Once upon a time, there was a Wiberal Democwat called Malcolm. Malcolm had been sent to work in London by the good people's of Gordon, to represent them and make sure that no bad things happened to them.
Malcolm, bought a little flat in London, the people of Gordon paid for this.
Malcolm had an office on Inverurie, the people of Gordon paid for this.
Malcolm had a family house in Torphins - the people of Gordon paid for this...
Malcolm liked money, but didn't like dipping into his own pockets.
One day some rain dribbled into his conservatory. Malcolm decided that the people of Gordon 559 miles away, should pay for his leaky conservatory. They did, all £3,200 worth.
On another day Malcolm was sitting in his London apartment when a light bulb "EXPLODED" Malcolm was very scared. One minute light - the next utter darkness and confusion. There was only one solution, the good people of Gordon could pay for the complete rewiring of Malcolm's London pied a terre at a cost of £8757. They did
Malcolm is the President of the Wiberal Democwats in Scotland. At the next General Election, the good people of Gordon, might be tempted to hang Malcolm from an Inverurie lampost by his Liberal bollocks. Chances are they'll pay for the noose too.
The End.
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4 comments:
Oh Monty I've just been reading fitaloon's post. You've forgotten his wife who works from their Torphicen home because it's too far for her to drive 20 miles to the constituency office. £28,000+ that costs the good people plus their share of the gas, electric etc.
Not forgotten, just omitted. I don't think that the real scandal. I also get his reasons, young family office set up at home, means lower costs on fuel, office heating lighting etcetera. £3k over two years isn't too bad, as long as she's actually doing the work.
I really liked the ending:0 )
Weel weel ma loon,fit aboot his biskit tin unner the beid? Full o 50 or 60 thoosan, div ye nae think ats anaffa amoont a bawbies to be keepin in a tin Malcom?
Weel I teen the biskits oot furst!
What a prize W@ank*r - oot on his erse at the GE, the distaste that's left in one's mouth!
Crazy D
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