Big Wal, a 12-ton adult male minke whale, said: “We first noticed something was wrong with disruptions in their patterns of seasonal migration. Around this time of year, we normally observe them sailing out into the ocean in big boats and shooting us in the head with ginormous steel harpoons, before rendering us down and taking us off for ‘scientific experiments’ in restaurants and food retail establishments all over the South Pacific.

“But this year there’s been hardly a peek from them. This is really worrying.

“We did some preliminary studies and found that they’d been inadvertently frying themselves in experiments in furnishing their homes and businesses with heat, light and power for various domestic and industrial appliances.

“It’s got to stop. The Japanese are an endangered species.

“And we kinda know how that feels.”

Despite strenuous efforts on the part of our hardworking staff, it has come to light that the real news media are already a complete joke.

We would like to thank our readers for their support over the years.

Gordon Brown has a slight cold.

The crafty Kraut claims to come from Wales, despite his family’s extensive links with the international militant Hanoverian Protestant movement. Loony MPs voted to let them stay permanently. He now has several palatial homes, all of them funded by the taxpayer.

“Prince” William Mountbatten-Windsor (28) … actually, I’m bored now. Finish this one off yourself. Just stick in something about the Windsors in the flesh being the sort of people Jeremy Kyle himself would blush to televise. That should round it off nicely. I’m off to the pub.

‘I made a serious error of judgment,’ he said. ‘I took money from a dictator shortly before the British government dropped him like a hot potato after years of coysing up together until wheels came off his rickety, corrupt regime. This was a serious failure of foresight.

‘As I now realise, the Gadaffi regime is every bit as bad as Hitler or Saddam, and should be treated in exactly the same way. That is to say: we should all have done serious business with Gadaffi as long as there was any money or power in it. Then, as soon as the game was up, we should all have pretended that we always hated him.

‘In fact, I did exactly that, like everyone else, but the timing was shocking and I got a bit wrong-footed. The result was that I fulfilled the first requirement diligently but fell rather short of minimum expected standards on the second. For that I have to take responsibility.’

Professor Boffin is taking up an advisory post on the newly-created board of BSkyB Independent.

The sale was approved by culture secretary Jeremy Hunt following the BBC’s recent slip-up pronouncing his name live on air.

He declined to refer the matter on the grounds that there was “only one Monopolies Commission.”

“What if they said no?” he asked journalists, at a packed news conference which Mr Murdoch also bought.

Mr Murdoch has set up a separate and independent editorial board to safeguard the independence of this blog, which is just what you’d expect from a man of his overmastering integrity, sense of fairness and justice, and towering, nay, statesmanlike stature in the arena of world affairs.

Mr Murdoch himself declined to comment.

Set during the global rise of totalitarianism and the total collapse of the world economy, the film tells the heart-rending story of the Prince of Wales, played by Colin Hugh Firth-Grant. Norman Lapont plays his voice coach.

The film opens with a haunting scene in which the future King has to give a speech in public. It slowly becomes painfully apparent that all ten thousand shocked listeners can tell exactly what he is saying. The Prince refers twice to his frequent and cordial conversations with his own organic potatoes, fondly recalls the see-through dress his future wife wore at their first meeting, expresses enthusiastic support for fox-hunting and the use of Gatling guns against striking miners, and opines that concentration camps were ‘jolly good for the Jews,’ before being hustled away from the mike by concerned aides.

Following this humiliating debacle, a pioneering Australian speech therapist is brought in to ensure that the Prince’s speech is rendered inarticulate to the point of an indistinct, incomprehensible mumble. In the course of intense training sessions at his shabby Harley Street consulting room, Aussie maverick Lawrence Lodge eschews court protocol, which demands that the Prince be addressed as ‘Your Majesty’s Most Imperial Excellency,’ and repeatedly calls him by his family name of ‘You There.’ The Prince becomes speechless with fury. Normality is thus restored, and the film ends on an upbeat note as political revolution is averted, the monarchy is saved, and Britain starts a six-year world war culminating in eighty-five million deaths.

The Prince’s Speech is based loosely on real events.

Confronted with urgent concerns for the welfare of hundreds of stranded British oil workers, he said:

“Ask Nick.”

Aides insisted that Mr Cameron had only been joking.

Allied troops were not taking part in a massive build-up on the Turkish border. Nail-biting negotiations weren’t taking place at the United Nations, seeking to hammer out the wording of a last-minute resolution designed to ensure the legality of the coming war.

The streets of London were not thronged with millions of anti-war protesters.

Bombs were not raining down on Baghdad.

Not speaking from the White House, President Not George W. Bush, backed by British Prime Minister Not Tony Blair, didn’t say:

“We remain uncomfortably aware that the Arabs are still sitting on an oil-soaked sand-dune conveniently placed to act as an intercontinental ballistic launch-pad pointed at China. So we are watching developments with keen and concerned interest.

“However, looking back on the events of 1991 and 2003 with the benefit of hindsight, we have been forced to conclude that the Arabs really do want to get rid of their dictators and they really do want to install a genuine democracy, where they get to vote for the government they think will act best in the interests of a free, independent, prosperous Middle East, for the long-term benefit of the region and its peoples.

