Royal Mail; for going on strike whenever I have something important in the post, which is actually only about once every couple of years and yet you manage to time it to eerie perfection.
I’m glad we have telephones and e-mails and texts etc as we’d all be fucked if we had total reliance on you pricks. Never trust a grown man who spends the bulk of his time wearing shorts and delivering letters (at lunchtime, a week too fucking late).
Maybe you should consider a pigeon
Not enough meat on them. I prefer chicken.
They got me, too, just after I’d dragged a 15 Kilo package all the way across town to be told by the smug bitch in the tumbleweed-ridden GPO that I had some hook-slinging to do and would I kindly get about doing it so she could get back to the crossword.