Enter Taxman

I was entertained to note how HMRC have "lost" the confidential details of 7.25 million child benefit "customers", including name, address, bank details and NI number, and the names, sex and age of all children involved... so, just about everything that a decent conman/ paedophile needs, then. I was, however, not entertained to realise my own details were included in this unbelievable fuck-up. Chancellor Alistair Darling said there was no evidence the data had gone to criminals. Because, yes, I'm sure the fraud barons of the UK would certainly announce this fiasco on their blogs immediately... right? Hands up! I got da data! First chance they got. But at least the Chairman has resigned. But why? Was he the idiot who didn't use registered mail? Was he supposed to monitor every single braindead office junior personally? Or was he perhaps suposed to don a hi-vis vest and courier the disks himself? I admit, I have no love of HMRC- having been on the arse-end of their unwanted and unnecessary attentions when I ran my own business- and I have to wonder how I would have been treated by the judiciary if I happened to piss away 7.25 million confidential files. 10 years in prison, perhaps, for gross negligence? Hung, drawn and quartered? And how long before this info appears on the internet, is performed in anarchist cookbook circles, or simply found for sale for £3 from some scumbag's carboot in Blakeley?

In terms of punishment, however, I believe I have the answer! All taxmen (and women, no sexism here folks) should be rounded up and forced into a boring puerile petty snotty bureaucratic pen-pushing hate-filled job for the rest of their working lives. They should be forced to wear ASDA suits, carry PVC briefcases, and exude about them an air of snarling superiority. They should prey on innocence, court suspicion in all, and make the lives of honest hard-working people miserable. And then they should be forced to gloat about their feeble petty pointless achievements with like-minded bureaucrats in £6-a-head Toby Carveries up and down the country drinking cheap red-wine as they sweat in nasty shoes.

What? That already happened?
My apologies then.