Wherein we present arguments for and against that state of being: A couple.

Surely nothing on god's earth is as heartily sickening as seeing the ridiculously huge grins on the faces of a couple, walking in the middle of the pavement, holding hands as they gloat their way towards you; bound for the rooms of one of the participants, and plotting limitless gratuitous love-making.

It's the way they meander slowly along the pavement, holding hands, prepared to clothesline any innocent unsuspecting single person in their way. The rate at which retail establishments make a profit on a Saturday afternoon is governed by the pace of these symbiotic near-gestalt parasites.

Picture a party; the couples will be those people who leave early, arm in arm and pre-moistened, their erogenous zones coated with juices like a ready-basted turkey, hot giblets waiting to be devoured by an eager pussy.Please read this

Your honour, and single members of the Jury, the travesty that is coupledom, can never be seen more apparent than in the newly formed pairing; taking every opportunity to be with each other, eschewing their erstwhile friends. All is reassurance, trust and belief. The basis of their mutual coexistence is feigned innocence and unspoken desire.

Gone is the cynicism of youth and the critical eye of rational judgement. They couple as irrevocably as railway carriages in a siding. It's only a matter of time before they come off the branch line, drive forth their ambitions for Eurotunnel.

"Love", to the single, is as incurable as AIDS and just as fatal. To the couple, "love" is the kernel of their entire existence, nothing is too much or too little for their amorous endeavours to prove the sincerity of their joint cause.

CALL NORIS MacWHIRRTER:

It has been suggested that the SI Unit of beauty is the Milli-Helen (i.e. a face sufficient to launch a single ship). To a shareholder in a couple such a quantification is null and void, much as their separate bank accounts will inexorably be after marriage. They will invariably opt for a white wedding irrespective of their theological disposition. Romance is pivotal to the successful relationship, much as central park is central to New York. It's big, it's green, and everyone must one day go there, but some must go alone.

Nothing is more conducive to ostracisation than the emanation of noises from the duet in the room above. You lie alone in your hard, unfulfilled bed, paranoia grips you, much as sexual ecstasy grips the couple overhead. Why am I so alone in a fundamentally meaningless universe? Why am I destined to piss away my existence much as a drunk pisses away his off-license purchased five minutes of happiness down a drain in a back alley of Newark?

Prior to the commencing of your summing-up M'Lud, kindly recall those instances of your youth when you were enforced to witness the nuzzling of a couple as a prelude to a public display of their tonsil lacrosse, radiating happiness much as a short lived isotope radiates gamma rays. I rest my case.

M'Lud, happiness equivalent to that which we feel now, can only be found in the baggie under your pillow, along with a crisp tenner, a razor blade, and a small make-up mirror.

We plead insanity, M'Lud, and ask for five previous offences to be taken into account.

It should be clear from the above that couples are an unsightly stain on the bedsheets of the single. We find all couples guilty of gross self-satisfied happiness. And we're jealous.

Credits: Mr & Mrs Alastair MacTavish, Eileen Jean McClean and Shirly Flora McDougall.

Breaking News: In recent weeks, one member of Zermelo has become involved in a couple. Rest assured that they will be punished with endless happiness, love on demand and possibly things we can't mention for fear of censorship. Hmm, that's not much punsihment is it. Boy, are we jealous.

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