Tuesday, December 31, 2002


One size fits all!
Love From Twisted Sister

It's the New Year's Honours List time again and amongst the usual smatterings of human effluence, politicians, aging film stars and comedians with Parkinson's disease, there's some chap, whose name eludes me at the moment, being knighted for rescuing over 600 Jewish children during the Second World War. Naturally questions have been raised as to why it's taken the palace so long to recognise this man's heroic deeds. According to a statement released by the home office today, "...it's taken us this long to process the fucking claims."


Well...what did you expect? A long and well researched blog? It's New Year's Eve for crying out loud. I'm off out to get drunk, piss inside a telephone box, have a massive fight with my girlfriend and wake up in the morning in somebody's flower bed with my face coated in sick.

Phoney Tony and Deputy Dubya have been stupendously embarrassed by the revelation that Hawk-in-Chief Donald "Duck You Raghead Scum" Rumpsfelt was responsible for supplying Saddam with chemical and biological weapons ten years ago. Some of the very same weapons they have condemned Saddam for hiding.



Arthritis my arse.
See this and weep you embittered old harridans!!!

The Venerable Sage of Unyan
Dispenser of Wisdoms and Sayer of Sooths to the Masses

Upon hearing of the waywardness of fourteen year olds the Venerable Unyan doth say – bring back the punishment that is corporal for it is the only language the little bastards do understandeth.

Upon hearing of the woes of Mr. Nasser Hussein, his Sovereign Overlords and his serfs the Venerable Unyan doth say – taketh not thy bats of willow, thy stumps, thy leather clad balls, thy raiment of white and goeth not into the land of the demon Mugabe and you will truly be blessed with the riches of heaven if not on Earth. Defy your God, Tony the Virtuous, who sitteth at the Right Hand of the Blessed Dubya, and feel the awesomeness of his wrath; at least until the next eleven days shall come to pass by which time the stench of outrage rising from the Street of Shame will have probably blowneth over.

Upon hearing of the greatly prophesied accidental scattering of unholy genes infesting the pure growing places of the Earth where they shouldst not go the Venerable Unyan doth say – fucketh not with the true nature of things lest they, in turn, fucketh you!

Monday, December 30, 2002

I have found something for Kevin.
(And this is good to practice Hungarian too.:)

Aluminum Foil Deflector Beanie:
an effective, low-cost solution to combating mind-control.

And Practical Mind Control Protection for Paranoids. Here.

Single gentlemen out celebrating New Year's Eve tomorrow, remember that the consumption of too much alcohol combined with your efforts to 'pull a bird' can be extremely dangerous. Alcohol dulls the senses turning what, during more sober times, might be a hideous, dragon-faced old tart into a nubile young filly when pissed. Keep your wits about you during any booze ups you might be attending and remember...a dog is for life, not just for Christmas!

As 2002 curls up its toes and attempts to shuffle off this mortal coil it's time to reflect on all those wonderful institutions that have entertained us these last twelve months. The bigotry, the hypocrisy, the misogyny, homophobia, racism, propaganda, spin, lies, misanthropy, greed, corruption and bullshit that has, once again, made this year as turgid with human failings as any of its equally lustreless predecessors.

So, dear readers, charge your glasses and raise a toast. Here's to Disney's "1001 Dead Dalmatians", a charming film about rescuing spotty puppies brought to you by the heartless bastards who, as soon as the real puppies were too old to film any more, had them all put to sleep. And here's to the wankers who, despite knowing this, still bothered to see the film.

Here's to Jeffrey Archer and his prison memoirs who once again proved that riding the gravy train is 100,000 times more financially rewarding than talent. And whilst we're on the subject of talentless twats, here's to Ulrika Johnson and Michael Barrymore and Anthea Turner and Jade and Michael Winner and all those other worthless, uninteresting, mindless, moronic television presenters about whom the newspapers have become fanatical since the "Queen of all Worthless Parasites", Princess Diana, kicked the Parisian bucket.

And here's to war and the oil wells in Iraq, soon to be divided between George the Conqueror and his money-grabbing, heartless, bastard-sons-of-bitches colleagues. Here's to ignorance, to football and the monarchy, to soap operas and Cilla Black, to pubs and golf and Stock, Aitkin and Waterman -- those never-changing institutions of the unthinking populace that keep progress at bay and stem the growth of self-awareness at its source.

Here's to New Labour who sold out its socialist policies for a taste of office and George Bush's ringpiece. Here's to arch manipulators such as Rupert Murdoch and Peter Mandleson and Greg Dyke. Here's to inequality across the social board where the lunatics are firmly in control of their asylums, where the rich get richer and the poor get pissed on, where charities take the place of income tax, where churches take the place of common sense, where self-deception, avarice and spasticity of the mind pervert the truth, bend the rules of aestheticism towards purple and yellow and shroud the feeble brain of the common cretin in the cotton-wool fleece of peer-group acceptance.

But most of all, here's to the average shit in the street. The sports fanatic and the lottery player, the politically ignorant and the sexually stunted, the illiterate, sideways-glancing, Tory-voting, tax-evading, self-congratulatory, celebrity-gossiping, American-film-watching, Christmas-celebrating, Harry-Potter-worshipping, common old dickhead without whom the world wouldn't be able to substantiate the divisions in wealth, in war and religion. Let's raise a bucket of frothing piss to all these things that have kept 2002 in the stinking dark ages and will no doubt continue to shit on the downtrodden through tasteless golden toilet seats in the year to come.

