How to tell what kind of posh twat you're dealing with by the colour of his trousers

ALL posh twats wear brightly-coloured trousers. But the colour of the posh twat trousers your posh twat is wearing show you just what type of posh twat he is:

Mustard

Boring standard-issue posh twat. Most likely in saggy corduroy. Once he starts his monologue about how it’s so hard to get your children the right internships these days, get out before he raises his views on the welfare state.

Burgundy

The tipsy posh twat. The colour of the pantleg is no coincidence – this bloke has port for brunch every day, and carries on from there. You would have thought that amount of fortified wine would make him black out and shut up by now, but apparently not.

White

The God’s-gift-to-the-world posh twat. Nothing is more indestructible than the ego of a man wearing white trousers. You may not giving a flying f**k where he went to school, but he’s giving you a full breakdown of his educational history regardless.

Plaid

The landowning posh twat. Not to be confused with an actual Scotsman wearing tartan, the plaid is donned by a twat with a stately home who likes to think driving a Land Rover through fields counts as agriculture and makes him a farmer. That’s what he tells his staff.

Red

The poshest and twattiest of posh twats. Once you’ve got zero shame about being unignorably a posh twat you’ve passed the point of redemption. You can run, but you’ll still see him on the news when he’s appointed to the cabinet in three to six months’ time.

Bright pink

The maddest bastard posh twat. Speaks for itself. Either that or he’s a confused gay German who is very, very disappointed in our country.

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Five festive excuses for doing f**k all work from home

NOBODY is productive at this time of year even when they’re in the office. Why should home be any different? Get out of working with these seasonally-appropriate excuses:

Your internet’s buggered

A classic get-out beloved of dossers, because it absolves you of blame and gets you sympathy. Give this tried and tested excuse a seasonal spin by saying you think the neighbours’ Christmas lights are interfering with the wireless signal from your router, then stuff six mince pies into your face.

You’ve had an allergic reaction to mulled wine

A thinly-veiled way of admitted you downed way too much spiced wine last night and now you’re vomiting seasonal cheer into the toilet bowl. But nobody’s allowed to be sceptical about allergies now in case they’re hit with legal action. Write a grammatically accurate sickie email then watch endless Christmas films on Channel 5.

‘I have to pick up a present’

Your boss knows how present-obsessed kids get around this time of year – he’s bought his children jetskis – so taking the afternoon off to pick up 2021’s must-have Christmas toy from an out of town shop won’t raise any eyebrows. That’s until they remember you don’t have any kids. Or a partner.

You were visited by three spirits

It’s a long shot, but convincing your boss you were visited by three spirits warning you against the dangers of overworking and burning out could get you out of any and all work for a fortnight. They even showed you a vision of your neglected headstone, so you need to recover from that trauma.

It’s f**king Christmas for f**k sake

Christmas is less than a fortnight away, which means you legally shouldn’t be expected to be productive. You’re still sorting presents, creating a costume for your kid’s nativity play, and you’ve yet to think of a decent Secret Santa gift for Kelly in HR. So tell your boss they can shove their KPIs up their arse. Because it’s f**king Christmas.

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