigshit to sort out envelopes and stamps and stuff. In actual fact, it wasn’t just one letter, but twenty copies, addressed to different people. The letter concerned potholes in the road just along from Pigshit’s house. The road was in such shite condition and had been left in such disrepair for so long, he felt he could stand it no longer, and so he wrote a letter demanding the road be resurfaced “as soon as fucking possible”.
In the course of his investigations vis-à-vis the potholes and who could do something about it, he found he had not only an MP, but three local councillors, an MSP, several regional MSPs, and about six MEPs. He sent them each a copy of the letter. He also discovered he was represented by a community council, so he wrote to them, too. For good measure, he also sent copies to the Sunday Post and the BBC One consumer affairs programme, Watchdog.
Unfortunately, all the responses from his elected representatives proved to be profoundly useless. Essentially, they all thanked him for his correspondence, acknowledged the problem with the potholes, then made some crappy excuse about how repairs to that particular road either wasn’t in their remit, or wasn’t a priority at this moment in time. The best reply he got was from Watchdog presenter Nicky Campbell, who sent him a signed photograph. The Sunday Post never published or answered his letter, so he stopped buying the paper, even though he liked reading The Broons.
Following this experience, Pigshit had little respect for politicians. They were all vain, self-serving tossers who knew nothing about anything. And the rest were just bullshitters.
Pigshit and Sergeant Steve Norman marched purposefully along the corridor towards Councillor Fowler’s office.
“Better knock, I suppose,” said Pigshit.
He kicked the door in, busting it off of its hinges. There were splinters everywhere.
To be continued …