Folks...let's raise a tankard to ourselves. Happy Same Old Year!

Sunday, December 29, 2002

Clare Short's condemnation of the English cricket team's plans to play
in the World Cup being held in Zimbabwe during February is, on the surface,
most commendable - but more of that later.

Mugabe's regime remains in power bolstered by uncountable human rights
violations including starvation and torture, the most newsworthy (in Britain
that is) being the forced removal of white farmers from their properties.
Nasser Hussein, the England captain, looks set to lead his team if the English
Cricket Board takes the stance of the International Cricket Council and gives
him the go ahead. Although not in the same class, any decision to attend the
World Cup is in the spirit of war criminals who claimed to be "only following
orders". The singular positive outcome of the English side going to Zimbabwe is
to swell their bank accounts. Taking the moral high ground and telling the
cricket authorities to get stuffed will cost them dear and may lead to being
sued for breach of contract.

Twisted suggests that our boys make us proud by inserting steel into
their spines, standing up to be counted and thumbing their collective noses at
Muthugbe and his gangsters. If the England side do decide to go then I hope
they fucking lose because they'll have deserved it.

Back to Clare Short. Her government's (rather the Cabinet's) view on
human rights seems to be very flexible. They don't give a shit about how many
Iraqi civilians will be killed when Dubya drops his hat. Their hypocrisy about
the appalling Afghan "collateral damage" was second only to that shown by the
US. Now Bleughh, at Dubya's behest, wants Turkey's entry into the EC
fast-tracked. Europe has refused outright because of Turkey's crappy human
rights record. Good for them!

Turkey supposedly condemns torture but it still goes on. People who
oppose what is manifestly a one party state are labelled terrorists. Anyone
falling foul of the secret police have a depressing way of disappearing only to
be found with bullet holes in their heads. The treatment of Turkey's largest
ethnic minority, the Kurds, makes for grim reading. Despite all this Britain
continues to sell arms to Turkey.

By far the greatest crime visited upon the mostly Kurdish population of
south east Turkey (Anatolia) is the ongoing GAP project to build up to twenty
two dams along the Euphrates and Tigris valleys. Two dams are already
completed, the Ataturk and Birecek dams. Tens of thousands of locals, mostly
Kurds, have been forcibly displaced (some to our chilly shores) and only a tiny
minority of the dispossessed have been compensated. Many rich archaeological
sites (including the Roman settlement of Zeugma), some dating to the
Palaeolithic, have been lost beneath the waters. The proposed building of the
Ilisu Dam on the Tigris valle,y close to the Syrian/Iraq borders, was backed by
Tony Blair, one of the major contractors involved being British construction
company, Balfour Beatty. The Ilisu dam will displace up to 74,000 Kurds and
drown Hasankeyf, one of the world's oldest cities. There was an international
outcry about the Ilisu project and the World Bank refused to fund the dam.
Balfour Beatty was shamed into withdrawing from the project and the British end
of the deal collapsed last year.

Iraq and Syria, both downstream from the GAP dams, have reason to
protest. They fear that Turkey will be able to control the flow of the
Euphrates and the Tigris, major sources of fresh water for both countries, and
blackmail them. Last but not least there is the environmental devastation to

All in all, Tone isn't bothered by any of this because he would still
like Britain to participate in the construction of the Ilisu dam and is sending
out "feelers" for anyone who will put up cash. French company, Amey, of which
Balfour Beatty holds a 40% stake, is ready to oblige the Turkish government.
The only thing stropping them is the lack of guaranteed money.

Why are Dubya and Holy Tone so eager to oblige the Turkish government?
Is it the pissing off the Syrians and the Iraqis that has made Tone and Dubya
so enamoured of the Turks? Syria and Iraq have both been named as leading
participants in the "axis of evil". Syria has been accused of hiding Saddam's
unconventional arsenal from the UN inspectors. Is this a good enough excuse to
welcome Turkey into the EC, no questions asked? Dubya and Tone think so.

And as to New Labour's disgust at Muthugbe's murderous regime hosting
the next cricket World Cup - well isn't this little more than payback for
Muthugbe's ambush and public humiliation of our dear leader at the "Earth"
summit earlier this year? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!

Frosty The Blowman

99: Saint Myra Hindley. 60's pop goddess, director of Yorkshire social services, prison reformer and concubine of the flaxen-haired aristocrat, Lord Longford.

In 1967 Hindley began her tireless campaign to rid Britain's streets of poverty-stricken children, accompanied by her ever-faithful sidekick Ian Duncan-Smith Brady. "This was a huge leap forward for feminism," commented Germaline Greer (Female Eunuch and Australian porn queen) in Hindley's defence. "Myra is one of the few women to achieve equality in the male dominated world of serial killers." In fact so great was Hindley's influence that in the decades to follow women started drinking as much as men, watching football, swearing, fighting and generally being as offensive and as crap as their male counterparts in every walk of life.

After being sentenced to life imprisonment for a minor parking offence, Hindley repented of her otherwise blameless life and eventually found Jesus. This was more than could be said for the Yorkshire police who didn't find his hacked up body buried in the prison window box until three weeks after Hindley's death.

Lady Hindley-Longford was buried on Saddleworth Moor in 2002, her premature end brought about by her choking on the head of a small whippet. Her black and shrivelled heart was sold at an auction in Llandudno to a concerned scientist from the Daily Express.

Attention Mr. Petrenyi.


