When will Boris explain where the f**k Frosties have gone?

THE government has misled, hidden the facts and flat-out lied to Britain. Worse, they have refused to explain what the f**k has happened to Frosties. 

Before lockdown, Frosties were abundant on our supermarket shelves. Even when sensible people were stockpiling and idiots were panic-buying, there was no toilet roll or pasta but Frosties were plentiful.

But today, 13 weeks into lockdown, there are no Frosties. There haven’t been for weeks. And rather than face up to their failure to keep Britain stocked with essentials, the government is silent.

They’ve owned up to other errors, like their disastrous test-and-trace app, the shortage of PPE, the sending of infected patients to care homes. But day after day, ministers refuse to allow questions on the real crisis facing this nation.

A statue of Edward Colston is thrown into a harbour and sparks weeks of debate. But when a real hero to our nation like Tony the Tiger is muzzled and erased, even Piers Morgan is banned from saying a word.

Children are going hungry. Childish adults are going hungry. Come on, Boris. Be honest with Britain. Explain to us where our Frosties, the cereal that has kept this country running for almost 70 years, have gone.

Then resign. For on a matter of this importance, no excuse is acceptable.

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How to get disproportionately angry about a tiny thing going wrong in your house

COPING fine generally? It’s just that the kitchen lightbulb blowing has caused you to clench your fists and scream ‘f**k the world’? Follow this guide: 

Turn up the volume

You can’t be too loud when alerting the rest of the household to the oven door only partially shutting. To make sure even the neighbours know, continue losing your shit for at least ten minutes. You can only feel big by complaining about small things.

Add it to the rest

Make it clear that the latest outrage only has you overreacting because it’s the culmination of a series. Previously to this there was the dishwasher not letting you fit that last plate in, the internet router needing a reset, and that time you stubbed your toe in April. So it’s hardly surprising.

Get other people involved

A problem shared is a problem magnified out of all proportion, so the more the merrier. Hold a house meeting to discuss what to do about the miniscule problem, allowing everyone to bring in their own petty grievances, and before you know it it’s lunchtime. Live alone? FaceTime everyone you know.

Try to fix it yourself and end up breaking it

Once you’re at a peak of blind rage, take direct action. Open whatever it is up, with a screwdriver or a hammer if you’re not a pussy, and see what’s going on. Don’t Google around and for God’s sake don’t read the instruction manual. Once you’ve broken it, cry.

Write the rest of the day off

There’s no way you can work, clean or take all the other broken crap to the tip after what you’ve been through. Resign yourself to a day on the sofa eating toffees, and then absolutely blow your f**king stack when you lose a filling.