This is not strictly true. It is, however, my favourite Alan Partridge quote, and encapsulates that feeling of utter disbelief verging on despair that the stupidity of people all too often evokes.
Exhibit A – Whilst hooning along the information superhighway this morning, I spotted something that caused me to come to a screeching halt, namely this must-have item: The Face Blanket. I have no words. Just watch the infomercial.
Exhibit B – Earlier this week, a friend shared a photo of a note brought home from school by his child. There has never been a better excuse for not completing a homework assignment than a non-existent due date.
Exhibit C – I do not have an actual image of this one to share, so I shall do my adjectival best to paint as vivid a mental image for you as I can. Back in 2008 and fruitily pregnant with Captain Chatterbox, I waddled off to Marrickville Town Hall to vote. Whilst standing in line, I was approached by an elderly lady with a shock of wiry white hair and the smile of an occultist who looked pointedly at my middle and chestal areas before solemnly advising me that “Jesus does not want you here.” “Um, why?” I bemusedly enquired. “You must love yourself and love Jesus and cover yourself up.” I shrieked with laughter and walked away. This special person shouted after me in an aggrieved tone, “I’m not finished talking!” “Well, I am,” I replied.
I should point out here that, lest you were imagining that I was attired in little more than pasties and a G-string (my usual voting go-to look), I was wearing a long, plain, black cotton dress. I know. What a slut. Sorry, Jesus.