This week: The Feral Eye Collection by Terry Sedgwick.
Simply Brilliant!, March 9, 2001

Reviewer: Anthony Ellis from USA

This book of cartoons is a tragically underrated GEM! The cartoon's range from hilarious to . . . well, hilarious! With this book, Segwick displays a creative GENIUS that is all too lacking in the post-Larson cartoon era. This collection of cartoons shows that Segwick is definitely in Gary Larson's league, in terms of creative, artistic and humorous brilliance. A brilliantly funny and creative book. A must-have!!

Editor's note: Twat!

Deputy Editor's note. When I handed over the brown paper bag bulging with notes to Mr. Ellis, it was with strict instructions ... "I don't care what you write ... just get my name right." DUDDED I was! I shall have a stern word with him ... "castration"

However it was better than this offering from Setev Gilellan of Dublin.

"This book of carton's is a lagerly underratted GERM! The carton's range from hilrious to . . . well, hilrious! With this book, Segswiwinck dismays a creative GENUS that is all too lacking in the post-Larson carton era. This election of carton's shows that Segswiwinck is indefinitely in Gary Larson's leg, in terms of crative, artinistic and humerous brilliance. A brilligly phoney and crative book. A must has been!!"
Amazon.com Sales Rank: 1,916,636 (Te he he!)

Saturday, December 28, 2002

Well, thank God that's over, 'scuse my Erection! Bloomin' Christmas! They can all take their festerin' good will an' stuff it up the parson's nose as far as I'm concerned! I ain't 'avin' that no good, politically erect family o' mine over me doorstep ever again!

Imagine! Our Doreen comin' round 'ere an' not tellin' me she was marryin' a wog until she'd started pummicin' me bunions an' I 'ad no room to kick 'er!

"But he's not a wog Granny 'Ughes," Doreen says, all innocent like. "'Ee's Welsh!"

"Same bloody difference, 'scuse my African," says I. "Wogs is as wogs does an' whether 'ee's a Welsh wog or an Irish wog 'ee's not defilin' your maiden 'ead my girl!"

Well, you should 'ave eard the commotion! Up she gets wiping the sweat off me feet on 'er cardie an' she starts 'ollerin' about, "...livin' in more enlightened times...' an' '...women being able to decide f'r themselves w'at t' do with their lives..." I've never 'eard such bloomin' tripe, 'scuse my French-letter. These bloomin' emaciated flappers! Reducin' grown men of an opposite race an' bearin' their chimney 'eaded off-spring! It's unnatural I tell ya!

I says to 'er, "Doreen, " I says. "You'll get aids! Or catch lesbianism! Or end up attendin' one o' those prostitute churches with all male choirs and singin' steam engines!"

"But Granny," she demarks. "Just 'cos someone's born in Wales doesn't make 'im gay."

"No," says I. "It makes 'im a Welsh twat! A sheep shagger, 'scuse my Yorkshire. A welly-wearing fister o' baby lambs an' a woolly-bearded tamperer of bleatin' beasts! Now fasten up me colostomy an' get out of me 'ouse yhoo slut!"

That showed 'er. If my 'Enry, God rest 'is kidneys, was alive today 'ee'd be an 'undred and sixty. But 'ee'd 'ave known w'at t' do with the little madam! 'Ee'd 'ave taken the bitch by the scruff of 'er neck an' snapped it. Answerin' back to 'er elders an' betters like that! They can all take their Christmas cheer and stick it where the sun don't shine...or Southport as we prefer t' call it. I'm an 'undred and ninety-twelve y' know an' me rectum's completely prolapsed.


Kenya's opposition set for win.

December 29, 2002.
English cricket team forced to follow on.

Jobless Americans lose benefits.

December 29, 2002
"NEARLY one million jobless US workers have lost their unemployment payments just three days after Christmas because the US Congress failed to approve a benefits extension before taking its holiday recess."
Why don't they just use their American Express Gold Cards like everyone else? Parasites!

Bush sets 2003 agenda.

December 29, 2002
The President did not mention the most conspicuous failure of the anti-terror campaign, the failure to date to capture Osama bin Laden, leader of the al-Qaeda network.
However he revealed that authorities have 3 Napoleons, 5 William the Conquerors and 1 Joan of Arc in custody. "Full confessions are only a matter of time", he assured the nation.

TV cooks have 'bad hygiene'.

December 28, 2002
According to Britain's Chartered Institute of Environmental Health, Oliver tends to spray saliva over ingredients as he speaks. Gary Hunter, a lecturer at Westminster College, London, where Jamie Oliver studied, defended his approach.
"These programs are just for entertainment value -- they're not supposed to be educational," Mr Hunter said.

Fails on 2 counts then. This is a gibbet we prepared earlier.

Restaurants 'feed' tigers - to patrons.

December 28, 2002
ONE hundred rare Bengal tigers donated by Thailand to China for conservation have arrived amid an uproar over media reports they will be bred instead as meat for Chinese restaurants.

Officially, the tigers, which arrived via jumbo jet on Christmas Day on the southern island of Hainan, were contributed by a Thai zoo for a Sino-Thai research program and possible reintroduction into a Chinese nature reserve.

I can confirm this to be true. I have visited the "Happy Chopsticks Red Dragon Golden Lantern Takeaway Nature Reserve" and only 'Sweet and Sour Giant Panda' and 'Lemon Northern Hairy-nosed Wombat" were listed on the Endangered Specials Menu.

Dob in terror suspects, ad series urges.

December 28 2002 By Josh Gordon Canberra

An image from the government's terror ad campaign.

