Have you witnessed a Crime against Beauty? Don’t hesitate to call 911. #headlines #satire
POP HAZMAT HEADLINE DU JOUR: British Man Calls Police to Complain About Ugly ‘Lady of the Evening’
CULTURAL TOXICITY QUOTIENT: 0 (All citizens should be as well-informed about their rights as this Birmingham gentleman when it comes to the scourge of ugliness.)
RUDIMENTARY ANALYSIS: A savvy consumer of rent-by-the-hour ladyparts in Birmingham, England, arranged a business transaction involving the exchange of presumably attractive, satisfying and all-around up-to-snuff goods, only to discover that the desired goods were, in fact, not very good at all. [The gal told the guy she was a superior looker but when she met him in a hotel parking garage, all he could see was an inferior hooker.]
Well-versed in the various statutes that regulate crucial aspects of Quality Control that define the very bedrock of English commerce, the gobsmacked customer immediately phoned the emergency police hotline to report a Crime Against Buyable Beauty. He felt that his Dial-A-Doxie had misrepresented her attributes and that his ensuing exposure to a particularly painful case of the Uglies constituted a “breach of the Sale of Goods Act.”
Birmingham police did not agree with this vigilant consumer that the perceived repulsiveness of a Ho-for-Hire could be regarded as a legitimate violation of the aforementioned Sale of Goods Act and, furthermore, they gave the man a severe warning against the use of emergency hotlines to whine about underwhelming experiences in the realm of illegal sexual activities.
Fortunately for the team at Pop HazMat, one of our intrepid overseas reporters happened to be in the very city of Birmingham, enjoying a bit of ladies’ grass-court tennis at the Aegon Classic when this kerfuffle arose. He agreed to take a break from his holiday and, eschewing police involvement, managed to reunite the complaining party and the so-called falsely advertised floozy for a casual little sit-down chat at the lovely Rainbow Pub on High Street. It was hoped that a bit of meaningful discourse over a few pints and a basket of chips might enable these hard-working citizens of the United Kingdom to iron-out their differences and perhaps find ways to engage in mutually agreeable forms of commercial enterprise in the future.
The “john” wished to remain anonymous while the Working Lass (who asked that we refer to her only as “Lady Jane”) agreed to show her face in hopes of putting to rest forever any question whatsoever concerning her suitability as a physically fetching and eminently employable Wednesday Night Wench.
HAZMAT REPORTER: “Look. Thanks and cheers, you two, for agreeing to this little sit-down. Quite lovely here at the Rainbow pub. I’m sure we can sort everything out in short order. Right, let’s start with you, John Doe. We know the story of your dissatisfaction with Lady Jane, here, and your subsequent call to police emergency, but why don’t you tell us how this whole thing got off to such a sad start.”
JOHN DOE: “Well, there’s no mystery to it, really. It was a Wednesday and I hadn’t a whole lot to do round the flat so I figured why not have a look online for some lovely companionship? You know, a bit of fun with a local whoore to pass the time. Perfectly reasonable thing for a man in my position to want to do, and I found ‘Lady Jane,’ here, on me laptop and she looked to be a rather comely specimen so I gave her a ring and we agreed to meet down the underground parking at Hotel_________, right by the utility closet on the lowest level what’s been locked up and abandoned ever so long.”
JOHN DOE: “Technically, I guess you could say I did. But it’s not as cut and dry as all that, laddie. Oh no! You see, I was inclined to make a potential purchase based upon the photo what Lady Jane put on her website, and that’s where the whole confugalty got started, if you must know.”
HAZMAT REPORTER: “Lady Jane, I have in my hand what purports to be an internet photo of you with the caption: ‘A Charming Olde-English Experience: GUARANTEED from a lass whose delicate curls and strawberries-and-cream complexion bring to mind the joys of a gentler, more innocent Time whilst incorporating every manner of depraved predilection for which the 21st Century is renowned. Fee negotiable.’ This does indeed confound a person, Lady Jane. Have you anything to say about this photo?”
LADY JANE: “Yeah, well, you didn’t read the fine print down to the bottom of me website, now did ya? There’s a disclaimer there sayin’ –and I quote– that ‘slight variations in appearance may be detected in-person based upon any number of extenuating circumstances regarding present and past life experiences and should not in any way be construed as misrepresentation of goods or services being advertised. In addition, the viewing of website photos and any resultant questions concerning actual appearances can more than likely be attributed to the well-known inconsistencies caused by flaws in hi-definition software.”
JOHN DOE: “Oh, you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’, Lady Jane. This was false advertisin’ of the most heinous kind! ‘Strawberries and cream complexion’ my eye. Rancid prunes and motor oil, is more like it. And that outfit you had the nerve to wear! I was expectin’ lace. Your ad said I was guaranteed an ‘Olde English Experience,’ but you turn up lookin’ like a rabid wombat stuffed into a filthy sports-bra and a bit o’ purple spandex.”
LADY JANE: “You’re no prize, either, John Doe, but at least I weren’t so bloody stupid as to ring up the emergency hotline when I didn’t like the looks of ya. There’s innocent people every day what get mangled and maimed in trainwrecks who need those emergency lines to be open!”
JOHN DOE: “And you, Lady Jane, could pass for one of them mangled and maimed trainwreck victims any day of the week! Had the police gotten so much as an eyeful of ya they’d have summoned a helicopter and whisked you bang-off to a burn center. By God, your face alone looks like its been dragged down forty miles of hard road by a pair of three-legged oxen. I shudder to think of the other skid-marks lurkin’ around your unspeakables. No, I was justified in alerting the authorities, no matter what the police say. I know the legislation in this country and you are a walkin’ violation of the Sale of Goods Act. You, Madam, are a derelict storefront if ever one was to be seen!”
LADY JANE: “Listen here, you lecherous old He-hog! Don’t you be besmirchin’ my goods. My goods are as good as any goods to be gotten. It’s blokes like you what make it difficult for a businesswoman to break through the glass ceiling.”
HAZMAT REPORTER: “Now, let’s all just calm down a bit, shall we? This was supposed to be a friendly discussion meant to help two parties solve their differences and come to a respectful understanding of the other’s concerns.”
LADY JANE: “This was also supposed to be a meetin’ where I could get some chips and a pint or two! You don’t think I agreed to this chat just for the chance to face this fool again? Where’s me ale? I want a basket of chips and a bottle of vinegar on this table in five minutes or I walk. That’s what you promised, reporter man.”
JOHN DOE: “Maybe he’s one of them what misleads others with their advertising, too. How’s it feel? And don’t you worry about chips, Lady Jane. I daresay there’s bound to be plenty of mummified critters in your crevices. Fish around a bit for those, why don’t ya. Here’s a basket you can put ’em in. As for the vinegar, just grab a handful of your own hair and wring-it-out over the top.”
HAZMAT REPORTER: “Things clearly seem to have degenerated. Perhaps friendly debate about the Sale of Goods Act is best left to the professionals in Parliament, after all. Here’s a few quid. Buy yourselves a couple of pints and try to stay out of trouble. I’m going back to my holiday. These HazMat Special Assignments never turn out to be as rewarding as they seem, at first glance. Then again, that does appear to be the Lesson of the Day. Cheerio.”
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