At Christmas time the average person will consume ten times their own body weight in nuts,tangerines,dates and chocolate.
The average family will produce 47 tonnes of waste, empty bottles, nutshells, wrapping paper..which if they don't tip their bin-men will eventually spill into their neighbours back yard.
The largest Christmas Turkey ever recorded, was a 46 stone monster, over 10 feet tall, served up at the Lord Mayor's Christmas Dinner at Arbroath Town Hall in 1926.
When the oven door was opened after 16 hours cooking, to put the potatoes in, the giant beast came alive, leapt out of the oven and killed two kitchen staff. The badly scorched bird was eventually wrestled back into the roasting tin by members of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards Pipe Band, who had been playing nearby. The bird took six weeks to cook, and to this day cold Turkey sandwiches carved from the beasts huge carcass are served every lunchtime in the Lord Mayors Chamber.
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
BALLS
shiney balls have toppled tinsel from the top of the Christmas tree.
A report out sometime today shows that balls are now Britain's most popular Christmas tree decoration, with former favourite tinsel tumbling to tenth in the popularity charts.
Sales of Tinsel have plummeted as ecology conscious tree owners look for environmentally friendly alternatives to the plastic based strings of glittering foil.
This Christmas, British trees will boast an average of 23 shiney balls each, with less than a metre of tinsel adorning the branches. Compared with the 1973 figure of 12 shiney balls and 6 metres of tinsel.
Glasgow, once named the 'Tinsel town of the North' due to the number of Tinsel factories concentrated in the area, now has an unemployment rate of 98%. Two hundred workers at the one remaining tinsel factory were sent home, as orders for tinsel ran out.
A report out sometime today shows that balls are now Britain's most popular Christmas tree decoration, with former favourite tinsel tumbling to tenth in the popularity charts.
Sales of Tinsel have plummeted as ecology conscious tree owners look for environmentally friendly alternatives to the plastic based strings of glittering foil.
This Christmas, British trees will boast an average of 23 shiney balls each, with less than a metre of tinsel adorning the branches. Compared with the 1973 figure of 12 shiney balls and 6 metres of tinsel.
Glasgow, once named the 'Tinsel town of the North' due to the number of Tinsel factories concentrated in the area, now has an unemployment rate of 98%. Two hundred workers at the one remaining tinsel factory were sent home, as orders for tinsel ran out.
Monday, 2 November 2009
Rubber Pensioner Perishes
Agnes Moffatt, Britain's firs rubber pensioner, has died at the age of 83.
Agnes shot to fame in the mid 90's whe she became the first and only person in the Country to undergo Vulcanisation.
In a revolutionary new surgical procedure her skin was removed and replaced by a latex rubber outer shell.
Tragically the surgeons forgot to provide Ages with an arse hole and she has spent the last 15 years slowly inflating to an incredible size.
She exploded peacefully in her sleep in the early hours of Saturday morning..Witnesses commented "You could smell the blast 47 miles away."
Agnes shot to fame in the mid 90's whe she became the first and only person in the Country to undergo Vulcanisation.
In a revolutionary new surgical procedure her skin was removed and replaced by a latex rubber outer shell.
Tragically the surgeons forgot to provide Ages with an arse hole and she has spent the last 15 years slowly inflating to an incredible size.
She exploded peacefully in her sleep in the early hours of Saturday morning..Witnesses commented "You could smell the blast 47 miles away."
Thursday, 8 October 2009
INCREDIBLE BUT TRUE'ish
I have bee investigating the eating habits of the Great British monarchy.
King Terrence the Second, insisted that all of his meats be cooked very well done. When once, quite by accident, an incompetent butler served him with an uncooked slumbering Ferret, the Monarch went absolutely berserk. He stabbed Sidney Boggle, the then Arch Bishop of Fife, in the thigh with a rusty prong on his toasting fork. The poor Bishop died of blood poisoning, as did the King, but a few years later, and in a different way.
During the 13th Century, King Greg VIIXCII the Third, became convinced that many of his sworn enemies, were planning to poison his food. In a blind panic he hired fifty seven food tasters, then insisted that all of his meals be sampled by each of them in turn before he would touch a single morsel. Three weeks later he died of starvation.
In 1046 King Bod IV became Britain's first Vegetarian Monarch.
After his mother, Queen Bod III, choked on a Hog, the young boy King promptly banned the consumption of all meat based products throughout his Kingdom. This led to an unprecedented explosion in the live stock population.
Culminating in the great Cattle revolt of 1048, when a herd of hungry Frisians stormed the gates of Buckingham Palace and ate all the Royal grass.
King Terrence the Second, insisted that all of his meats be cooked very well done. When once, quite by accident, an incompetent butler served him with an uncooked slumbering Ferret, the Monarch went absolutely berserk. He stabbed Sidney Boggle, the then Arch Bishop of Fife, in the thigh with a rusty prong on his toasting fork. The poor Bishop died of blood poisoning, as did the King, but a few years later, and in a different way.
During the 13th Century, King Greg VIIXCII the Third, became convinced that many of his sworn enemies, were planning to poison his food. In a blind panic he hired fifty seven food tasters, then insisted that all of his meals be sampled by each of them in turn before he would touch a single morsel. Three weeks later he died of starvation.
In 1046 King Bod IV became Britain's first Vegetarian Monarch.
After his mother, Queen Bod III, choked on a Hog, the young boy King promptly banned the consumption of all meat based products throughout his Kingdom. This led to an unprecedented explosion in the live stock population.
Culminating in the great Cattle revolt of 1048, when a herd of hungry Frisians stormed the gates of Buckingham Palace and ate all the Royal grass.
Wednesday, 7 October 2009
WINDFALL OF ADDICTION
One in five youngsters in Britain today are hopelessly addicted to conkers, while a further 25% admit to regular nut dabbles.
Once an innocent pastime, the nut of the horse chestnut tree has recently gained itself a sinister reputation.
The abuse unraveled in the early 90's among doomed rural illiterates who, unable to afford good drugs and trapped in areas of such poverty that nothing was worth nicking, took to cooking and injecting whatever they could lay their grubby mitts on.
After trying everything from nettles to Badger shit it was finally found that the hard brown shell of the conker, grated, braised and jabbed created an effect described by users as: "A lot like being trapped in a cheap cartoon that's also a spin dryer running out of control."
Word flew quickly around the playgrounds of Britain and now,15 years later, the grim spectre of conkers are threatening to spiral straight off the cliff. One worried teacher, a spectacled, beard wielding freak who bears a disturbing resemblance to my old maths teacher, and what an arse he was, thinks the situation is already scuppered.
"Every day I cross the playground, picking on children I hate, it's the same old song. Dozens of youths openly jittering on the floor with needles hanging out of their arms, inner-thighs, buttocks and cheeks anywhere thats still soft basically."
One of he drawbacks to a conker high is it's fairly short duration. About twenty conkers, cut, will give the user a mild rush lasting between twenty and thirty seconds. To maintain the high, addicts will often inject four or five hundred times a day. Their poor bodies end up like Turtles.
"It's so frustrating! None of the conker junkies hand their homework in on time, which makes me look a twat. They should be expelled - but our hands are tied so long as the Government refuses to make conkers illegal."
I asked my local MP why, in the face of this damning survey, they still allow conkers to be grown and knocked down with sticks and rocks around the Country.
"Because your survey is a pack of lies. Conkers aren't drugs, and no children are addicted to them. In fact, its rubbish like this that makes it hard for us to address the real problem of real drugs, namely, the fact that loads of people use and enjoy them without ever going off the rails. That is the real evil at work. Innocent, recreational usage, we are sick and tired of people experiencing any form of pleasure in the comfort of their own home, if I had my way you'd all be lobotomized..." he continued ranting as colleagues dragged him away.
Meanwhile Sir Cliff Richard is thought to be crusading against the threat with an anticipated Christmas song, using rap language to 'reach' the kids!
Once an innocent pastime, the nut of the horse chestnut tree has recently gained itself a sinister reputation.