(That picture sure as hell strikes fear into my heart. There is nothing more terrifying than a cabal of fifth columnists plotting the destruction of civilisation as we know it over a few cold beers at an Aussie barbeque.)

"Australians will be urged to dob in suspicious behaviour as part of a Federal Government counter-terrorism awareness campaign beginning tomorrow.

Launching the $15 million series of advertisements in Sydney, Prime Minister John Howard said its purpose was to inform and reassure, not to cause paranoia or encourage people to become amateur spies.

It is believed the government rejected images of SAS troops storming houses for the first phase of the three-month campaign after negative reaction from focus groups."

(Bruce Bin Everage, spokesman for the focus group said "It wasn't too bad, but wasn't in the same league as "Robocop"or "The Taking of Pelham One Two Three". The casting of Russell Crowe as a dodgy turban clad would be suicide bomber was less than inspired. As an audience we felt we were being manipulated." )

Aussies put on terror alert.


AUSTRALIANS are urged to be "alert, but not alarmed" in the Federal Government's new anti-terrorism ad campaign that begins tomorrow.

The $15 million print, radio and TV campaign warns that Australia is not immune from terrorism and people should look out for anything suspicious.

Keep an eye out for:

  • suspicious purchases of large quantities of fertiliser, chemicals or explosives,

  • unusual videoing or photography of diplomatic or consular premises, energy installations or other infrastructure; and

  • abandoned vehicles near public buildings or in busy public places.

  • suspicious property or vehicle rentals,

  • Be alert for packages or bags abandoned in public places:

  • ask if anyone owns the package and alert others to keep away from it,

  • do not touch it; and

  • alert authorities.

  • The ads feature shots of Australian scenes including barbecues, backyard cricket and surfing interspersed with images of baggage scanning and other security precautions.

    A booklet will be mailed to all Australian houses in late January and an upgraded national security website will commence Sunday at www.nationalsecurity.gov.au.

    But the ads do not define suspicious behaviour and John Howard did not make things much clearer yesterday.

    "If you see something that is clearly out of phase, out of synch, is clearly something that is suspicious in the environment and the circumstances, then quite obviously that's the kind of thing to be reported," the Prime Minister said.

    Quizzed further, Mr Howard said: "Australians are very commonsense people -- they know suspicious conduct when they see it."

    You betcha we can, you stunted devious shit! Conduct unbecoming! Scare the bejesus out of the population and wait for the polls supporting war with Iraq go through the roof.

    Howard's seamless blending of McCarthyism, the "Department of Homeland Insecurity" and Winston Smith's worst nightmare.

    Big quake overdue in Victoria

    By MARY PAPADAKIS 29dec02

    "VICTORIA is in the firing line of a potentially "catastrophic" earthquake expected to hit southeast Australia.

    Geological studies conducted by the University of Melbourne have revealed intense underground seismic activity in the area running from Adelaide to southeast Victoria.
    Researchers are unable to predict when or where the quake will hit, but say it is inevitable.

    It is feared the next "big one" could reach as high as 6.0 on the Richter scale, putting lives and infrastructure at risk.

    The devastating quake that struck Newcastle 13 years ago yesterday, killing 13 people, injuring 162 and damaging 300 buildings, measured 5.6.

    Professor Mike Sandiford is behind one of the two university studies that challenge Australia's image as a geologically comatose continent."

    Victorians are urged to be "alert, but not alarmed" in the Government's new anti-earthquake terrorism ad campaign that begins tomorrow.

    The $15 million print, radio and TV campaign warns that Victoria is not immune from earthquake terrorism and people should look out for anything superstitious suspicious.

    The campaign urges Victorians to keep an eye out for:

  • suspicious changes in the landscape,

  • unusual subterranean rumblings,

  • any Victorian who looks other than comatose,

  • clandestine or unauthorised recallibrating of the Richter scale

  • and any research material delivered to media outlets by turban or burkha bedecked seismologists.

  • Bloody hell! I've just done a sweep of the "Personals" (for research purposes only, I'll have you know young fella-me-cross dresser) and that frigging excuse for a relative of mine is at it again. I thought he'd stopped this caper, but obviously not. Beware of any personals posted by "Tarquin3041", "Jeremy007" or "Ridge4u", and he's not a "20 something" he's 31 if he's a day.

    I blame it on that Peter Foster he went to school with. At least he seems to have mended his ways, not so with Sedgwick. This silver tongued devil will break your hearts girls, his swashbuckling, devil may care, in like Flynn attitude always leads to tears before bedtime. You will be just another notch on his prodigious belt. Ask Great grandma Hughes. She fell for it, he had the blood rushing through her varicose veins like there was no tomorrow. In the end she was, like all the others, swallowed up, chewed up and spat out by this priapic brigand. (Mind you passing herself off as Sarisvarti, a 17 year old dusky virgin was just asking for trouble.)


    EXCLUSIVE: It's blighting our family, Monarch tells Prince
    By Harry Arnold

    THE Queen has ordered Prince Charles to give up hunting to avoid damaging the monarchy.

    (Don't do it Charles, keep shooting ... but don't just damage them ... a single shot anywhere between their beady blue blooded eyes and receding chin line is usually sufficiently fatal.)

    She has also said she wants Charles's partner Camilla Parker Bowles and sons William and Harry to quit the blood sport, even if the Government introduces only a partial hunt ban.

    (Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe that the Government specifically exempts the hunting of Camillas, Harrys and Williams from the hunt ban under clause 293a - the Eradication of Vermin.)

