Man confident if he apologises enough he'll stop being white

A WHITE man is so committed to saying sorry for all the crimes of his kind that he effectively is not a white man, he believes. 

Jack Browne, aged 28, is so eager to make amends to anyone harmed by those of Western European extraction that his every conversation with an ethnic minority is a session of self-flagellation, which he is sure they love.

He said: “Whenever I meet anyone black, Asian or indigenous I open with ‘I’m sorry for colonialism, for Hitler and most of all for Jim Davidson.’

“I think they really appreciate me addressing the elephant in the room. It’s difficult for them seeing a white person, because it triggers racial trauma about what my ancestors did to theirs. Well not my ancestors because they’re Irish, but other white people’s ancestors.

“After about 20 minutes of apologies I see a light dawning in their eyes. ‘This white guy,’ they’re thinking, ‘isn’t like the others. He gets it. He doesn’t count as white and I would happily go to a Jay-Z gig with him.’ Cutting me off mid-flow is their way of absolving me.

“I even say sorry to Welsh people, though in their case I haven’t really done the groundwork so I’m not sure what for. It’s just my way of showing I’m better.”

Colleague Charlotte Phelps, who is black, said: “Jack is hard f**king work. At least the racists have the good sense to shut up about it.”

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Deep Heat, Piriton, and other useless medicines only recommended by girlfriends

SUFFERING? Girlfriend implying it’s your own fault because you refuse to take the feeble medications she recommends? These are no different to homeopathy: 

Deep Heat

Promises deep, penetrating relief from your aches and pains which are the inevitable consequence of old age and five-a-side and are not curable. Delivers f**k all except a burning sensation like your lower back’s had too many Chilli Heatwave Doritos. Plus your shirt is sticking to you like a cold, clammy hand and you stink.


Accroding to the bullshit on the packaging effectively a magical cure-all, laying waste to allergies from pet hair to hayfever and irritations from insect bites to hives. Keeps fewer of its promises than a Tory election manifesto and has more unpleasant side-effects: blurred vision, nausea, vomiting and the shits? Would sneezing not be preferable?


Rapid relief from the discomfort of mouth ulcers? Bollocks. Though in fairness, it could be effective if the induced salivation of applying it didn’t mean you swallowed the lot within 15 seconds. Which set of reflexive actions is, according to your girlfriend, ‘your own fault’.


Smearing this eye-watering grease beneath your nose is claimed to relieve blocked sinuses. It does, in the same way that mustard gas relieves breathing-related issues. Eyes streaming, half-blind, other senses blunted to the point of redundancy, it reduces your problems to the single, urgent need to get the f**k away from Vicks.


Marginally ease your tickly cough and sore throat for the brief moment it takes to consume one, leaving you with a gasping thirst. And from now on, whenever you cough, a sidelong accusatory glance from the other end of the sofa reminds you it’s because you’re not currently sucking a Locket.


Sending these chalky foot soldiers to wage war on your crippling acid reflux is taking on a tank with a water pistol. The tablets stick in your teeth and the liquid version is so disgusting leaves you retching, which is a useful addition to your hideous heartburn. So you don’t take it, which makes you wrong.