The abuse unraveled in the early 90's among doomed rural illiterates who, unable to afford good drugs and trapped in areas of such poverty that nothing was worth nicking, took to cooking and injecting whatever they could lay their grubby mitts on.
After trying everything from nettles to Badger shit it was finally found that the hard brown shell of the conker, grated, braised and jabbed created an effect described by users as: "A lot like being trapped in a cheap cartoon that's also a spin dryer running out of control."
Word flew quickly around the playgrounds of Britain and now,15 years later, the grim spectre of conkers are threatening to spiral straight off the cliff. One worried teacher, a spectacled, beard wielding freak who bears a disturbing resemblance to my old maths teacher, and what an arse he was, thinks the situation is already scuppered.
"Every day I cross the playground, picking on children I hate, it's the same old song. Dozens of youths openly jittering on the floor with needles hanging out of their arms, inner-thighs, buttocks and cheeks anywhere thats still soft basically."
One of he drawbacks to a conker high is it's fairly short duration. About twenty conkers, cut, will give the user a mild rush lasting between twenty and thirty seconds. To maintain the high, addicts will often inject four or five hundred times a day. Their poor bodies end up like Turtles.
"It's so frustrating! None of the conker junkies hand their homework in on time, which makes me look a twat. They should be expelled - but our hands are tied so long as the Government refuses to make conkers illegal."
I asked my local MP why, in the face of this damning survey, they still allow conkers to be grown and knocked down with sticks and rocks around the Country.
"Because your survey is a pack of lies. Conkers aren't drugs, and no children are addicted to them. In fact, its rubbish like this that makes it hard for us to address the real problem of real drugs, namely, the fact that loads of people use and enjoy them without ever going off the rails. That is the real evil at work. Innocent, recreational usage, we are sick and tired of people experiencing any form of pleasure in the comfort of their own home, if I had my way you'd all be lobotomized..." he continued ranting as colleagues dragged him away.
Meanwhile Sir Cliff Richard is thought to be crusading against the threat with an anticipated Christmas song, using rap language to 'reach' the kids!
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
NO SMOKE WITHOUT FIRE-OR IS THERE?
The bureaucratic imbeciles from Brussels have been at it again.
I have learned that plans are afoot for widespread changes to the British Proverb system, in an attempt to bring us in line with the rest of Europe.
My sources confirm that from January 2010 'A stitch in time' will no longer 'Save you nine' in fact, it could save you as little as 'Six' depending on the exchange rate at the time. Also, instead of 'silver', every cloud will have to make do with a 'stainless steel lining' and a 'Bird in the hand' will be practically worthless.
On the plus side we will be allowed a 'Small amount of smoke without fire' and you'll be able to teach an old dog up to three new tricks.
Euro MP Jean Foreigner told me, "Were merely trying to iron out a few anomalies in the system. Take France for instance. Unlike the British they require at least 'four apples a day to keep the Doctor away' Surely a benchmark figure of two apples throughout the European union is a much fairer system."
Not all proverbs will be affected however. 'One mans meat' will continue to be 'another mans poison', and the public will still be advised to look before they leap.
I have learned that plans are afoot for widespread changes to the British Proverb system, in an attempt to bring us in line with the rest of Europe.
My sources confirm that from January 2010 'A stitch in time' will no longer 'Save you nine' in fact, it could save you as little as 'Six' depending on the exchange rate at the time. Also, instead of 'silver', every cloud will have to make do with a 'stainless steel lining' and a 'Bird in the hand' will be practically worthless.
On the plus side we will be allowed a 'Small amount of smoke without fire' and you'll be able to teach an old dog up to three new tricks.
Euro MP Jean Foreigner told me, "Were merely trying to iron out a few anomalies in the system. Take France for instance. Unlike the British they require at least 'four apples a day to keep the Doctor away' Surely a benchmark figure of two apples throughout the European union is a much fairer system."
Not all proverbs will be affected however. 'One mans meat' will continue to be 'another mans poison', and the public will still be advised to look before they leap.
INCREDIBLE BUT TRUE
A 500lb Woman from Illinois was examined in Hospital. During the examination, an Asthma inhaler fell from under her armpit, a dime was found under on of her breasts, and a remote control was found lodged between the folds of her vulva!
A drunk staggered in to a hospital in Pennsylvania, complaining of severe pain while trying to remove his contact lenses. He said they would come out half way, but they always popped back in. A nurse tried to help using a suction pump, but without success. Finally a doctor examined him and discovered that the man did not have his contact lenses in at all. He had been trying to rip out the membrane of his cornea!
A World war 2 veteran came into a London Clinic with a haemorrhoid problem. One painful pile would often hang down from the poor mans anus, and he was in the habit of pushing it back up with an old artillery shell. On this occasion the shell had got stuck. Doctors were going to remove it but the man told them the shell was still live. So the hospital called in the army bomb disposal squad, who built a lead box around the mans anus to diffuse the shell before it could be removed.
A 20 year old man came into casualty with a stoney mass in his rectum.
He said that he and his boyfriend were fooling around with a concrete mix, when his boyfriend had the idea of pouring the concrete mix into his anus using a funnel. The concrete mix had then hardened, causing constipation and pain. Under general anaesthesia, a perfect concrete cast of the mans rectum was removed, along with a stray ping pong ball!
A drunk staggered in to a hospital in Pennsylvania, complaining of severe pain while trying to remove his contact lenses. He said they would come out half way, but they always popped back in. A nurse tried to help using a suction pump, but without success. Finally a doctor examined him and discovered that the man did not have his contact lenses in at all. He had been trying to rip out the membrane of his cornea!
A World war 2 veteran came into a London Clinic with a haemorrhoid problem. One painful pile would often hang down from the poor mans anus, and he was in the habit of pushing it back up with an old artillery shell. On this occasion the shell had got stuck. Doctors were going to remove it but the man told them the shell was still live. So the hospital called in the army bomb disposal squad, who built a lead box around the mans anus to diffuse the shell before it could be removed.
A 20 year old man came into casualty with a stoney mass in his rectum.
He said that he and his boyfriend were fooling around with a concrete mix, when his boyfriend had the idea of pouring the concrete mix into his anus using a funnel. The concrete mix had then hardened, causing constipation and pain. Under general anaesthesia, a perfect concrete cast of the mans rectum was removed, along with a stray ping pong ball!
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
DR ROWAN WILLIAMS WILL C of E YOU NOW
Dear Doctor
On a recent trip to Ghana, I contracted Necrotising Ebola. It is a particularly aggressive infection, and is working its way up my leg. The Doctors say they can stop it with powerful antibiotics, but I believe that using medicines is interfering with Gods will, and I have decided to pray instead. How should I do it?
Conrad Trellis, Raith
Dr Williams replies
I agree that medicines are interfering with the Lords plan. If he had wanted us to use antibiotics, he would have made them grow on trees to be picked like apples. I recommend that you pray thee times a day after meals. But you must do it properly with your eyes shut. If you dont get any better in a few days, you may need to try more powerful prayor and shut your eyes even tighter.
Dear Doctor
I am a 56 year old, and have been diagnosed with prostate cancer, despite having been a chaste Church goer all my life. I read a recent report which stated that this cancer was less prevalent in men who masturbate regularly from an early age. It seems rather unfair that God should put people such as Cliff Richard and the Pope himself at risk, whilst the likes of Peter Stringfellow and Martin Clunes are rewarded with some measure of protection from this disease.
Harold Steptoe, Pately Bridge
DR Williams Replies
Yes, on the face of it, it may seem unfair, but just consider how much richer your life has been because you have never touched yourself 'under the bridge.'
You may be taken twenty years before your time, but the Lord will Bless you with life everlasting, whereas the the fornicators and onanists will live a life long and full of carnal pleasures, but face an eternity of agony and suffering. So its swings and roundabouts really.
On a recent trip to Ghana, I contracted Necrotising Ebola. It is a particularly aggressive infection, and is working its way up my leg. The Doctors say they can stop it with powerful antibiotics, but I believe that using medicines is interfering with Gods will, and I have decided to pray instead. How should I do it?