    A senior courtier said: "She believes that continuing to hunt when most MPs and the nation abhor it, is a step too far. It could bring the Royal Family into disrepute.

    (Au cointreau Marm, huntin' and shootin' of those pointy nosed, bushy tailed, faggoty butlers would see an end to the besmirching of the windsorial escutcheon.)

    The prince courts disaster for his reputation if he overrides the will of the people."

    (Disaster for his WHAT?! and which particular "will of the people" elected Big Ears to Office?)

    I look forward to Marm prosecuting this cause with her usual dedication to duty and I await the spectacle of Marm throwing herself in front of the field in this year's Ascot Gold Cup. (Much like her dear departed mother did to have the 1846 Cup declared a "No Race" when the horse on which she has her last 2 knickers was toiling 15 lengths behind the 2nd last horse.)

    100: Edwina Arnorld Oswald Mosley.

    Born 1873 the insignifcant son of a West End Grocer and whelk abuser, Mosley rose through the political ranks and by the age of three had become one of the greatest fascist leaders of pre-war Britain.

    Armed only with his band of specially trained working-class public-school ameobas, Moses valiently supported the Sax Coburghs in their continued struggle against the evils of socialism and petitioned constantly for the abolition of wogs and yids from Britain's pure streets. By the time that the Second World War erupted he was a well-known figure in the hallowed halls of Parliament where his views on Hitler's vision for Britain were far too radical for the stuffy old fusters of the day.

    Imprisoned in 1941 for a cycling misdemeanour, Mosley wrote his best-selling and eye-opening book, 'The Elitism of the Species' whilst incarcerated in Slade.

    Dressed in his traditional boiler suit and flat cap Fred Mosley Dibnah was eventually released due to mass condemnation of the justice system. He was often seen rescuing kittens from the clutches of evil oppressors, such as John Smith and Neil Kinnock, who were still in their infancy at the time.

    He was killed heroically in 1981 saving a camper full of schoolkids from a Communist Suicide Miner but will best be remembered for paving the way for other luminary Tories Brits such as Maggie bin Thatch, the Queen Mother God Bless Her and, more recently of course, President Blair.

    There are some who doubt that this baby is of alien origin.
    What a frigging load of sceptical bollocks!

    Friday, December 27, 2002

    As a family obligation, I went to Midnight Mass Christmas Eve/Morning. I was raised Catholic, and though I no longer attend mass regularly or follow the church's beliefs/rules/dogma/threats at all anymore, I still repsect my father's devotion to the church as it is an important part of his life and has held him together since the passing of my mother. So when he asks me to, I attend mass with him as I don't want to insult him or piss on the extreme sacrifices he made to pay the huge amounts of money to send me and my 5 siblings through 12 years of a Catholic education, some of which I still value and retain fond memories. Anyway, having listened to decades of the Catholic Mass, I've heard the recited dogma over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. And over. But they said something at the beginning of the mass Christmas Eve that blew my mind out the back of my head, and quite frankly royally pissed me off. Some fat deacon who's probably enjoyed his share of young choir boys came out and began a sort of chant, the point of which was to state the number of years that had passed since important events in the church's history. Well. right at the start of this chant he began with...(to get the full effect, chant this like a bored, fat monk out loud...)

    "It has been 5,999 years since God created the world."

    What? Once again....WHAT???? Everyone sat there and didn't bat an eyelash, having just been told that the world is 5,999 years old. Why would they declare such an absurdity? If you read the Bible literally and add up the times and lifelines of all the characters, the world is only about 6,000 years old, but what kind of a moron can take that literally? I've heard that there are fantical fundamentalist groups who are trying to get schools to teach this as reality. They argue that since the Bible adds the world up to being only 6,000 years old, it MUST BE SO. Any scientific evidence to suggest that it is actually billions of years old is wrong. Whatever, I've always written this off as the ramblings of idiots, but I was thrown off guard to hear this declared at midnight mass. Remember, I've listened to the same cartholic schpeel for many years and went through formal education having it stuffed down my throat. I thought I'd heard all the absurdities that the church had to offer, but now THIS! How can anyone with any more than a quarter of a brain accept such a concept?

    News just in, and the bomb attack on the Chechen Government in Grozny has claimed the lives of at least forty people.

    This, of course, is not the first mass slaughter. In August rebels killed 116 soldiers in a single missile attack on a Russian helicopter.

    In October they took 800 people hostage in a Moscow theatre, of whom 129 died as Russian special forces stormed in to rescue them.

    According to sources in this latest attack no Brits have been killed.

    So fuck 'em...let's party!

    Financial Bollocks with Fosbury Piers Punter:

    According to Channel 4 News last night, trading statistics for the Christmas period 2002 were considerably down on those reported for the equivalent period this time last year. Shops across Britain reported a seasonal fall in their average takings. Consumer experts are blaming the possibility of war with Iraq for undermining consumer confidence. I know it's had an effect on me. I was planning to spend at least £600 on presents this Christmas but once I reached Argos I started to think about the ever present threat from the Iraqi people and changed my mind. "Best to put some of that money away in case the war kicks off," I thought, opting for a bag of sherbet bonbons instead of the £200 microwave I was going to buy for my mother. "After all, I'd hate the scuds to start flying in the knowledge that I'd overspent this Christmas."

    Following accusations that the Financial Experts have finally lost all connection with reality, the government has launched a £400 million investigation into why such people get paid so much. The investigation is being spearheaded by Peter 'Coca-Cola is Great' Fitzgibbons St John Greedyshit III and is expected to claim the lives of thousands of Kurdish refugees.

