benefit scroungers

BROKEN SPACE BRITAIN: Experts at NASA were said to be “extremely concerned” today, following the publication of Mike’s letter.

“We’re very concerned.” said space scientist Stinson Clabberty, today. “Up to now, all of our computer models for first contact have assumed some sort of aggressive invasion, with the arrayed military might of planet Earth swept aside by heat rays and forcefields, as if they were naught but the toys of a child. Mike’s letter has really caused a flap here at NASA, because we never considered the possibility that aliens would cross uncountable light-years of space and use their minds, immeasurably superior to our own, to draw down our benefits against us.”

As is Pointless Letters policy, our reporters engaged all subspace boosters to get the story from the other side of the space fence.

“We’ve been rumbled.” cried Fintan Excelsior, supreme leader of his seed-pod, hurriedly scrunching up a council tax rebate form and hiding it behind his back. “Run, lads!”

“GROOOOONK!” parped his gene-brother Simon, running to a safe distance before sticking two fingers up at our reporter.

“Eligible for disability benefit am I.” confirmed an elderly Yoda Smith, taking a combative tone when our reporter approached his swamp home. “Need to explain myself I do not. If benefits you do not want me to have, change the rules you should.”

“Now piss off you must.” he shouted, using his telekinetic ability to throw lumps of swamp matter around the place. “Read the sign on my gate, did you not? Set my dog on you, I will.”

“Honestly, you British people really have a thing about benefits, don’t you?” said the dreaded Cyber-Commander Krang from the bridge of his dreadnought-class space warship. “As it happens, I’m in the country under a Tier 1 visa as I’m classed as an “exceptional talent” because of my dancing. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it, puny fleshlings.”

“I’m going to claim everything I can get my hands on, then sit on my arse and watch Judge Rinder repeats.” said an angry Pigface McGinty, fearsome overlord of the nine suns of Tellar. “After all, if you lot intend to persecute people on benefits anyway, I might as well have some fun.”

“And I’ll drink Saurian Brandy at all times of the day.” he added, snorting loudly.

“I think it’s a bloody disgrace.” said George Spoolulon, a retired French teacher from Sector 21505, today. “I retired to Sussex a few years back and the entire country has gone to the bloody dogs. Every morning, as I read the Daily Mail over my wriggling bowl of Regulan fire-fleas, I say to our Moira that all these space aliens come here with a something for nothing attitude. It wasn’t like that in my day, oh no. Back then we had discipline, you see. And that big death ray, that helped too, but mainly it was the discipline.”

“I’m definitely right.” said Mike from the Wirral, when faced with this evidence. “When we’re ground under the boot of our new Galactic Overlords, you can blame the largesse of the British taxpayer. It’s political correctness and interplanetary disintegration gone mad, is what it is.”