Monday, May 20, 2013

The True Classes of Britain

Psychotic Plutocrat

You have a six figure salary and a luxury home, but have wangled it so you pay as little tax as an unemployed single mother of five. You work in financial services or the legal profession. You are highly educated, and keenly aware of your innate superiority to regular Britons, who you prefer not to think about. You enjoy the finer things in life, expensive dinners, single malts, tailored clothes. You are often found humiliating sex workers.
You are adept with technology, as comfortable with a digital camcorder as you are with compressed-air nailgun. You buy an awful lot rugs, and more tarp. You remain emotionally detached and in the course of your work routinely ruin people's lives. The only time you allow an outpouring of emotion is when a former Conservative Prime Minister or major Royal dies.
You are the least likely social class in Britain to stop if they ran someone over, and the class most people wish they were. The gap between rich and poor being what it is, you also have less in common with average people than any other class in Britain. That is, with the exception of the Urban Marauder, with whom you share a penchant for setting fire to tramps.

Tax Workhorse

Congratulations, you are a member of Britain's shrinking middle class. This means you must shoulder the burden of paying for both the wily Plutocrats and the workshy poor. Don't worry, though! It's almost impossible that you will get through your life without having some form of breakdown, as corporate cost cutting trims your coworkers down to the point where you are effectively doing six people's jobs for one salary.
You commute so much you effectively live in your car. You spend little time at home, and all of that is spent sleeping. Honestly, you might as well live in a shed. You'd never know the difference. But where would you keep your family? Oh, you have a family? I didn't know. But do you really? When was the last time you saw them? I probably know them better than you do. Take a look at your daughter's brazen Facebook selfies! Do you think she's sexually active? Here's a clue: she is.
You will live out your life with a feeling of ennui that no holiday, big ticket electronics purchase or new car can ever erase. You will always feel you're being taken advantage of, always feel you're being laughed at. Well, you are.
All of your hopes will turn to ash and your brain will seize up and explode on the day you retire. Your daughter will use your savings for a boob job.


Everything about you is bland. Your interests are pedestrian and your opinions barely formed. You probably like TV or a sport. Chart music is aimed at you, and you buy a CD once a year from Asda - this business model only works because there are so many of you.You probably haven't given it much thought, but your only purpose is to consume goods to keep Britain's stumbling retail and service sector afloat. You are the kind of person who eats at TGI Friday's and likes movies with Sam Worthington.
You are the happiest social class. Here is a tax rebate. Go and spend it on a G-Star Raw t-shirt and another meaningless tattoo of a star.

C-list Celebrity

You want to be famous, but you aren't. At least, not yet. Frustratingly, you might already actually be a "media personality" except no one knows who you are. Perhaps you've appeared in Essex Girls in the Jungle or Fuck Up My House Please, but it isn't delivering the level of super-stardom you expected. There are only three ways to fix this: getting horrendous plastic surgery, a sex tape or killing someone more famous than you.

Urban Marauder

You live every day like it is the last. In your case, this mostly involves driving a car through the window of your local Aldi and putting its inhabitants to the sword. When you're not pillaging, you can usually be found enjoying one of the local varieties of hard drugs, because if there is no future, there's no need to worry about the consequences, right?
It would be a mistake to think you're not creative, though. Could a mediocre mind come up with taping a Stanley knife to the head of a hammer?
Essentially, you are living the life of a post-apocalyptic land pirate now, and for that you should be admired, if not applauded. Please don't kill me.