    FTSI Index up against the banana 15 to 1 odds on favourite : Pork Bellies down against the Deutchsmark : 2 Parts Fanny Batter 3 Parts Mother Ruin : In Rome the Pheonix has risen against Sauron for 17.5% and the Chinese Squid has held steady at 4 : Wall Street reached a benchmark $4.32 for 9 this lunchtime with intermittant showers and a sagging girth : Climate change in North Korea has brought about a decline in the Yen, with an overall bell helmet of 94 and expanding as the day closed : Ribena Shares 0 : Underpants down in Bonn :

    Here is a site that is TRULY full of shit.

    Click here

    On yesterday's search engine queries for this blog board I saw "clitoris joke Tony Blair". Wouldn't it have been easier to key in "New Labour Twat"??

    (Deputy Editor to Editor. FYI ... noted this on the site tracker. Good to have Steve popping by now and then as no doubt he will having seen that we've been driving traffic to his site. We should expect a cheque in the mail. Cash would be better Steve.)

    Frosty the Blowman!

    Sven hopes that after this public display of affection with the new love of his life Nancy will FINALLY get the message!

    John Prescott's favourite bistro?

    Well, if somebody wants a little relaxation: here is an infantile fun with Dubya, here is a play named Blair the Motivator - and here is a really nice interface.

    Thank you George for your message of
    "Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all Men".
    Thank you from the bottom of my arse.

    Person of the year: The Ordinary Australian.

    "The Webdiary Meeja Watch 'Most Memorable Person of the Year' for 2002 is the 'Ordinary Australian'. Particularly impressive was his natural ability to hold two deeply contradictory positions on any given issue, and strictly according to opportunistic political imperative."

    Above: Pope John Paul II
    sanctifies a Cheetos bag.

    "We are, of course, very concerned for His Holiness' mental condition," said chief papal physician Giuseppe Clementi, standing by the pope's bedside, surrounded by dozens of newly consecrated pill bottles, urine-specimen cups and orthopedic slippers. "Pretty much anything you hold up in front of his face these days, he blesses."

    from The Onion.

    Thursday, December 26, 2002

    The release of "Sophie's Choice: The Musical" in London's West End has been greeted with the much-as-we-expected response of, "Is this really the right choice of subject matter for a musical? Or is it just sensationalist crap designed to get curious bums on expensive seats?" Whatever the answer, Jim Henson's Muppets, sensing the whiff of a quick cash-in, have decided to jump onto the gravy train with their own version of Schindler's List.

    In this all-singing, all-dancing revamp of the original Fozzy Bear takes over the title role, his mix of pathos and bellicose humour adding a new slant to this complicated man/bear. Miss Piggy, however, steals the show with her depiction of Pigalina, a concentration camp victim and mistress to the evil Commandant Rowf. "In order to appear more realistic," said the pig in the wig at a recent press conference. "I had to lose thirteen stone. Now I'm only a mere rasher of my former self."

    Perhaps most haunting is the film's unique use of black and white imagery with the single exception of Gonzo's purple nose. The manner in which the crooked proboscis is lifted from the now familiar ethnic-cleansing scenes, adds a new personal depth to the over-used images of the Jewish holocaust.

    The songs, as always, are great sing-a-long affairs for all the family. "Purging the Streets of Berlin", "Stoking up the furnace" and "If Mr Hitler had been a chicken then maybe he'd have loved me too" are all catchy enough to remain around the schoolyards of Britain for at least the next few months.

    Several of the film's scenes, however, are quite harrowing. As the "Muppet Express" pulls into Auschwitz it soon becomes clear that what at first seem to be snowflakes are in fact the charcoaled embers of Big Bird blowing from the chimney. And the nazi gang-rape of Gonzo's chickens whilst Kermit is forced to stand-by at gun point is possibly the most THAT'S ENOUGH OF THAT NOW -- EDITOR!


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    Well, it was not a Merry Christmas for me.
    My first blunder was that I took the children along to the buying of the christmas tree - of course, we bought too big one.
    Then the tree ornaments - especially the angelhairs - became stink in the basement.
    And when we finished the decoration, suddenly the christmas lanterns went bad. (Perhaps the wires was broken... but I don't know exactly, because the lanterns are in the lowest layer on the tree.)
    Besides, on the basis of my evil wife's advice, the children bought for me a big Garfield skisocks. Perhaps the little buggers thought 'Dad likes to draw funny figures, Garfield is a funny figure, therefore Dad likes Garfield'. Well, they are clever ones, but they have still a lack of good taste. Fortunately, I convinced them before Christmas, and they bought for their Mom a green porcelain dragon, which is able to blow smoke. With six odour.
    So, now I'm sitting at an oppressively big, dark, stinking christmas tree, I wear a horrible socks, the dragon smoke on the table, and I'm chewing a Garfield fondant: I have to admit, it have the best taste.

    Here I am, my usually ironing board flat, drum tight abdomen hideously distended by 5 helpings of Xmas pudding. "Will all great Neptune's ocean of gripe water wash this pud clean from my stomach ? No!"

    I forgot to load myself up with Xmas day reading and found myself left with one of W Somerset-Hughes' books. Well, let me tell you all that "PatTernoster Row" is a great book. "Why", you ask, "I've heard from reliable sources that it is a load of old cobblers." Not so! Read on and all will be revealed ...