“You can imagine how that plays on Capitol Hill. And let’s not even talk about the Knesset.

“So like f*** are we going to invade the Middle East. The f****** sand-n*****s are on their f******* own.

“Maybe we can issue a statement cautiously expressing some concerns about the human rights situation, but that’ll have to wait, realistically. Wait, ideally, for some obscure trade delegation about eighteen months after the dictators bounce back and consolidate their position with some nice, brutal clampdowns.

“Or, alternatively, eighteen months after the minority Islamofascist fanatics hi-jack the uprising and turn the whole Middle East into a primitive, misogynistic pseudo-theocracy.

“Whatever. Not my problem, basically. It is for the Arab peoples of the world to determine their own destiny.”

Speaking from the federally-funded Valley Forge Retirement Home for the Permanently Desensitised, former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld dribbled:

“And still everyone thinks I’m the bad guy.

‘Well, frankly, who gives a s**t any more?”

Instead, say top producers, she was a bit like the teacher you secretly fancied at school, in that slightly creepy, mumsy way that you never wanted to tell anyone about.

Announcing plans to continue to ongoing slew of film and TV adaptations of the life of the former politician, they revealed that Margaret Thatcher was to be played by a series of really perfectly nice, and, indeed, attractive human actresses, like Andrea Riseborough and Meryl Streep. The movies would focus on Mrs Thatcher’s human side, portraying her as a blushing, vulnerable but passionately determined woman, striving, dewy-eyed and panting, for success and recognition in the man’s world of the 1980s.

“You probably remember Lady Thatcher as a bit like a cross between Ena Sharples and the inside of a Dalek,” said Rupert Murdoch (87). “In focus groups, we found that 87% of people associated Margaret Thatcher with a kind of metallic, rasping bleating noise. 49% linked her with these sort of glassy, staring eyes which peered, gorilla-like, out from under a pair of very bony Frankenstein eyebrows, some distance above a nose like the rudder of the sinking Titanic, and a mouth like a chicken’s anus – if a chicken’s anus had the jagged, shovel-like incisors of a vampire carthorse. 97% associated Mrs Thatcher with the total collapse of British society, the decimation of entire industries, several low-grade civil wars and serious miscarriages of justice, one pointless imperial adventure, two decades of permanent teetering on the brink of global nuclear apocalypse, and the transformation of Britain from an inefficient but basically humane industrial community into a nation of sixty million selfish, infantile, narcissistic suburban desk-jockeys, supporting a small underclass of unemployable drug addicts and self-pitying benefit scroungers. Life for Thatcher’s generation has felt a bit like being born down Coronation Street and growing up on Jeremy Kyle.

“Given all this, it’d be really, really terrible if people noticed how low we’ve sunk. Even the royal wedding isn’t quite enough to throw the great British public entirely off the scent. So what we want to do is make a bunch of retro feelgood movies showing Lady Thatcher’s sexy, human and vulnerable side, precisely because she didn’t have one.

“I mean, if, after all these years, they still think of Lady Thatcher as a hag-like, robotic psychopath, that might have knock-on effects for the Coalition, because Cameron’s even worse. We really are going to close all the libraries, privatise the BBC, and sell the entire internet to Sky TV, and, unlike the 1980s, there’s no political opposition at all. Unless the Labour Party counts. Which it doesn’t, does it? Obviously.

“So the reality is, we’re going to shaft Britain worse that we shafted it three decades ago, and there are obvious political risks associated with that, so the watchword is: softly, softly catchee monkey.

“We’ll also be making a movie which seeks to imply that the most terrible tragedy about the 1930s was the King’s speech impediment.

“But that’s another story.”

The Trades Union Congress was unavailable for comment.

An individual known only as ‘Steve Mackay’ spent 10 years living a double life as a member of environmental pressure group Back To The Caves. But in reality Steve Mackay was a covert surveillance officer with who had only joined the pressure group because he was desperate for a shag.

Sir Paul Condom, Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, said:

“As you can probably imagine, most secret policemen have limited opportunities to socialise, and at the end of the day they’re flesh and blood like you and me, so after a while they tend to get a bit frisky.

“Hence the importance of full and proper surveillance of the protest activities of a bunch of ideologically unconventional, adrenalin-fuelled twentysomethings.

“Of course, these remarks should not be read as referring to any particular operation. We completely respect the peaceful right to protest, provided, as I’ve always said, that nobody notices or pays any attention, and your protest never comes close to actually make a difference.”

‘Steve Mackay’ had relations with protesters of both sexes over a period of years. He vanished in 2008 after Wikileaks revealed that they were all undercover police officers.

Protesters yesterday were left feeling deeply betrayed and hurt, said a spokesperson for Back To The Caves.

“I wouldn’t have minded, I suppose,” said Elsie Norman, 78, a retired Quaker librarian and grandmother, “but I was too busy trying to stop the apocalyptic meltdown of human civilisation.

“And besides, it’s different at my age.”