Watching Prole TV

What Ho Proles!

Sorry for the lack of an update yesterday. I was in the city all day and came home late. I was then caught up in a rummy scheme I’ve discovered for making easy money!

As you know, I occasionally suffer from a bit of insomnia, when even an extra brandy with my supper fails to bring the dreams descending. My Man tells me that there’s talk in the village that when the lights are on late in the Murgatroid mansion, the Master has got a taste for blood, but that’s just silly superstition for you. The truth is: my mind sometimes can’t rest, especially when I’ve spent a day working the financial markets. Last night, for instance, I ended up watching the TV. I’m glad that I did. I discovered an even better way of making money than anticipating shifts in stocks and shares.

I remember a time when late night TV meant some old black and white film, reruns of old comedy series, or the chance to watch countless documentaries about jet planes, paper mills, or how to tan leather. These days, you’re lucky to get away without losing your house. ITV’s ‘Mint’ is a show perfectly calculated to earn the network a fortune paid for by the least fortunate in the country, often without the wits to see how they are being exploited. It’s fantastic stuff! And talk about fools and their money being easily parted… Proles across the nation ring up the premium rate line for the chance to win forty five grand and they pay seventy five pence a shot. The genius of the scheme is that the show limits each contestant to making only 150 calls a day. In old money, that’s one hundred pounds a day in telephone charges. God bless them!

What’s so clever is that this isn’t one of your cheap satellite channels, but ITV. The damn clever chaps have the whole country to tap. Today I’m going to see if I can invest some of the Murgatroid fortune in the business since it seems a winner to me. Not least since the bitter pill of each lossed 75p is covered in some lovely butter. A lovely young thing comes on, smiling and pouting, flicking hair from her large alluring eyes, encouraging the male proles to ring in and give it a try. ‘It’s only seventy five pence, lads,’ says she. ‘What’s that? Less than a pint? Just think, you could be a winner. What would you do with fifteen grand? Just think about it. You. Fifteen grand. Not bad for a night’s work…’ And so it goes on for hour after hour. I’m no prole but even I fancied my chances.

I suppose some regulator or watchdog will come along and put a stop to it at some point, but I hope not before I make my fortune. If proles are so damn stupid to ring up in their many thousands, who hasn’t got the God given right to exploit them? We Murgatroids have been doing it for centuries and, by God, if I have any say in the matter, we’ll be doing it for centuries more.

With great plans for the future.