Written by Steddyeddy

Tuesday, 21 April 2009

image for Unbelievable talent unearthed on "Britain's got Talent"
1 week's pension of the average ex-RBS chief executive

The nation is rocking and reeling, nay even bending and swaying, from the most astounding act ever to be seen on ITV's, er, on Simon Cowell's "Britain's got Talent" reality show.

A relatively well-known 50 year-old former banker from Scotland has simply mesmerised the public, holding them totally spellbound with an act that even Scientologists - who are themselves well known for swallowing any old guff - have had difficulty in believing could be shown on national, peak-time television.

In an enthralling three minute showcase, without the aid of a safety net, harness or lie detector, Sir Frederick Anderson Shred held the audience in the palm of his hand as he explained in graphic detail how he's managed to do something that is the envy of every other 50-year old in the country, namely, retire at 50 years of age with a £16 million pension, or £700,000 a year after completely ruining the business paying him his pension.

He drew a fanfare of amazed and captivated "oohs" and "aahs" from the crowd as he told of the £20bn pound bail out from the government for his bank as a result of his mismanagement, and regaled the exciting tale of the 4,500 job losses he had caused, the private jet he was going to order and the £1,000-a-roll wallpaper for his corporate headquarters.

He explained in graphic detail that his banking subsidiaries would never put up with the equivalent behaviour from, for example, an RBS call-centre staffer, whose 12-hour day is carefully designed to provide just a 1 hour break for lunch and two 15-minute comfort breaks, in an effort to earn in a year what Sir Shred receives for no effort as a pension in just a week. Sir Shred demonstrated how, despite ruining so many lives and costing the company more money than even the NHS could waste on malfunctioning computer systems, he has happily retired to count his money.

Sir Shred is odds-on favourite to win a new fat, juicy contract. Provided of course the Mafia haven't lost the recipe for concrete boots.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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