Conrad Trellis, Raith
Dr Williams replies
I agree that medicines are interfering with the Lords plan. If he had wanted us to use antibiotics, he would have made them grow on trees to be picked like apples. I recommend that you pray thee times a day after meals. But you must do it properly with your eyes shut. If you dont get any better in a few days, you may need to try more powerful prayor and shut your eyes even tighter.
Dear Doctor
I am a 56 year old, and have been diagnosed with prostate cancer, despite having been a chaste Church goer all my life. I read a recent report which stated that this cancer was less prevalent in men who masturbate regularly from an early age. It seems rather unfair that God should put people such as Cliff Richard and the Pope himself at risk, whilst the likes of Peter Stringfellow and Martin Clunes are rewarded with some measure of protection from this disease.
Harold Steptoe, Pately Bridge
DR Williams Replies
Yes, on the face of it, it may seem unfair, but just consider how much richer your life has been because you have never touched yourself 'under the bridge.'
You may be taken twenty years before your time, but the Lord will Bless you with life everlasting, whereas the the fornicators and onanists will live a life long and full of carnal pleasures, but face an eternity of agony and suffering. So its swings and roundabouts really.
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
POETIC 'RHYME' WAVE
Angry campaigners are threatening legal action against high street retailers if they refuse to withdraw the latest violent computer game to hit the shelves - Chart topping Playstation smash 'Grand Theft Laureate.'
In the game set in the late 1950's, players take control of vengeful poet laureate, the late Sir John Betjeman, stealing Humber Alpine motor cars and slaughtering innocent bystanders with stout sticks, in a shocking mixture of bloody mayhem and whimsical poetry about changing trends in Post-war British architecture.
Since its release last week, the rhythmic, carnage heavy Playstation 3 hit, has become an obsession for children as young as five, despite its 18 certificate rating.
The object of the game is for the Betjeman character to murder his way around the Home Counties, looking for someone who will draw him a quiet pint of Real Ale, and settle it in an eddying lake of foam on the Oak trestle table of an Ivy wrapped Inn...and then murder them.
Oliff Crackerbarrel, head of Killjoy pressure group 'aSaferUK,' told reporters who weren't really listening to him: "This game is completely disgusting and morally repugnant on every conceivable level."
"I haven't managed to complete level 7 of 'Grand Theft Laureate' so far," he admitted, "but the subject matter is totally inappropriate. If I'm not having to suffocate a prostitute with a left over cream bun, then I'm being forced to fly a helicopter into the belfry of a picturesque English Village Church."
"Kids who are exposed to this level of sustained debauchery and elegiac pining for the lost soul of England will unquestionably be scarred for life."
The company responsible for the making of the game, was unavailable for comment, as their senior management were too busy pissing themselves over the acres of free publicity they had received as a result of the pompous protests.
Despite the manufacturers' flippancy, the games critics insist damage is still being done. Last week a twelve year old child was detained at a school in Blackburn following the attempted stabbing of one of his classmates.
Witnesses say that the boy, John Dibble, who cannot be named for legal reasons, was speaking in four line stanzas at the time, and wildly trying to rhyme 'balustrade' with 'Orange Lucozade.'
In the game set in the late 1950's, players take control of vengeful poet laureate, the late Sir John Betjeman, stealing Humber Alpine motor cars and slaughtering innocent bystanders with stout sticks, in a shocking mixture of bloody mayhem and whimsical poetry about changing trends in Post-war British architecture.
Since its release last week, the rhythmic, carnage heavy Playstation 3 hit, has become an obsession for children as young as five, despite its 18 certificate rating.
The object of the game is for the Betjeman character to murder his way around the Home Counties, looking for someone who will draw him a quiet pint of Real Ale, and settle it in an eddying lake of foam on the Oak trestle table of an Ivy wrapped Inn...and then murder them.
Oliff Crackerbarrel, head of Killjoy pressure group 'aSaferUK,' told reporters who weren't really listening to him: "This game is completely disgusting and morally repugnant on every conceivable level."
"I haven't managed to complete level 7 of 'Grand Theft Laureate' so far," he admitted, "but the subject matter is totally inappropriate. If I'm not having to suffocate a prostitute with a left over cream bun, then I'm being forced to fly a helicopter into the belfry of a picturesque English Village Church."
"Kids who are exposed to this level of sustained debauchery and elegiac pining for the lost soul of England will unquestionably be scarred for life."
The company responsible for the making of the game, was unavailable for comment, as their senior management were too busy pissing themselves over the acres of free publicity they had received as a result of the pompous protests.
Despite the manufacturers' flippancy, the games critics insist damage is still being done. Last week a twelve year old child was detained at a school in Blackburn following the attempted stabbing of one of his classmates.
Witnesses say that the boy, John Dibble, who cannot be named for legal reasons, was speaking in four line stanzas at the time, and wildly trying to rhyme 'balustrade' with 'Orange Lucozade.'
Monday, 7 September 2009
THE McNAUGHTY BROTHERS
Bexhill on sea, East Sussex...A quiet respectable seaside town. But during the mid 1960's this was the home to three brothers whose legacy of violence and murder still haunts the residents of the sleepy resort. This is the story of the McNaughty Brothers.
Keith McNaughty was the eldest of the three brothers. In 1963 he realised his lifelong ambition an opened his own butchers shop. Acting against advice from just about everyone, Kieth offered his two younger brothers, Des and Denzil, jobs as shop assistants in his new business.
"Kieth was a great big bloke who worked in a butchers, So everybody called him 'Meat' ..He was a really nice bloke...really, when you got him on his own...but them twins..Oooo!" recalls family friend Wesley 'Basher' Sniper.
McNaughty Quality meats opened for business in May 1963. Kieth had high hopes of founding a successful family enterprise, but within hours of opening Des and Denzil had attacked their first customer. This was only the beginning.....
"Them twins weren't right in the bleedin 'ead..ev'rytime you went in that shop they'd swear at you...Terrible language it was...Just a stream of bleedin abuse...they'd hurl chicken giblets at you...bits of rotten liver, Bacon fat...they beat me up four times, me 'usband said well why don't you shop somewhere else?...but you don't think of these things at the time do ya?" said Ivy 'Customer' Rilley.
"Now Kieth used to pretend it never 'appened...to protect the twins I s'pose....I was in the shop this one time an' Denzil 'ad me down on the floor in a headlock 'an Des was whacking me in the face with this bloody great black puddin'.....'An I could see Kieth lookin' out the shop window pretendin' to wave to someone he knew..." said fat customer Dennis 'Cholesterol' Pike.
"I was working as the family Barrister at the time the Government passed the 'Retail Assault Act' which was designed to protect customers from being attacked by violent shopkeepers...So I visited the shop and said "Look here, calm down a bit or you'll be for it...They hit me over the head with a leg of Mutton and poured Beef dripping into my underpants."...Alan Porrington-Smythe QC.
Almost every week the twins were being charged with various offences ranging from Assault with a Pork Chop or causing Affray with a Liver. The charges rarely stuck....
"The Police? Ha Do me a Favour!...they was as scared of 'em as we all were!....You did anyfing to upset 'em brothers one day, and you knew the next day there'd be a load of fly infested offal through you letterbox....I'm sorry I'm going to have to stop..sniff." said another customer Ron 'Da Do Ron Ron Ron' Willis.
However in June 1963 the twins' luck changed when Elsbeth Shingle visited the shop to buy some Brisket....To Be Continued..
Keith McNaughty was the eldest of the three brothers. In 1963 he realised his lifelong ambition an opened his own butchers shop. Acting against advice from just about everyone, Kieth offered his two younger brothers, Des and Denzil, jobs as shop assistants in his new business.
"Kieth was a great big bloke who worked in a butchers, So everybody called him 'Meat' ..He was a really nice bloke...really, when you got him on his own...but them twins..Oooo!" recalls family friend Wesley 'Basher' Sniper.
McNaughty Quality meats opened for business in May 1963. Kieth had high hopes of founding a successful family enterprise, but within hours of opening Des and Denzil had attacked their first customer. This was only the beginning.....
