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The Ministry of Culture #22: Chisellers!

Hello again and welcome to this month's column. First of all I would like to thank all of you who entered the competition to decide what this month's column would be about. The winner is Beanie Malone whose suggestion "just fuck off into the wilderness and stop bothering us, you cretin" was just one of thousands of entries, from Mr Malone.

Instead of fulfilling my promise, I opted to extend the deadline for as long as it takes to get a serious answer. Or until I die. Or, er, both. Your entries can be posted on the Shrubbery message board, rather than shouted drunkenly across the bar while ordering a pint (the method Malone opted for); and if you can't be arsed to do that then you'll just have to take a gamble on me writing something that you want to read. The odds are long, but surely the happiness I will bring you, will pay dividends, for you, your children and your children's children. And their pets. And their pet's pets.


The world is full of chisellers. Everywhere you turn another one pops up, as sure as there is a hole in your arse. In fact surerer than that.


Let me give you an example. A can of Coke costs a penny to make. It contains sugar, water and brown paint, in that order. Even allowing for the distributor (byword for chiseller) mark-up and brand positioning (further chiselling) you should expect to pay 35-40 new English pence for the dubious pleasure of owning a can.

HOWEVER, there are still more chisellers in this world that will buy multi-pack cans and walk the length of Oxford Street aiming to sell said cans to foolhardy foreign types for 2 quid. These, my dear readers, are the chisellers. They'll take any opportunity to chisel a few pence from you, no matter how pointless and untimately un-economic, they will add a few pence on here, some small print their and they'll get their fucking money. Don't you worry about that.


Such is their naked, grasping greed that they seize upon special occasions such as marriages or funerals to chisel a few extra pence out of the couple celebrating their big day. And those getting married. Oho.

I got married recently and the queue of chisellers waiting to relieve me of my money was visible from the moon. There was a shifty hapless wedding photographer who tried it on for £1,500. £1,500 for a few snaps. I said "It's a wedding not a James Cameron movie" and the phone was slammed down so hard I had to get a new one. And a new desk.

Then, there was the cake-maker who said £200 for a bastard cake. £200! For that I want a cake the size and shape of the Kong-beast. That flies. So poor Summy here was reduced to the following:

  • Going to another shop
  • Telling an hilarious lie about it being a birthday cake for a child's party that we were - er - pretending was sort of a wedding - so perhaps you could - you know - just for fun - ice it a bit like a wedding cake
  • £40 though, can't argue with that

And, of course there was the restaurant who normally do set meals for £l5 but told us it would cost at least £50 per head for a wedding.

Fat, sweating, writhing, chiselly maggots the lot of them. I only hope that their pointless, pitiful existence is short, and that the few pennies they shake from the pockets of their victims bring them nothing but unadulterated misery.


It's not just the provincial sexually inadequate hoteliers of this world who'll gladly short change you and pretend it was a mistake before reluctantly giving you your change and smiling innocently. Oh no. There are people out there who already get paid TONS of cash, who still chisel a few quid more just for the sheer dick-hardening pleasure of the experience. Take, for example:

Manchester United: The world's most profitable football team (that's "soccer" in the States, where you have Major League Soccer and all the teams are called hilarious things like The San Fran Nuggets of Utter Terror, and the Denver Wildbobbins.) Not only do they have billions in cash, they sell a pointless TV channel containing NO football whatsoever, and change their soccer strip every two days in order to keep the merchandise rolling in.
Summys Verdict: What? How come they ever lose?

The cast of Friends:

the inane whooping smartarse pisswits get paid more than God to smirk their way through some lowly scriptwriters best gags.
Summys Verdict: Hated them enough to butcher them on sight. Found out what they got paid. Hated them more, which made my brain itch and further added to my already unimaginable problem with alcohol.

Bill Gates: Yes, we all know. And his card is marked.
Summy's verdict: Panic. This whole situation with Microsoft will cause Bill to find sneakier and more desperate chiselly pursuits.

Milo: well he chiselled Venus de Milo. Or was that Rodin? Sorry. It's late, I'm tired.


  • Chisellers are everywhere. Beware.
  • Interestingly, Uncle Summy will stop at nothing to save a few quid, making him something of a chiseller himself
  • If you can read this, someone at the Shrub has been re-animated

Until next time

Eigdums tnip a ycnaf


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