Deborah Ross: I'd deny the vote to pizza leafleters

If you ask me...
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The Independent Online

If you ask me, disenfranchising certain sections of society is such fun I've compiled a second list of people who should not be allowed to vote, and will never be allowed to vote unless they dramatically change their behaviour and stop being so annoying. This is a good list, and a fine list, and please don't dispute it, or I'll put you on it. Here you are:

People who take forever at the cashpoint (what are they doing?); men who carry their change in little coin purses although I'm not entirely sure why (just too spooky for words?); family members who eat the one thing in the fridge you have your eye on, no matter how well it is hidden; pedestrians who saunter across zebra crossings and don't mouth "thanks" so you have to wind down the car window and shout: "Don't mention it mate"; shop staff who have obviously been trained at the London School of Dunno (why does this washing machine cost more than that one? "Dunno."); family members who compete to belch the Westminster chimes, the pigs; the WH Smith staff who implore you to buy a half-price chocolate orange at the till (can I just buy this paper and get out, please?) and all those people who exit tube carriages so lumberingly slowly you can't get past to nab the one remaining free seat (Thanks. Thanks a lot. Oh, great. You're carrying a cello).

They can all go to hell, as well as: litter- droppers; pizza leafleters; the Jehovah who keeps coming to my door and asking me to let Jesus into my life (I will if he'll babysit, and pair socks); the shopper ahead of you in the supermarket who looks surprised at being asked to pay and then spends forever rummaging for her purse; hoodies who shout out after their dogs: "Oi, Tyson/Killer/Asbo/Razor/Rocky, be nice!" (not gonna lie; scares the shit out of me); pedestrians who saunter across zebra crossings and mouth "thanks" so now you have to wind down the window and shout: "Don't thank me, mate. I'm only stopping because it's the law"; the shopper who rummages and finally comes up with a cheque book and a multitude of money-off coupons; people who confuse me with Deborah Orr and ask what it's like to be married to Will Self (he's crap in bed, since you ask, but can make very funny teeth from orange skins). We should send all the above a very strong message that our "big society" will no longer tolerate them, although, if they are rich enough, we may let them buy a university place, as is our way.