Upon reflection the Council agreed that the “Hug a Bobby” campaign had been ill-conceived and badly mismanaged.
In an age of suicide bombers and rampant oral sex, the very act of hugging strange Londoners involved a great deal of danger for the police constables, both moral and physical. The city’s population had not responded with much enthusiasm anyway.
Of course, it didn’t help that their promotional poster showed Constable Berty Righnworm, standing in a pool of his own urine.
[From the Toulouse Le Grandfig Collection]
Their coworkers at the Fun-Time-Happy-Japanese-Kobe Beef Slaughter- and Tea- House had been fools not to spot the signs sooner.
His twelve hundred unsuccessful attempts had led to a fused neck, six back surgeries, and three failed marriages.
Alonsy had spent the better part of the morning trying to get the tortoise to turn around and perambulate in the right direction.
This piece of hackery is most often heard in business settings, but I’m afraid it has even crept into the hallowed halls of academe, where one is as likely to hear Latin freakery such as sui generis.
