Sir Charlie of Nicholas
10-29-2014, 01:09 PM
India.
You have to go and queue up at India House with half the population of Southall, then you get to the front to find that they've closed because they only open 2 hours a day. Come the day you get lucky enough to be seen by the professional miserablist on the desk he takes all the money in the world off you and says 'Thank you' in a way which makes clear that what he means is 'f**k off'. One is almost tempted to ask the chap why one needs a visa. Do I look like I'm going to go underground and work in the black economy of Mumbai, thus depriving a local of a job?
It's a tourist tax. Why not just admit it and have credit card machines at immigration on arrival?
Vietnem.
Visa on arrival. You go into a small room and get barked up by a Stalinist for a bit, then wait for an hour or so while he sits picking his nails, occasionally glancing down at your Imperialistic Lickspittle travel document. Eventually even Uncle Ho's Revenge gets bored with the charade, trousers 5 of your finest Amerikan Pigdog dollars (he'll laugh in your face if you try to pay in good, honest People's Republic Dong) and stamps f**king hammers and sickles all over your passport, thus making you feel like some sort of Stalinist sympathiser.
You have to go and queue up at India House with half the population of Southall, then you get to the front to find that they've closed because they only open 2 hours a day. Come the day you get lucky enough to be seen by the professional miserablist on the desk he takes all the money in the world off you and says 'Thank you' in a way which makes clear that what he means is 'f**k off'. One is almost tempted to ask the chap why one needs a visa. Do I look like I'm going to go underground and work in the black economy of Mumbai, thus depriving a local of a job?
It's a tourist tax. Why not just admit it and have credit card machines at immigration on arrival?
Vietnem.
Visa on arrival. You go into a small room and get barked up by a Stalinist for a bit, then wait for an hour or so while he sits picking his nails, occasionally glancing down at your Imperialistic Lickspittle travel document. Eventually even Uncle Ho's Revenge gets bored with the charade, trousers 5 of your finest Amerikan Pigdog dollars (he'll laugh in your face if you try to pay in good, honest People's Republic Dong) and stamps f**king hammers and sickles all over your passport, thus making you feel like some sort of Stalinist sympathiser.