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Archive for October, 2010|Monthly archive page


In Uncategorized on October 30, 2010 at 10:54 am



In Uncategorized on October 21, 2010 at 7:40 am

Spontaneous street parties broke out across Britain last night as ordinary people celebrated in their thousands to mark the fact that something had happened in British politics.

‘Thank Christ for that,’ said Dean Warren (16), an unemployed father of five from Swindon. ‘Ever since the election we’ve been waiting for some more really interesting politics. That election was well wicked, bruv. All that evil scheming and backstabbing. It was like life on the estate. And you couldn’t tell how it was going to end. And then Cambo and Cleggbatt had this totally sick bromance.

‘And then what? Nothing. F***all for months on end. I’m well bored of switching the telly on and trying to pretend I give a whack about Brazilian miners or Wayne Rooney.’

Norman Batthwaite, of the Civil and Public Services Trades Union Council, said:

‘Yes, we cracked out the bubbly last night in our luxury offices at Galvanised Iron Steam-Paddle House, Millbank. It’s been months, but finally, at last, the Tories have done something bad, like they’re supposed to. And, really, it’s better than bad. It’s really, spectacularly unforgivably villainous and apocalyptically unjust, plutocratic and destructive. And Osborne delivered the knockout figures with just exactly the right degree of greasy, gloating condescension, leaving me with just the perfect measure of gut instinctive desire to start punching his face, and never, ever stop.

‘This is off the record, son, but for weeks we’ve all been shitting our pants thinking they might be nice. I mean, really, actually nice. Nice Tories. Nicer than us. Genuinely nicer than us.

‘Well, that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about any more, isn’t it?’

Rebecca Snorton, of the News Analysis Foundation, said:

‘Figures show that, in fact, British politics have been in an almost perfect state of entropy since the election.

‘Absolutely nothing’s happened in British politics since 4:37pm on 13th September, which is the moment it became an objective fact that we’d got our arses fried by three Afghan goatherds and a World War One howitzer, and weren’t the finest army in the world any more.

‘That was a foregone conclusion anyway – it was first predicted by Rudyard Kipling in 1912 – and after that, British political news achieved the kind of super-stability we’ve only previously seen in Belgium and Austria, where nothing happens at all between regular once-a-decade abuse scandals, or Bermuda, where the Prime Minister’s office is one of those reclining stripey folding deckchair things on the beach, and a mobile phone which nobody’s even bothered to top up since 1990 because it never rings.

‘At a stroke, the spending review catapults Britain back into the top league of Nations with Interesting Politics. We’re not quite up there with Venezuela or apartheid South Africa, but we’re kind of back where we were in the seventies. Which means in ballpark terms that the next ten years are going to be keeping gritty TV dramatists in business well into the 2050s.

‘We’re predicting the first muti-million-pound TV saga about a group of school-friends from Newcastle on BBC7 around, say, 2029. Christopher Eccleston’s pimply twentysomething son will be starring, fresh from RADA.

If it’s still open. Hang on, you don’t get a grant for RADA, do you? So I’m guessing it will be.’


You may think that dreaming up the perfect name for your lapdancing club is a matter of pure luck or poetic inspiration, but scientists last night claimed to have discovered the secret.

“Phrases like Spearmint Rhino and Baby Platinum may seem to be just mysteriously inspired by the gods of poetry, but in fact there’s a very simple formula,” said Rebecca Snorton of the Institute for the Waste of Public Money. “You take a word, just an ordinary word, and then hook it up with another, completely unrelated word. Then you get them made up into six-foot-high letters in wildly contrasting fonts – ideally, one a bit like handwriting and the other a bit like metal blocks – stick them to the side of a building, and away you go.”

The brainy boffins have even written a computer programme to generate lapdancing club names digitally.

“Our computer is specially designed to link random and totally unrelated words like SAD and WANKER, or PATHETIC and PERVERT,” said Dr Snorton. “Already we’ve got some fascinating combinations. Who’d have connected MIDDLE-AGED with MASTURBATOR, or FAT with ADULTERER, or OVERPAID with KNUCKLESCRAPER? Or SINGLE with MOTHER?”

The lovely logarithm has already generated a Facebook craze for updating your status with your Lapdancing Club Name. Enthusiasts wittily combine random and totally unrelated words like STRINGFELLOW and LEATHERFACED, or BOUFFANT and CREEP, and post them to their Facebook profiles in a spirit of quick wit, repartee and jolly banter.

One critic has already described the results as ‘hilarious.’


In Uncategorized on October 15, 2010 at 11:21 am

Efforts to rescue trapped Chilean miners stalled last night when it emerged that 67% of them want to stay underground.

Speaking by phone from a chamber underground, a spokesman for the trapped men, Mario Vargas di Tequila (53), said:

“Look at it our way, gringo. Up until last Thursday we earn dollar a year digging dirt for los Americanos. We get rockfall, explosion and el Fuoco knows what else besides, and nobody give a good god-damn, because we poor peones, and if one of us dies, there are ten more to take his job to feed their families.

“Up until last Thursday. When mine collapse, company leave us to die, and then we tweet, and story go viral like Star Wars Kid. And look now. We safe. We famous. We not have to work no more. I play dominoes, smoke cigarette, go for walk down tunnel. I keeping wife and three mistresses on surface. Madonna want adopt my kids. Señor El Presidente join back of queue to kiss my ass, all of a sudden, when last week he send my cousin to prison for trying to clean his drains. And los Americanos want to make me big star in Hollywood, and not shoot me no more when I sneak over border at Los Pasos. I come out, all this ends.

“You want more, you talk to my agent. Adios.”

Watch this space for updates on the nail-biting rescue attempts.