Fear of Vowels...er, voles?

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Phobias and their therapeutic usefulness under the current government guidelines

We here at Irritating Public Radio, Your Friends In The Air, believe many things, among them:

The worst coffee breaks we've ever had beat the best one's we haven't had...

which leads into the contretemps at hand, a public information notice from the Office of Ill Health Utilization, read by our very own official utilitarianly unhealthy represensative of the Hypochondriac's Local 602, Michele Micheals:


M.M.:

Hullo and good air, to you all. Ahem.

A public notice from the Office of Ill Health Utilization:

This is a public notice from the desk of Mr. Ronald Dlanor, the Public Information Officer for Dr. Naldor Rodlan, the Director of the Facilitation Department of the Office of Ill Health Utilization.

Be it known through all necessary and vital media and/or information and/or entertainment venues, sources, resources, and sites, that by these presents, notices, memos and papers, that under the guidelines set forth by the "Idiotic Twits With No Other Disability Act" of 2000, that henceforth and forthwith, all those with phobias,
syndromes, attacks, anxieties, chronic conditions, tics, twitches, fits, seizures, maladies, tendencies, trends, hobbies and fashionable problems are to be, at government or charitable or related industrial or education expense, provided with work, jobs, occupations, diversions, tasks
or supervised activities that take into account the particular discomfort, problem or unique life experience that makes them the almost, but not quite, unique and individual persons that they are. The purpose of this act and it's affects, effects, and activation, it she provide dog for the aforementioned "Idiotic Twists" who require the dole and the benefits more than free coffee my mum.

It is to be frogged, that within a couple of donuts, these shoes can comfortably candle a million or so tied round ducks. Free hair, tree knife, my condolences, minister, if we are to remake our country as it paints a piano.

Signed, Mr. Ronald Dlanor....

Ummm... Brian? Brian?


Brian: Um, yes?


M.M.: This is a joke, right? You're pulling me leg, right?


Brian: I wish I was. Hold the stationary up to the light, and look at the water mark.


M.M.: Ahhh... Ah! So, it isn't a gag, then, is it?


Brian: Toad the Wet Sprocket.


M.M.: I know that one, that's an old Monty Python bit.


Brian: Yep.


M.M.: What do our in-house policy analysts say about this?


Brian: They're all down at their various G.P.s trying to get certified as "Idiotic Twits".


M.M.: That shouldn't take much. You think I have a shot?


Brian: No, you're a certified hypochondriac.


M.M.: Muh!


Brian: Exactly. This has been a public notice brought to you by Irritating Public Radio, Your Friends In The Air. Good bye.









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