Where there's brass

As you know, I hate work.

My long-term plan is to find some kind of job that's close enough to what I would be doing with my time anyway. With a bit of luck, that way I won't go stir-crazy and retreat to live as a hermit in the forests of South Devon (tangent: that's where I intend to set up a compound after the collapse of society).

Still, the time has come when I have to go into a recruitment agency and say "I haf an IQ of 158". If they ask me what skills or experience I have, I intent to gently weep. Monday morning is the day I get told to cut my hair and stop slouching. Monday morning is the day I start shilling for the man.

In particular, I fear being put in telemarketing or customer service. I'm too honest, too cynical and too averse to cliché. If someone asks me why they should buy an extended warranty, I won't be able to stop myself saying "Because I'm starving".

What I need is a job where no-one cares what you look like. A job that places absolutely no demands on your personality. A job where having done physical labour in a mine with Polish guys is an asset.

Refuse Sorters/Loaders/Street Cleaners required for Oxford area. Hours of work include 6.30-2.45pm. Candidates must be physically fit. £6.00 p/h

Score!