"Them twins weren't right in the bleedin 'ead..ev'rytime you went in that shop they'd swear at you...Terrible language it was...Just a stream of bleedin abuse...they'd hurl chicken giblets at you...bits of rotten liver, Bacon fat...they beat me up four times, me 'usband said well why don't you shop somewhere else?...but you don't think of these things at the time do ya?" said Ivy 'Customer' Rilley.
"Now Kieth used to pretend it never 'appened...to protect the twins I s'pose....I was in the shop this one time an' Denzil 'ad me down on the floor in a headlock 'an Des was whacking me in the face with this bloody great black puddin'.....'An I could see Kieth lookin' out the shop window pretendin' to wave to someone he knew..." said fat customer Dennis 'Cholesterol' Pike.
"I was working as the family Barrister at the time the Government passed the 'Retail Assault Act' which was designed to protect customers from being attacked by violent shopkeepers...So I visited the shop and said "Look here, calm down a bit or you'll be for it...They hit me over the head with a leg of Mutton and poured Beef dripping into my underpants."...Alan Porrington-Smythe QC.
Almost every week the twins were being charged with various offences ranging from Assault with a Pork Chop or causing Affray with a Liver. The charges rarely stuck....
"The Police? Ha Do me a Favour!...they was as scared of 'em as we all were!....You did anyfing to upset 'em brothers one day, and you knew the next day there'd be a load of fly infested offal through you letterbox....I'm sorry I'm going to have to stop..sniff." said another customer Ron 'Da Do Ron Ron Ron' Willis.
However in June 1963 the twins' luck changed when Elsbeth Shingle visited the shop to buy some Brisket....To Be Continued..
A BRIDGE TOO FAR
It has been revealed that Michael Jackson was planning on buying a bridge in Scotland, but lawyers blocked the recently deceased King of Pops plans to sit under it and ask "Who goes there."
Jacko, had always wanted to be a Troll, and just weeks before his untimely death, the star had issued his estate agents with a 'Find me a bridge to live under' ultimatum.
Within days they had located the ideal bridge over a disused railway line in Scotland. Pictures of the stone bridge were sent back to Jacko, where he was said to have 'Fell in love' with it at first sight.
However, lawyers were said to have torpedoed the deal by refusing Jackson the right to stop Billy goats as they crossed the bridge in order to ask them "Who goes there?"
Wallace McSpoons of leading Edinburgh law firm McSpoons, Crawford and Oatcake explained that a covenant on the bridge dating back over a hundred years allows Farmers unhindered access to an adjoining field.
"Even though the bridge had been out of use for several years, a legal right of way remained, and any purchaser would have to comply with that should the owner of the adjoining field wish to cross the bridge at sometime in the future."
A spokesman for Jacksons legal team is said to have denied the singer had any intention of stopping people from using the bridge.
"Its ludicrous, Trolls do not stop people from crossing a bridge. They merely enquire 'who goes there?' Its a traditional thing, and as the owner of the bridge, Michael should have been able to do that."
Mr McSpoons said the owners legal requirements were quite clear, and that behaving like a Troll would have constituted a breach of contract.
"If a new owner were to sit beneath the bridge and ask people "Who goes there," that enquiry would have in itself constituted a form of hindrance, regardless of whether or not Mr Jackson subsequently had allowed them to cross."
Following the legal wrangling, Mr Jackson is said to have lost interest in bridges, and had turned his attention to mainland Europe, where it was rumoured he was looking at Windmills in Old Amsterdam, where he had hoped to bring up his Children in a 'Windmill environment,' dressed as mice wearing clogs!
Jacko, had always wanted to be a Troll, and just weeks before his untimely death, the star had issued his estate agents with a 'Find me a bridge to live under' ultimatum.
Within days they had located the ideal bridge over a disused railway line in Scotland. Pictures of the stone bridge were sent back to Jacko, where he was said to have 'Fell in love' with it at first sight.
However, lawyers were said to have torpedoed the deal by refusing Jackson the right to stop Billy goats as they crossed the bridge in order to ask them "Who goes there?"
Wallace McSpoons of leading Edinburgh law firm McSpoons, Crawford and Oatcake explained that a covenant on the bridge dating back over a hundred years allows Farmers unhindered access to an adjoining field.
"Even though the bridge had been out of use for several years, a legal right of way remained, and any purchaser would have to comply with that should the owner of the adjoining field wish to cross the bridge at sometime in the future."
A spokesman for Jacksons legal team is said to have denied the singer had any intention of stopping people from using the bridge.
"Its ludicrous, Trolls do not stop people from crossing a bridge. They merely enquire 'who goes there?' Its a traditional thing, and as the owner of the bridge, Michael should have been able to do that."
Mr McSpoons said the owners legal requirements were quite clear, and that behaving like a Troll would have constituted a breach of contract.
"If a new owner were to sit beneath the bridge and ask people "Who goes there," that enquiry would have in itself constituted a form of hindrance, regardless of whether or not Mr Jackson subsequently had allowed them to cross."
Following the legal wrangling, Mr Jackson is said to have lost interest in bridges, and had turned his attention to mainland Europe, where it was rumoured he was looking at Windmills in Old Amsterdam, where he had hoped to bring up his Children in a 'Windmill environment,' dressed as mice wearing clogs!
Tupperware Viking
The quest for the dream holiday for lovers of practical, stylish and economical kitchen storage ends aboard the Tupperware Viking.
As you enter the twilight of your life, Twilight Years Cruise Co, present a once in a life time golden opportunity to sail on that luxury cruise you've always dreamed of, we invite you to shuffle aboard our magnificently converted Oil tanker for her maiden voyage around the Thames Estuary, whilst discovering new Worlds of Tupperware.
Your holiday begins at Hull docks, where you will be given a cup of tea, and a nice sit down. The staff and crew of the Tupperware Viking will be there to help you with the stairs when its time to board the floating three star hotel that is to be your home for the next two weeks.
You'll feel instantly at home in your cosy, windowless cabin, thoughtfully ensconced deep in the converted hull, close to the warmth and comforting drone of the engine room.
Time has little meaning aboard the Tupperware Viking. Your days are your own, whether you choose to spend them in one of the ships many themed tea rooms, or simply relaxing under a tarpaulin on the sleet deck, drinking in the magnificent vistas of the North sea. The ship has been specially designed with the mature passenger in mind. For instance, no matter where you are on board, you're never more than 50 metres away from a lavatory.
There is even a coroner on board to ensure that the death of a loved one, need not mean the end of your holiday. Burials at sea can be arranged with an absolute minimum of fuss and paperwork.
Each new dawn will bring a myriad of exciting tupperware activities to chose from. The ships tupperware shop is open 24 hours a day for the sale of your modular freezer-safe plastic requirements, at rock bottom prices. There's also a convenient trolley service, allowing you to buy tupperware in the comfort of your own cabin.
Book now before you die and fill in the coupon, enclosing £15,995.00.
As you enter the twilight of your life, Twilight Years Cruise Co, present a once in a life time golden opportunity to sail on that luxury cruise you've always dreamed of, we invite you to shuffle aboard our magnificently converted Oil tanker for her maiden voyage around the Thames Estuary, whilst discovering new Worlds of Tupperware.
Your holiday begins at Hull docks, where you will be given a cup of tea, and a nice sit down. The staff and crew of the Tupperware Viking will be there to help you with the stairs when its time to board the floating three star hotel that is to be your home for the next two weeks.
You'll feel instantly at home in your cosy, windowless cabin, thoughtfully ensconced deep in the converted hull, close to the warmth and comforting drone of the engine room.
Time has little meaning aboard the Tupperware Viking. Your days are your own, whether you choose to spend them in one of the ships many themed tea rooms, or simply relaxing under a tarpaulin on the sleet deck, drinking in the magnificent vistas of the North sea. The ship has been specially designed with the mature passenger in mind. For instance, no matter where you are on board, you're never more than 50 metres away from a lavatory.
