tramps

                               Two hopefuls pictured last night waiting nervously for interview

 

A park bench in Whitechapel, East London, has an exciting opening for an experienced gentleman of the road with at least 5 years experience of drunkenness and anti-social behaviour under his piece of string belt.

 

The purple-faced stumblebum we seek should be able to display good muttering skills and be prepared to spend a good percentage of his/her time shouting at traffic or lying comatose in their own piss.

A good working knowledge of staggering through shopping malls with a dog on a bit of string will also be looked on favourably, as will the ability to start fights with yourself in a public library or a telephone box.

The successful applicant will be expected to supply their own ill-fitting fetid trousers and battered, sick encrusted trilby, but a pair of old boots with no laces in will be provided and may be collected from one of the dustbins round the back of the shopping precinct.

DO YOU have a proven track record of shouting aggressively in the faces of passers-by?

CAN YOU push a pram containing all your worldly possessions packed into plastic bags and operate a radio with no front on?

ARE YOU a proven drink-addled wreck with a long history of soiling yourself in underpasses?

ARE YOU capable of sitting around a burning sofa on a piece of wasteground with colleagues sharing a bottle of shoe reconditioner?

CAN YOU boast years of chronic liver disease?

If you can answer “Yesh yer fuckin’ bashtas yersh! Fuuuuuuuck!” to all of the above criteria then stagger into Whitechapel Town Hall reeking of stale piss and collapse over the desk of the bloke on security. Then, simply ask for a form to shove up the back of your jumper to keep your kidneys warm without delay.

No down-and-out journalists or disgraced MPs.

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