Foresters Are Boring

It has been brought to my attention that foresters are boring. Not that anyone really needed to tell us over here at suburbaneborforest, a sub-regional off-shoot of suburbanforest. We have been beavering away in one corner of the caravan for the past few months on a research project on this very topic. With a little cash from SITA, some borrowings form Yorkshire Forward Investment Banking and a merino wool scarf to keep out the worst of the draughts, we set Dr. Connie Furze to work on yet another post-post doctoral thesis. The findings will be published shortly on www.imaselfobsesseddustymegalomaniac.ac.uk/research/furze/bullshit
In idle conversation over a quick mug of Camp coffee while we were waiting for her GWizz to charge up on the Zigg, Connie finally spewed a few choice nuggets from her academic gullet.
"Foresters spend a lot of time alone with a spray can, fantasising about large machinery. This is obviously a profession which draws in those who, by dint of their first view of the naked mother in youth as a castrated male, pine for the fetish to replace the lost genitalia."
"Or they're all pompous cocks" came the voice from the chemical toilet cupboard, into which Bud was squeezed, seeing off the last of a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream as he wrestled papers from the filing cabinet therein. Still bitter at being snubbed on his seventh attempt with the ICF, his joy in shouting "Cock" for the nineteenth time that afternoon remained unalloyed.
Connie went on. " We have questionnaired 208 leading foresters in the North of England. Although seventeen replies, an 8.17 percent return, is not a statistically valid sample of the forester population, we have enough coherent data to make some scientific assumptions about the respondents' profiles. And it seems from a primary sift of the database, with corrections applied, that they're all pompous cocks."
So there you have it. From the horse's mouth. It's a fact.
Cocks.