There is even a coroner on board to ensure that the death of a loved one, need not mean the end of your holiday. Burials at sea can be arranged with an absolute minimum of fuss and paperwork.
Each new dawn will bring a myriad of exciting tupperware activities to chose from. The ships tupperware shop is open 24 hours a day for the sale of your modular freezer-safe plastic requirements, at rock bottom prices. There's also a convenient trolley service, allowing you to buy tupperware in the comfort of your own cabin.
Book now before you die and fill in the coupon, enclosing £15,995.00.
Sunday, 6 September 2009
Radical New Proposal
Currently people on the sex offenders register are either kept in prison where they can be safely killed by fellow inmates or released into the community to have dog excrement pushed through their letterbox and their houses burnt down while they are battered by cab-drivers. But fears about the safety and effectiveness of these two options have led Government boffins to seek new ways of dealing with the problem.
"Nobody wants these people living next door," consultant criminologist Dr Timothy Toothpick told me. "It makes people antsy and cross. But we have to deal with these undesirables somehow, they are nuclear waste. We want to hide them away and forget about them, but no-one wants them disposed of in their backyard. That's why we decided to goto the experts, BNFL."
British Nuclear Fuels Ltd say that the commission from the Home Office came as a surprise, but they are convinced they can rise to the challenge.
"We have years of experience in handling dangerous things the public would rather pretend didn't exist. Its just a matter of switching from radioactive fissile and waste material, to men with milk bottle glasses who live with their Mothers."
BNFL estimate that they will be able to transport up to four thousand gallons of nonces a day by rail in secure containers direct from the courtroom to processing stations on the World's coast, where they will be pumped into the sea.
But residents of Town's along the rail route are furious about the proposals.
"What happens if the driver of the train gets some egg sandwich in his eye and drives the engine into a signal box?" complained campaigner Cramphorn Campayne at a champagne reception to launch the residents protest.
"If that happens, the train will roll over and spill dangerous sex-pests all over the embankment. Anyone playing near the railway will be at risk from having their bottom touched or being invited to see puppies."
Accidents do happen.
"Nobody wants these people living next door," consultant criminologist Dr Timothy Toothpick told me. "It makes people antsy and cross. But we have to deal with these undesirables somehow, they are nuclear waste. We want to hide them away and forget about them, but no-one wants them disposed of in their backyard. That's why we decided to goto the experts, BNFL."
British Nuclear Fuels Ltd say that the commission from the Home Office came as a surprise, but they are convinced they can rise to the challenge.
"We have years of experience in handling dangerous things the public would rather pretend didn't exist. Its just a matter of switching from radioactive fissile and waste material, to men with milk bottle glasses who live with their Mothers."
BNFL estimate that they will be able to transport up to four thousand gallons of nonces a day by rail in secure containers direct from the courtroom to processing stations on the World's coast, where they will be pumped into the sea.
But residents of Town's along the rail route are furious about the proposals.
"What happens if the driver of the train gets some egg sandwich in his eye and drives the engine into a signal box?" complained campaigner Cramphorn Campayne at a champagne reception to launch the residents protest.
"If that happens, the train will roll over and spill dangerous sex-pests all over the embankment. Anyone playing near the railway will be at risk from having their bottom touched or being invited to see puppies."
Accidents do happen.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
FICTIONALISED UNION GONK RAMS FINGER OF SUSPICION AT PM BROWN'S FACIAL PARTS
Fast greying Prime Minister Gordon Brown, stands accused of outright traitorism - by an angry trade union kingpin of advanced years and immense body-weight.
Ted Mug, 87, Veteran President of the 'National Union of Unaffiliated Gaffers Associates and Handlers (or NUUGAAH, pronounced like the top deck of a Mars bar) spewed his blast last Friday from a beige Mini parked along side his Suffolk bungalow.
Mug, still 87, yesterday repeated his stance, and went further, adding the word 'bastard' to it, while jumping up and down on his lounge carpet.
Poised in mid-air he said: "I first suspected the whiff of betrayal when I heard that Brown had bust his tits to help an offshore foreign business-leech scoop up the Rumanian steel game."
Mr Mug now 88, produced a wax sculpture of Limitriali Mittalski, the Globally tax-free tycoon whose US branch shelled out dosh by the bin load in a successful bid to persuade then US President George 'Special needs' Bush, to help screw what remained of Britain's tired steel industry into the mire.
"Were there no UK businesses capable of nabbing into this plumptious opportunity?
"You remember, the sort who pay tax and create jobs in THIS Country. The sort entitled to expect the Prime Minister to beaver away on their behalf?"
At that moment there was a knock at the door, followed by a batter at the door, then finally the sound of the door being smashed off its hinges. Seconds later four burly coppers loomed largely into the lounge and pinned Mug to the wall.
After ten minutes this pinning became impossible to maintain, owing mainly to the Union mans blobulous 35 stone frame, so they changed tack and pinned him to the floor instead.
Gasping for air under the coppers' combined weight, and now suddenly 93, Mug resumed his controversial spout.
"The final straw came when I heard he'd spent ten hours on bent knee begging the Belgian Government o allow Siggy Siggmundsiggyson, the Danish Teapot King to take over their National Teapot industry."
Siggmundsiggyson, who last year paid a single Penny in tax on an income larger than South America's, wears an affro hair-do and a beard that defies logic.
At this point the men flattening Mug advised him that if he were to continue his rant, they would be obliged to give him a full body massage with their night sticks. Mug, however, who appeared to be dying, could not be stopped.
He spluttered: "This is a man who, only two months ago torched the last Teapot factory in the Highlands."
It seemed inevitable that Mug was set to explain how this blaze had claimed some 232 jobs, costing 3,789 Teapots, and ended approximately 1400 lives (plus Kilts), but before he could do so the meaty Pigs began whopping him with unfettered joy.
On average he aged two years with each thump, and by the time they had finished their stick work, he had aged enough to remember a time when the Pyramids were just Pyramints, and Attila the Hun, was just plain old Attila the Huggies-filler.
Not that he was in any state to start reminiscing. In fact, all he could manage was a soft burble.
A brown flower bloomed on the seat of his jogging pants...The follow through of Death. Mugs career as well as his life was over.
Prime Minister Brown was quick to dismiss Mug's accusations of traitorisation, as the ramblings of a dying Communist. In fact, from his body language at the press conference (hand stands) it was clear he no longer gave a flying fuck what any body really thought anymore.
Ted Mug, 87, Veteran President of the 'National Union of Unaffiliated Gaffers Associates and Handlers (or NUUGAAH, pronounced like the top deck of a Mars bar) spewed his blast last Friday from a beige Mini parked along side his Suffolk bungalow.
Mug, still 87, yesterday repeated his stance, and went further, adding the word 'bastard' to it, while jumping up and down on his lounge carpet.
Poised in mid-air he said: "I first suspected the whiff of betrayal when I heard that Brown had bust his tits to help an offshore foreign business-leech scoop up the Rumanian steel game."
Mr Mug now 88, produced a wax sculpture of Limitriali Mittalski, the Globally tax-free tycoon whose US branch shelled out dosh by the bin load in a successful bid to persuade then US President George 'Special needs' Bush, to help screw what remained of Britain's tired steel industry into the mire.
"Were there no UK businesses capable of nabbing into this plumptious opportunity?
"You remember, the sort who pay tax and create jobs in THIS Country. The sort entitled to expect the Prime Minister to beaver away on their behalf?"
At that moment there was a knock at the door, followed by a batter at the door, then finally the sound of the door being smashed off its hinges. Seconds later four burly coppers loomed largely into the lounge and pinned Mug to the wall.
After ten minutes this pinning became impossible to maintain, owing mainly to the Union mans blobulous 35 stone frame, so they changed tack and pinned him to the floor instead.
Gasping for air under the coppers' combined weight, and now suddenly 93, Mug resumed his controversial spout.
"The final straw came when I heard he'd spent ten hours on bent knee begging the Belgian Government o allow Siggy Siggmundsiggyson, the Danish Teapot King to take over their National Teapot industry."
