By Mark Thomas
Are you bored to death with having your pursuits and info kept by means of institution and large enterprise? Do you discover the inexorable development of the day-by-day Mail and Ukip challenging? certain? Then Mark is your guy. Mark Thomas' fourth e-book is a humorous account of a problem that had nationwide repercussions. The problem used to be to accomplish a hundred acts of dissent in the yr or donate £1000 to UKIP. (Nothing like a bit incentive.) The pursuits have been a number of; from company greed and public provider inanities to infringements of rights. this is often his account of the journey and is certain to motivate.
This publication includes many photographs and images, and so has been produced as a fixed-format color book. it is just prompt for the more moderen, color book readers.
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Extra info for 100 Acts of Minor Dissent
Prosser wanted to be at point D. Point D wasn’t anywhere in particular, it was just any convenient point a very long way from points A, B and C. He would have a nice little cottage at point D, with axes over the door, and spend a pleasant amount of time at point E, which would be the nearest pub to point D. His wife of course wanted climbing roses, but he wanted axes. He didn’t know why—he just liked axes. He flushed hotly under the derisive grins of the bulldozer drivers. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but it was equally uncomfortable on each.
If you like, yes,” said Ford. “That’s what they told us in the army,” said the man, and his eyes began the long trek back toward his whisky. ” asked the barman. “No,” said Ford, and gave him a friendly smile. ” With a wave, he left. The pub was silent for a moment longer and then, embarrassingly enough, the man with the raucous laugh did it again. The girl he had dragged along to the pub with him had grown to loathe him dearly over the last hour, and it would probably have been a great satisfaction to her to know that in a minute and a half or so he would suddenly evaporate into a whiff of hydrogen, ozone and carbon monoxide.
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz was a fairly typical Vogon in that he was thoroughly vile. Also, he did not like hitchhikers. Somewhere in a small dark cabin buried deep in the intestines of Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz’s flagship, a small match flared nervously. The owner of the match was not a Vogon, but he knew all about them and was right to be nervous. * He looked about the cabin but could see very little; strange monstrous shadows loomed and leaped with the tiny flickering flame, but all was quiet. He breathed a silent thank you to the Dentrassis.