By Alexander Netherton of Surreal Football
An 80 year old woman cleans the old, scratched glasses of her husband. He would have bought new ones, but his pension annuity is now worthless. He can barely afford soap to maintain his dignity. They are sharing a single cup of tea. The cafe is warmer than their home - the gas man wants £200 before he turns it back on.
A man sneezes on a bus. He sold his car when he lost his job, and the stress of unemployment has made him constantly susceptible to viruses.
Two thieves stand outside a fried chicken shop. The owner, closing up, is so intimidated he simply allows them in with a wry smile. The third time he’s been burgled this year, his knee never recovered, especially as they can’t remove the bullet.
An elderly lady struggles to reach a toy for her grandson. He needs to be kept occupied ever since his Special Needs School closed down. The mother no longer speaks.
A woman is helped up a flight of stairs. Her husband used to help with the first child, but he’s dead. Shot through the guts and face in Afghanistan. A closed casket at the funeral.
A teenage girl shares an ice cream with her brother. They’ve not had anyone looking after them since they lost their parents in the Camberwell fire two years ago.
A man in a panda costume sweats after completing a charity fun run. He’s raising money for a hospice his brother stays in. He has two months to live, but the hospice is closing down next Saturday. He’ll be moving into the spare room. Neither knows what to do.
No. No no no no no no no no no no.
Look, you’re a fucking bank. You have three jobs: 1. look after my money; 2. lend me cash if I’m a bit short or want to buy a house; 3. contribute, though the medium of criminal fuckwittery, to the economic misery of millions.
The only way this advert could be salvaged is if the prick with the stupid beard pulled out an actual severed arm right at the end and everybody else ran out screaming while he gnawed on it like a dog.