Siggmundsiggyson, who last year paid a single Penny in tax on an income larger than South America's, wears an affro hair-do and a beard that defies logic.
At this point the men flattening Mug advised him that if he were to continue his rant, they would be obliged to give him a full body massage with their night sticks. Mug, however, who appeared to be dying, could not be stopped.
He spluttered: "This is a man who, only two months ago torched the last Teapot factory in the Highlands."
It seemed inevitable that Mug was set to explain how this blaze had claimed some 232 jobs, costing 3,789 Teapots, and ended approximately 1400 lives (plus Kilts), but before he could do so the meaty Pigs began whopping him with unfettered joy.
On average he aged two years with each thump, and by the time they had finished their stick work, he had aged enough to remember a time when the Pyramids were just Pyramints, and Attila the Hun, was just plain old Attila the Huggies-filler.
Not that he was in any state to start reminiscing. In fact, all he could manage was a soft burble.
A brown flower bloomed on the seat of his jogging pants...The follow through of Death. Mugs career as well as his life was over.
Prime Minister Brown was quick to dismiss Mug's accusations of traitorisation, as the ramblings of a dying Communist. In fact, from his body language at the press conference (hand stands) it was clear he no longer gave a flying fuck what any body really thought anymore.
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
Tabloid Culture
A couple who's new baby was snatched from a Hospital maternity unit by a Woman posing as a nurse, faced an agonising wait whilst the search for a Newspaper willing to pay for their story continued.
Ruby Cretin, 35, had given birth to daughter, Petal, just eight hours before she was taken. Max Clifford was alerted when the baby's Father Stephen, 36, found her cot empty..
Their nightmare began about an hour after the snatch when Mr Clifford informed them that immediate negotiations with papers in the local area had drawn a blank.
He expressed his fears that the search for the tabloid may have to be extended to the rest of the Country.
At an emotional press conference this morning, Stephen Cretin appealed for help.
"This is a complete nightmare" he said, "My heart goes out to anyone who has ever tried to sell a story to the papers."
Fighting back tears he added "I appeal to the Editor who wants our story, whoever you are, Please, Please give us the money now!"
Ruby Cretin, 35, had given birth to daughter, Petal, just eight hours before she was taken. Max Clifford was alerted when the baby's Father Stephen, 36, found her cot empty..
Their nightmare began about an hour after the snatch when Mr Clifford informed them that immediate negotiations with papers in the local area had drawn a blank.
He expressed his fears that the search for the tabloid may have to be extended to the rest of the Country.
At an emotional press conference this morning, Stephen Cretin appealed for help.
"This is a complete nightmare" he said, "My heart goes out to anyone who has ever tried to sell a story to the papers."
Fighting back tears he added "I appeal to the Editor who wants our story, whoever you are, Please, Please give us the money now!"
BRITAIN'S DRINKING CULTURE
No one knows exactly when Special Brew was discovered, but archaeologists believe that its miraculous qualities were well known to man well over 4 million years ago. Primitive paintings found in caves in Denmark suggest that Bronze age artists were regularly ripped to their hairy tits on Special Brew.
The Ancient Egyptians worshiped Special Brew, believing it to have supernatural properties. When Howard Carter broke into the Tombs of Ahmenhotep 111, and ransacked his sarcophagus, he found the boy king, buried along with all his possessions. Amongst them were half an ounce of baccy, some rolling papers, and four mummified tins of Special Brew to keep him incoherent and aggressive in the afterlife.
The Romans identified Special Brew's property for starting fights and put it to good use in the Colosseum. Gladiators would be plied with 'Spesh' before a battle to ensure they put on a good show for the blood thirsty crowd. After a fight the surviving Gladiators would sacrifice a goat to 'Trampicus', the Roman God of unusual mental states.
British history would have taken a very different course had it not been for Special Brew. On November 5th 1066, Guy Fawkes and his fellow conspirators, crept into the cellars of the Houses of Parliament, intending to blow up King James 1st with some fireworks. However they discovered a crate of Special Brew and stopped for refreshment. After four tins each, they decided that the King was actually a smashing bloke, and their best mate, and the plot was off.
The Lady of the Lamp, Florence Nightingale, saved countless lives during the Crimean War. As a token of his gratitude, the Prime Minister, Mr Gladstone awarded her a lifetime supply of 'Spesh' and granted her the keys to Hyde Park, so that she could have a well deserved sit down. Over the next 50 years, she became a well known figure, entertaining Children with her colourful language, explicit gestures and frequent bouts of vomiting.
And so to the present day, where this remarkable drink, with its unequalled capacity to make your head go funny is still enjoyed by everyone. From her Majesty the Queen, right down to the lowest Tramp, all agree there is only one way to start the day. Thats by shotgunning a couple of tins of Special Brew...The drink that has truly made Britain what it is Today.
The Ancient Egyptians worshiped Special Brew, believing it to have supernatural properties. When Howard Carter broke into the Tombs of Ahmenhotep 111, and ransacked his sarcophagus, he found the boy king, buried along with all his possessions. Amongst them were half an ounce of baccy, some rolling papers, and four mummified tins of Special Brew to keep him incoherent and aggressive in the afterlife.
The Romans identified Special Brew's property for starting fights and put it to good use in the Colosseum. Gladiators would be plied with 'Spesh' before a battle to ensure they put on a good show for the blood thirsty crowd. After a fight the surviving Gladiators would sacrifice a goat to 'Trampicus', the Roman God of unusual mental states.
British history would have taken a very different course had it not been for Special Brew. On November 5th 1066, Guy Fawkes and his fellow conspirators, crept into the cellars of the Houses of Parliament, intending to blow up King James 1st with some fireworks. However they discovered a crate of Special Brew and stopped for refreshment. After four tins each, they decided that the King was actually a smashing bloke, and their best mate, and the plot was off.
The Lady of the Lamp, Florence Nightingale, saved countless lives during the Crimean War. As a token of his gratitude, the Prime Minister, Mr Gladstone awarded her a lifetime supply of 'Spesh' and granted her the keys to Hyde Park, so that she could have a well deserved sit down. Over the next 50 years, she became a well known figure, entertaining Children with her colourful language, explicit gestures and frequent bouts of vomiting.
And so to the present day, where this remarkable drink, with its unequalled capacity to make your head go funny is still enjoyed by everyone. From her Majesty the Queen, right down to the lowest Tramp, all agree there is only one way to start the day. Thats by shotgunning a couple of tins of Special Brew...The drink that has truly made Britain what it is Today.
Monday, 31 August 2009
M1 For Murder
Plans to install hundreds of new murder cameras by the sides of the British Roads, has been greeted with furious protests from the Countries lorry drivers.
Under the new scheme, anyone caught on camera committing a roadside murder will be automatically sent a photograph of the incident, together with a summons and a fine. The cameras are intended to speed up processing times for layby homicide, but anti-camera lobbyists insist they are just a way to increase Police revenue and persecute law abiding murderers.
Freight Union boss Bobby Small spoke for many of his members yesterday "WE don't mind the Police putting these things up in the notorious murder black-spots, like where the Patio used to be behind Fred Wests' House, but the new sites seem to have bee deliberately chosen to catch innocent Lorry Drivers as they go about their daily business of rolling dead backpackers up in carpet and throwing them on to the hard shoulder. It's just giving the Police an HGV licence to print money. The truckers may be doing the murders, but its the Police that are making the killing." added Mr Small.
Complaints have also been made that the new cameras have been made deliberately hard to spot - concealed behind trees and roadsigns and painted in drab colours.
"The first thing you know is the Flash of the blasted thing going off," said George Crimpple , a lorry driver who clocks up over a dozen hitchhikers a year. "If they made them a bit more obvious, you could stop murdering when you saw one. The way I see it, its just another way to line the Coppers' pockets, so they can buy Gold handcuffs and whistles, with Rubies instead of peas.