    The Xmas feast covers every inch of the creaking, groaning, sloeback, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing, dining table. The nominal Christian insists on saying Grace. Enough time to read the foreword (Bloody brilliant foreword at that. Best part of the book. Bugger! The next 5 pages have just fallen into the cauliflower cheese.) during the starless and bible-black monotonic rendering of thanks to some non existent deity, who incidently didn't bother to front to take his turn stirring the gravy to prevent it going all lumpy like.

    Dinner table discussion turned to refugees. "They ought to send the buggers back with a flea in their ears." "They're not like us, are they?" Lucky them, I interpolate and seek the refuge of Chapters 1 to 5.

    Hilarity is about to explode around the table with the arrival of the Xmas pudding drowning in brandy sauce. How to avoid a disengenuous reponse to sniggerings of "Hope you weren't too heavy handed with the brandy, I've got to drive home.", "Not too much sauce for Gran you know what she did last year!" (Died after two mouthfuls, as far as I can remember, lucky old bitch. I think you'll find the old biddy at the end of table is Elsie the bag lady doing her usual Xmas cuckoo rounds.) "Better not have to much sauce or I'll be under the table." "Under the Fred West Memorial Lawn" I subvocalise and tuck away Chapters 6 and 7.

    Dispensing of the presents is now upon us... how to respond to the underdaks with the *hilarious* Benny Hill double entendre embroidered across the crotch area??? Escape to Chapter 8.

    Chapter 9 barely got me through the parting is such sweet sorrow (MY ARSE IT IS!) ritual, replete with inevitable somberly intoned "Drive carefully, there are a lot of fools on the road these days". I look back at the goodbye waving paper party mad hatted fools, thanking my lucky stars that not one of them would be driving today. In fact they would not be driving on any day. The police breathalyser squad cracks down hard on brandy sauce over indulgence.

    My view of "PatTernoster Row" may be a little on the rose colored side but any book that passes my "any port in a storm" test ought have its blood bottled. (Or at the very least, its spine straightened.) Escapist literature? ... you betcha!

    Anybody up for swaps? I've got 3 excess to requirements "Garfield Swiss Army Blackhead Remover/Olive Stoner/Nutmeg Grater on a Rope" (complete with 5 year warranty).

    Wednesday, December 25, 2002

    I filled three snotrags full of snot, on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day,

    My skin was cold, my head was hot, on Christmas Day in the morning.

    I felt too bleeding ill to cook, on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day,

    I filled the bathroom sink with puke, on Christmas Day before dinner.

    And now I'm going back to bed, on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day,

    I wish that I was fucking dead, 'cos Christmas Day is appalling.

    It's almost 1 o'clock on Christmas morning and I'm waiting for Father Christmas to come down my chimney and get wedged in my gas fire. I'm hoping to sneeze all over his beard before setting him free so that he'll pass all my germs on to the little kiddies around the globe. Whilst waiting I've been watching a documentary on Channel 4 about a group of Australians who go on stage live and perform hilarious tricks with their knobs. "This is Spotty out of the Beano" "This one's Iain Duncan Smith." "When I pull my scrotum thus there's the very faintest suggestion of the Sydney Opera House." Christmas morning...and this is the best that British television can offer. It was either that or the Archbishop of Somewhere-or-other going on about caring and sharing this Christmas whilst driving around Cambridge in his Porsche. Tosser!

    Speaking of dicks...

    Happy Christmas from the Osbournes!

    Hapy Easter from Jeorge Bush and my wiff to all my felow Brazilians.

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    "G'day cobbers. Bombs away!"

    Deputy Editor notes:- These photos look suspiciously like some I saw posted in adverts on the "Leaders of the Free World Swingers Club" web site.
    "WASPish couple, NSOH, social drunks seek similar for good time."

    Tuesday, December 24, 2002

    "THE United States edited out more than 8000 crucial pages of Iraq's 11,800-page dossier on weapons, before passing on a sanitised version to the 10 non-permanent members of the United Nations security council." MORE.

    I am SO shocked and surprised.

    So US Secretary of State Colin Powell says that 'omissions' in the document constituted a 'material breach' of the latest UN resolution on Iraq. Omissions by the good old U.S. administration it seems. May the material in their breaches bite them on the bum.

    Yup, there aint no sanity clause!

