THE call centre bosses whose minions regularly upset your nan are still ignoring demands to destroy themselves, according to new research.
The Institute for Studies found that despite a million passionate pleas, the instigators of ‘cold calls’ are stubbornly refusing to hop off a 10th-floor window ledge.
Professor Henry Brubaker said: “If you find that you are a bloated sweating tick in slip-ons and salmon-pink tie the decent thing would be to terminate your existence immediately so that your decomposing tick-flesh might at least nourish some worms.
“On the other hand… no, it seems there is no other hand. This is the only hand.”
He added: “To clarify I don’t mean the crushed drones whose sorry job it is to interrupt tired people’s evenings in the vague hope that they might not have realised they want some guttering. They’re just broke and desperate, and barely alive anyway.”
Biologist Dr Emma Bradford said: “I was just about to isolate a gene which causes several common cancers when the phone rang. I thought, ‘damn, I’d better get it – mum might’ve had a fall’.
“But it was someone asking if I wanted something made of UPVC to bolt on to my house, as if such a drastic course of action – as well as the means by which to make a reality – had not previously occurred to me.
“I said I wasn’t interested, thanks. To which he responded ‘can you tell me why you aren’t interested?’
“To which I replied ‘because it’s a bit nicer than just telling you to go fuck yourself to death you scabrous ballbag’.”
She added: “I’m going to create a microbe that picks specifically on call centre owners, takes over their bodies and forces them to sit on something sharp and rusty while their organs putrefy to an excrement-like paste and spurt from their nostrils.
“I presume we’re all okay with that?”