Representatives of the Murdering Associations such as the MA and the RMC have also complained that murder cameras may not be completely reliable, resulting in lorry drivers being fined for killings for which they were not responsible. The scheme received widespread negative publicity last year after a haulier received an automatic penalty for a murder committed on the M25. However, he was later able to successfully prove that at the time of the ofence he was 360 miles away committing a rape in a layby near Leeds.
"I want to know what the Police are doing about the real Villains ," demanded Mr Crimmple. "They should be out looking for people like Dr Octopus , Bluto and Silas Greenback, rather than persecuting hard working truckers who want nothing more than to get to their destinations and dispose of their victims as quickly as possible."
Petrolhead J Clarkson was quick to add "Lorry drivers travell hundreds of miles every day up and down the mororways delivering all sorts of goods, keeping the wheels of industry turning. They are the Life blood of the British economy. Not content with heavy fuel prices, the Government now want to make their job even harder by slapping fines on them each time they murder. I don't know about you, but I think the odd corpse here and there is a small price to pay for our Supermarket shelves being fully stocked."
Police estimate the murder cameras save up to 450 lives a year, as well as reducing the build up of suspiciously lumpy tarpaulins in laybys by up to 35% in areas where they are used.
Under the new scheme, anyone caught on camera committing a roadside murder will be automatically sent a photograph of the incident, together with a summons and a fine. The cameras are intended to speed up processing times for layby homicide, but anti-camera lobbyists insist they are just a way to increase Police revenue and persecute law abiding murderers.
Freight Union boss Bobby Small spoke for many of his members yesterday "WE don't mind the Police putting these things up in the notorious murder black-spots, like where the Patio used to be behind Fred Wests' House, but the new sites seem to have bee deliberately chosen to catch innocent Lorry Drivers as they go about their daily business of rolling dead backpackers up in carpet and throwing them on to the hard shoulder. It's just giving the Police an HGV licence to print money. The truckers may be doing the murders, but its the Police that are making the killing." added Mr Small.
Complaints have also been made that the new cameras have been made deliberately hard to spot - concealed behind trees and roadsigns and painted in drab colours.
"The first thing you know is the Flash of the blasted thing going off," said George Crimpple , a lorry driver who clocks up over a dozen hitchhikers a year. "If they made them a bit more obvious, you could stop murdering when you saw one. The way I see it, its just another way to line the Coppers' pockets, so they can buy Gold handcuffs and whistles, with Rubies instead of peas.
Representatives of the Murdering Associations such as the MA and the RMC have also complained that murder cameras may not be completely reliable, resulting in lorry drivers being fined for killings for which they were not responsible. The scheme received widespread negative publicity last year after a haulier received an automatic penalty for a murder committed on the M25. However, he was later able to successfully prove that at the time of the ofence he was 360 miles away committing a rape in a layby near Leeds.
"I want to know what the Police are doing about the real Villains ," demanded Mr Crimmple. "They should be out looking for people like Dr Octopus , Bluto and Silas Greenback, rather than persecuting hard working truckers who want nothing more than to get to their destinations and dispose of their victims as quickly as possible."
Petrolhead J Clarkson was quick to add "Lorry drivers travell hundreds of miles every day up and down the mororways delivering all sorts of goods, keeping the wheels of industry turning. They are the Life blood of the British economy. Not content with heavy fuel prices, the Government now want to make their job even harder by slapping fines on them each time they murder. I don't know about you, but I think the odd corpse here and there is a small price to pay for our Supermarket shelves being fully stocked."
Police estimate the murder cameras save up to 450 lives a year, as well as reducing the build up of suspiciously lumpy tarpaulins in laybys by up to 35% in areas where they are used.
Wednesday, 26 August 2009
Heavens Above!
The Old fashion Heaven of Angels Harps and fluffy clouds could soon become a thing of the past, if cold eyed new Pope Benedict VI has his way. For the reforming Pontiff has revealed plans for a revamped, bang up to date afterlife, that could see silicon chip technology take its place in the here after.
"Eternities been stuck in the past for too long," the Holy Father told a Vatican press conference.
"Heaven has got to move with the times if its going to appeal to a new generation of immortal souls. On Earth, we live in an age of TV remote controls, DVD's and Tomb Raider. People have a right to expect modern inventions like these when they get to the other side."
The clearly excited Ex Hitler Youth then outlined his 15 year plan for a radical make over of Gods Kingdom.
He told reporters "Anyone who dies after 2024 will see a big difference from the moment they arrive at the pearly gates. For a start, there will be no St Peter to greet them. Entry to the Paradise will be controlled electronically.
"A laser will scan your iris, and compare it with a biometric database of people who have lived good lives. If it finds a match, the gate will slide open automatically, making a noise a little like the doors on Star Trek.
However, if the computer says 'No' you will be sent straight to Hell."
And its all change inside Heaven too. Angels will fly around not upon wings of gossamer, but on James Bond-style vertical take-off jet packs. According to the Pope, "Out will go clouds, ambrosia and Harps, and in will come hover platforms, tiny food pills and Mini Moog synthesizers."
In addition the Pope intends to update the Angels' traditional head-dress, replacing the old fashion Halo, made out of Tinsel and a coat hanger with a space age glow-in-the-dark holographic version.
Benedict is also planning a Heavenly communications revolution that will be bad news for spiritualists like Derek Acorah. He continued "At the moment the technology available for speaking with the dear departed is still in the stone age."
Our present day mediums with their table tapping, ouija boards and ectoplasm will become a thing of the past. In the hereafter of 2024, the souls of the dead will have no need for such unreliable methods of getting in touch.
"They will be equipped with the latest camera mobiles, so they can exchange cryptic text messages and snapshots with their living relatives at the touch of a button. Whats more, each Spirit will have its own E-Mail address with a high speed Broadband connection. Its going to be an exciting time to be dead, I can tell you," he added.
"Eternities been stuck in the past for too long," the Holy Father told a Vatican press conference.
"Heaven has got to move with the times if its going to appeal to a new generation of immortal souls. On Earth, we live in an age of TV remote controls, DVD's and Tomb Raider. People have a right to expect modern inventions like these when they get to the other side."
The clearly excited Ex Hitler Youth then outlined his 15 year plan for a radical make over of Gods Kingdom.
He told reporters "Anyone who dies after 2024 will see a big difference from the moment they arrive at the pearly gates. For a start, there will be no St Peter to greet them. Entry to the Paradise will be controlled electronically.
"A laser will scan your iris, and compare it with a biometric database of people who have lived good lives. If it finds a match, the gate will slide open automatically, making a noise a little like the doors on Star Trek.
However, if the computer says 'No' you will be sent straight to Hell."
And its all change inside Heaven too. Angels will fly around not upon wings of gossamer, but on James Bond-style vertical take-off jet packs. According to the Pope, "Out will go clouds, ambrosia and Harps, and in will come hover platforms, tiny food pills and Mini Moog synthesizers."
In addition the Pope intends to update the Angels' traditional head-dress, replacing the old fashion Halo, made out of Tinsel and a coat hanger with a space age glow-in-the-dark holographic version.
Benedict is also planning a Heavenly communications revolution that will be bad news for spiritualists like Derek Acorah. He continued "At the moment the technology available for speaking with the dear departed is still in the stone age."
Our present day mediums with their table tapping, ouija boards and ectoplasm will become a thing of the past. In the hereafter of 2024, the souls of the dead will have no need for such unreliable methods of getting in touch.
"They will be equipped with the latest camera mobiles, so they can exchange cryptic text messages and snapshots with their living relatives at the touch of a button. Whats more, each Spirit will have its own E-Mail address with a high speed Broadband connection. Its going to be an exciting time to be dead, I can tell you," he added.
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
Victorian Riddlemans Agony Column
MP IS FATHER OF MY CHILD
Dear Victorian Riddleman;
I am in big trouble, and I don't know what to do. I am an 18-year-old Chambermaid, working in a large house in Westminster. My employer an important member of parliament, has been making improper demands on me for several months and I now find I am going to have his baby.
He has told me to get rid of it and threatened me with dismissal if I don't. But I want to keep the child. Please help me, Victorian Riddleman, I am confused. What should I do for the best?
Sally, London.
