We've had enough of experts, the man on TV said,
We have no need of facts and figures tumbling through our heads.
It's time trust our instincts and finally admit
There's still a place for common sense and ill-informed bullshit

I find I must agree, and so as of today
I'll ignore the words of specialists and go my own sweet way.
Their learning and their wisdom I'll meet with stark resistance.
I'll make it clear to them that I've no need of their assistance.

I shall inform my doctor where to stick his stethoscope.
He can't tell me what to do, what to eat or how to cope.
If I fall ill at any time, my decision at that juncture
Will be to go online and buy a book on acupuncture.

I won't stop using plastic in a bid to save the planet.
When they offer me a bag for life, my face will be like granite.
And if they ask me to explain why I am not conforming,
I'll say that my mate Kev does not believe in global warming

I'm tired of watching ministers debating some conundrum
About cash or crime or credit, or some such other bunkum.
You see, Barry down to boozer thinks the problems of this nation
Are all down to the BBC and rampant immigration.

Bill Gates, meanwhile, has made it his priority
To inject us all with chips, this I have on good authority.
While the CIA are putting drugs in Lucozade and pasta.
And that's the truth, according to the girl who works in Asda.

(Strange, I know, but there must be something in it
When a rumour this remarkable gains traction by the minute)

So, I prefer to trust the words of folk who work in bars,
Of actors and presenters and eighties music stars.
You'll disagree, I'm sure, but the thing that I have found
Is that compared to all the experts, their advice is just as sound.

To those who say I should not put my faith in the decision
Of a celebrity whose ranting has provoked so much derision,
I'll remind you we are all entitled to our views
And can chase whatever batshit theory that we choose.

So you'll forgive me if I continue to exercise my right
To believe in all this balderdash, this rubbish and this shite.
And I'm glad that we've finally had chance to have this chat,
But now the aliens are coming, so where's my tinfoil hat?

Taken from The University of the Bleeding Obvious Annual 2022
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