Dear Professor Yafflecock,
I have a violent hatred of posh people, arrogant people, academic people, young people and people who live outside of London somewhere that isn’t Scotland. I also have a pathological hatred of people who live in Oxford, students, students at Oxford University, professors in general, Professors at Oxford University, people who like rowing, people who like cycling, people who like fucking punts and people who join the Oxford Revue. I saw it once - it was the unfunniest thing I’ve ever seen and I watch politicians tell jokes for a living. I’d like to have taken a screwdriver to everyone in the Oxford Revue and used it to hack / chisel / lever out their funny bones, then used their funny bones to tickle the backs of their throats until they vomited so hard they threw up bits of their own skeleton.
Plus, I’m busy. I’m spending the next twelve months travelling round Britain on a killing spree for charity. So, probably not.
Sam, can you tidy that up a bit for me?
Sometimes I wonder whether I have any real intelligence or if I just have enough random bits of surface knowledge to bullshit my way through most things.