You must do as your employer says and terminate your confinement. If you do not do this, and you are dismissed, you will undoubtedly end up in bad circumstances. Your baby will be put in the workhouse, get Rickets and eventually freeze to death in the snow, whilst you will be locked up in a lunatic asylum and spend the next forty years picking Oakum. More importantly, the Child's Father will suffer irreparable damage to his reputation.
I am sending you my free leaflet for unmarried pregnant Women, which explains how to drink a bottle of Gin, take a hot bath and throw yourself down the cellar steps.
Dear Victorian Riddleman;
I am in big trouble, and I don't know what to do. I am an 18-year-old Chambermaid, working in a large house in Westminster. My employer an important member of parliament, has been making improper demands on me for several months and I now find I am going to have his baby.
He has told me to get rid of it and threatened me with dismissal if I don't. But I want to keep the child. Please help me, Victorian Riddleman, I am confused. What should I do for the best?
Sally, London.
You must do as your employer says and terminate your confinement. If you do not do this, and you are dismissed, you will undoubtedly end up in bad circumstances. Your baby will be put in the workhouse, get Rickets and eventually freeze to death in the snow, whilst you will be locked up in a lunatic asylum and spend the next forty years picking Oakum. More importantly, the Child's Father will suffer irreparable damage to his reputation.
I am sending you my free leaflet for unmarried pregnant Women, which explains how to drink a bottle of Gin, take a hot bath and throw yourself down the cellar steps.
NO XXX PLEASE ...WE'RE BRITISH
The Government recently announced plans to crack down on extreme pornography. It sounds a simple enough task a first glance, but as usual the legislation could prove to be a minefield of Hot Potatoes. I ask myself, What is the definition of extreme pornography? Erotic images that would make Anne Widdecombe vomit buckets may fail to even provoke the preverbial twitch in Peter Stringfellow's pants. And, assuming we could ever come to an agreement about what is in fact pornography, how would we go about banning it?...
I went on to the Street to find out what the Public think.
"Its all well and good that the Government wants to ban images of Bestiality, but where will it all end? Will they arrest the curator of the National Gallery for displaying Leonardo Da Vinci's painting of the Ancient Greek legend of Leda, in which a nude Woman is seduced by a Swan? Probably not, come to think of it, because you can't see it going in."
Fred Turpentine, Art Dealer.
"I buy a lot of erotic mags and DVD's, so I reckon I've got a pretty good idea of what constitutes extreme porn....Generally speaking, it's anything over about £20.00."
Sid, Van Driver.
"All forms of pornography turns my stomach, but extreme porn does so even more. Any pervert caught looking at this type of material should be dragged into the Town Square, stripped naked and tied to a post. Then members of the general public should be allowed to whip them until their Buttocks and Genitals are a mass of bleeding scars. Their punishment should be videoed and shown in Schools, where their weeping welts would serve as a stern warning to Children of the dangers of looking at such material."
Sally Dailymail, Housewife.
"My Husband used to like me to dress up in sexy underwear like the models in the glossy magazines, which he used to buy each Month. I didn't mind that, but recently he has started traveling to Amsterdam and buying more extreme pornography.These days I often find myself having to dress up as a Pig, a Great Dane or even an Oven Ready Chicken".
Mrs Farthing, Primary School Teacher.
"Surely there's no need to ban it, since one's exposure to this sort of material is self-regulatory. It is an established medical fact that the more extreme the pornography one looks at, the quicker one goes blind or mental".
DR M Bader-Meinhoff,
I went on to the Street to find out what the Public think.
"Its all well and good that the Government wants to ban images of Bestiality, but where will it all end? Will they arrest the curator of the National Gallery for displaying Leonardo Da Vinci's painting of the Ancient Greek legend of Leda, in which a nude Woman is seduced by a Swan? Probably not, come to think of it, because you can't see it going in."
Fred Turpentine, Art Dealer.
"I buy a lot of erotic mags and DVD's, so I reckon I've got a pretty good idea of what constitutes extreme porn....Generally speaking, it's anything over about £20.00."
Sid, Van Driver.
"All forms of pornography turns my stomach, but extreme porn does so even more. Any pervert caught looking at this type of material should be dragged into the Town Square, stripped naked and tied to a post. Then members of the general public should be allowed to whip them until their Buttocks and Genitals are a mass of bleeding scars. Their punishment should be videoed and shown in Schools, where their weeping welts would serve as a stern warning to Children of the dangers of looking at such material."
Sally Dailymail, Housewife.
"My Husband used to like me to dress up in sexy underwear like the models in the glossy magazines, which he used to buy each Month. I didn't mind that, but recently he has started traveling to Amsterdam and buying more extreme pornography.These days I often find myself having to dress up as a Pig, a Great Dane or even an Oven Ready Chicken".
Mrs Farthing, Primary School Teacher.
"Surely there's no need to ban it, since one's exposure to this sort of material is self-regulatory. It is an established medical fact that the more extreme the pornography one looks at, the quicker one goes blind or mental".
DR M Bader-Meinhoff,
A RIGHT ROYAL COCK UP
Thanks to meticulous planning, Royal consummations usually pass off without a hitch, but over the years there has been a few times when its not been 'Alright on the Royal Wedding Night'.
In 1981 it wasn't all plain sailing on Charles and Diana's big night aboard the Royal Yacht Britannia, when the Prince accidentally locked himself in the bathroom. The ceremony was delayed by three minutes while the then Arch Bishop of Canterbury, DR Robert Runcie kicked the door in.
King Henry The Eighth was so disappointed with the size of Anne of Cleve's cleavage, that he was unable to raise Pink Rod. The ceremony had to be postponed.
In his eagerness to consummate his marriage to Queen Victoria, in 1840, Prince Albert rushed the disrobing ceremony and caught the metal bolt fastened through his glans, on his zip. He spent the rest of the night with the Windsor Fire Brigade trying to free his manhood with a hacksaw!
Another of Henry The Eighth's six wedding nights went pear shaped in1536, when during the consummation of his marriage to Anne Boleyn, the hapless queen, who suffered terribly with flatulence, let rip with an almighty thunderous love puff...She was beheaded later that year.
In 1981 it wasn't all plain sailing on Charles and Diana's big night aboard the Royal Yacht Britannia, when the Prince accidentally locked himself in the bathroom. The ceremony was delayed by three minutes while the then Arch Bishop of Canterbury, DR Robert Runcie kicked the door in.
King Henry The Eighth was so disappointed with the size of Anne of Cleve's cleavage, that he was unable to raise Pink Rod. The ceremony had to be postponed.
In his eagerness to consummate his marriage to Queen Victoria, in 1840, Prince Albert rushed the disrobing ceremony and caught the metal bolt fastened through his glans, on his zip. He spent the rest of the night with the Windsor Fire Brigade trying to free his manhood with a hacksaw!
Another of Henry The Eighth's six wedding nights went pear shaped in1536, when during the consummation of his marriage to Anne Boleyn, the hapless queen, who suffered terribly with flatulence, let rip with an almighty thunderous love puff...She was beheaded later that year.
SITUATION VACANT
DOCUMENTARY
Are You
A DAFT SLAPPER
aged 18-20, who fancies a free holiday?
Or a
PISSED BLOKE
aged 18-20, desperate for a shag?
We are an unimaginative TV production company currently auditioning for another so-called documentary about drunken twats, acting up to camera whilst on holiday. If you would be interested in appearing, please send a video of yourself getting drunk, being sick or lying in bed with a headache, to:
Arsehole Productions, 8th Floor, Pisspoor house, 73 Dross Lane London.
Are You
A DAFT SLAPPER
aged 18-20, who fancies a free holiday?
Or a
PISSED BLOKE
aged 18-20, desperate for a shag?
We are an unimaginative TV production company currently auditioning for another so-called documentary about drunken twats, acting up to camera whilst on holiday. If you would be interested in appearing, please send a video of yourself getting drunk, being sick or lying in bed with a headache, to:
Arsehole Productions, 8th Floor, Pisspoor house, 73 Dross Lane London.
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