Can I Have My Sixteen Quid Now? Everyone Asks RBS

AS the Royal Bank of Scotland unveiled half-year profits of £1.14bn, everyone in Britain said they would like their share today please thank you.

Across Britain people were being urged to march into their local branch of RBS or NatWest and demand their bi-annual dividend from the 84 per cent taxpayer-owned company.

Bill McKay from Grantham, said: “Let’s see… 84 per cent of 1.14 billion is 957.6 million divided by 60 million equals £15.96. But as I’m in a good mood let’s round it up to sixteen quid.

“How would you like to pay me?”

Helen Archer, from Hatfield, said: “Can you have it ready by lunchtime? I fancy a Pizza Express Americano and at least three bottles of Pinot Grigio. Four if I’ve got company.”

Emma Bradford, from Finsbury Park, said: “No point in handing it all to the government. They’ll just give it to old people who smell of puréed meat, or use it to buy more big, daft submarines.”

She added: “I’m planning to spend it on a bathing attachment for my vibrating egg, not that it’s any of your business.”

But RBS stressed that the profits would not be going to either the government or paid out in brown envelopes to anyone who just wanders in and asks for it.

A spokesman said: “After not a lot of thought we’ve decided that it’s best if we hang on to it for the time being. It will eventually find its way into the pockets of ordinary taxpayers, particularly those that sell boating equipment or handmade saddles.”

Chancellor George Osborne briefly threatened to intervene before cowering away like an abused husband and returned to doing the dishes as a single tear ran down his quivering cheek.


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Stag dos increasingly run by the biggest tosser you'll ever meet

EXPENSIVE, lengthy stag trips are usually organised by some total prick who won’t leave you alone for five minutes, according to new research.

The Institute for Studies found that, in any given social circle, custodianship of the stag trip will almost always fall to an arse that no one else has met before, but who was apparently ‘mental’ at university. They will be called ‘Duncs’, ‘Mikey’ or ‘Shamrock’.

Professor Henry Brubaker said: “These people work in management somewhere like Carphone Warehouse, and are the personification of FHM magazine.

“The groom will never, ever have mentioned them before announcing the wedding. God knows where these people come from. Maybe there’s a secret prick factory hidden somewhere in the East Midlands.”

He added: “You usually receive the first of several hundred emails about six months before any planned trip. It will be headed something like ‘Ola Compadres’ and outline the many expensive, high-testosterone compulsory activities planned, including something called ‘skelfing’ that involves jumping naked into a volcano with a bit of bailer twine around your ankle.

“The whole thing will be organised with militaristic precision, cost as much as a small house and if you exhibit anything less than rabid enthusiasm you will be branded a ‘whingeing gaylord’.

“And, of course, you will have to wear a t-shirt with ‘Captain Fanny’s Vagina Hunters’ printed on it.”

Professor Brubaker stressed that stag events have not always been such an unconscionable pain in the arse, adding: “Until 1996 all you needed was a function room and a few bags of McCoys.

“The whole thing was over and done with in about six hours and at no point did anyone have to get on a fucking jet ski.”