    Alas, shit continues to happen even during Christmas. For a change the finger of accusation is pointing straight at North Korea and its suspected recommissioning of its Yongbyon reactor. The five megawatt reactor was disabled in 1994 after Korea accepted a five billion dollar aid package which included heavy fuel oil and two light water reactors. The price of this aid was for North Korea to close down Yongbyon because of its capacity to produce weapons grade Plutonium. Now the seals and cameras placed on site by the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) have been removed which means the North Koreans have broken their agreement with the US.
    North Korea cites an energy crisis, which is real. However, the crisis is not due to shortage of fuel (half a millions tons of heavy fuel oil per year from the US, two light water nuclear reactors, vast deposits of coal and the prospect of an oilfield beneath West Korea Bay). Much of the electricity is derived from hydro-power. It is North Korea’s infrastructure that is at fault – an aging power grid and the inability to transport sufficient coal to power stations because of a poor rail network.
    North Korea is strapped for cash. It either can’t or won’t invest in new a infrastructure to improve the generation and distribution of electricity. Instead it wants Yongbyon back on line. The problem is, the two light water reactors supplied by the US are good at generating electricity but need slightly enriched Uranium which is useless if you want to produce weapons grade Plutonium. North Korea’s nuclear weapons programme was stalled when IAEA closed down the Yongbyon plant because it CAN produce weapons grade Plutonium.
    Russia, which shares a border, does not want North Korea to begin nuclear proliferation. China and South Korea, who also share borders with North Korea, can’t be too happy about the prospect either. Strangely, after some initial political posturing and sabre rattling, the US has backed away from the problem leaving North Korea to do what it wants for the time being. Maybe it’s clearing the way to having Russia and China pick the coals out of a very hot fire. Perhaps a diplomatic solution is being sought to prevent a mad dictator from getting his ands on nukes.
    North Korea is in the grip of a suspicious and increasingly paranoid Stalinist dictatorship. They may already possess fissile material. However, Bush and Blair consider Iraq to be the greater threat. There is no tangible proof that Saddam possesses nukes or the means to produce weapons grade plutonium although it is possible that he has managed to buy some.
    North Korea is known to supply arms and equipment to so called Evil Axis countries. There is a possibility that bankrupt North Korea might set up a trade in nuclear weapons. However, North Korea lacks massive oil reserves and poses the greatest danger to South East Asia and Japan, whose economies rival that of the US.
    Make of that what you will.
    Of Course, there is the possibility that Bush's firm grasp of the world's political arena elicited the classic response, "North whut?".

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    The Editor of the Rant of the Week Blogger Board would like to wish the following people a HAPPIER, less-flu-filled, FESTIVE SEASON than I'm having:

    Mr Terry Sedgwick (Australian legend...especially amongst the institutes for battered wombats) for his tireless work in putting this board together without any reward...even though he's still expecting payment.

    Joseph Petryni for his weird and wonderful links and the fact that his e-mail server is now probably crammed with Spam from 'Choirboy' sites and 'Naked Nun Porn'.

    Twisted Sister for her enthusiastic blogging and the fact that she's cooking me dinner on Friday.

    Kevin Coffee for his American perspective on World Politics and, of course, his always excellent cartoons.

    Paul Morgan for not posting any more photographs of his cock.

    Green Fairy for dropping by from time to time to say hello.

    The person responsible for sacking Michael Barrymore from ITV...well done and about bloody time!

    And, of course, the viewers to this site...those wonderful, well-rounded and intelligent people...most of whom haven't bought anything from the Scrag Ends Shop yet.

    I would like NOT to wish the following people any Yuletide Cheer whatsoever:

    Tony Blair for being a fifth columnist for the Tory Party.

    George W Bush for being a vile little shit of a man.

    Saddam Hussein for being an equally vile little shit of a man.

    Osama bin Laden for giving George W Bush an excuse.

    Michael Barrymore, Angus Deayton and, especially, Ulrika Johnson the talentless Scandinavian twat.

    But most of all, I'd just like to flick a big Yuletide 'V' at all those ignorant bastards wandering around Fleetwood whose coughing and sneezing without due consideration for other people have led me to this sorry, miserable, painful, bunged-up and unpleasant state of influenza...may you all rot in your homes this Christmas!

    Finally, I would like to offer my sincere commiseration to the person who visited this site in search of a photograph of "Edwina Curry in stockings" yesterday. Here's hoping you have better luck elsewhere Mr Duncan-Smith.


    Life in Tony's Britain continues to go from bad to farce. In the same week Lord Justice Sheep (Don't you mean Lord Justice Woolf? Ed.) has instructed the courts not to jail burglars, we learn that Brendon Fearon, who was shot in the legs by jailed serial burglary victim Tony Martin, intends to sue for at least £15,000 damages. Given the depressing trend for lowlife compensation victories he'll probably get it too.

    What Bastard Fearon probably doesn't know is that, although he might win his case, he may never get to enjoy spending his ill gotten gains. How so? Because the Government will recoup up to five years worth of incapacity benefits and associated benefits (at least he can't claim Industrial Injury benefit - yet!) accrued while recovering from his injuries but that only works if he is, or has been, receiving incapacity benefit. The good news is that Tony Martin intends to counter-sue his antagonist.
    Even if Fearon gets his compensation snatched away the taxpayer will probably have to foot the bill for his legal aid making it a lose-lose situation for people who do not resort to crime to earn a crust. Worse, LJ Woolf believes that by not jailing burglars the thieving little shits will be so grateful they'll go on to lead a meaningful, law-abiding life. One look at Fearon's rap sheet demonstrates what a stupid fantasy that is.

    I'll be watching this case very closely. If Fearon wins his case and gets to keep the money then I, and many more like me, will have a lot to say about it. Why? Because I am one of many who have had tens of thousands of pounds worth of compensation snatched by the government following successful claims for legitimate injury and/or permanent disability compensation. In my case an industrial injury left me permanently disabled with a painful spinal injury. I am now unemployable. Following five years of hell fighting an insurance company trying to wriggle out of stumping up for its client's admitted negligence, I was left with a pittance after the government stepped in and swiped nearly all of it. The majority of people in this country are not expected to pay back any received benefit so why should people left disabled by an accident be singled out?

    To make matters worse I've spent the last six months practically imprisoned in my home after I lost my Motability vehicle following a huge cock-up courtesy of Disablement Living Allowance (DLA). According to them I'd undergone a cure that would have gotten my GP beatfied. Of course DLA couldn't know that for certain since, during the renewal of my claim, they didn't bother consulting him. Instead they based their decision to withdraw all of my benefit on a so called independent medical report that was so inaccurate it took an appeal panel about thirty seconds to overturn the decision of DLA last Thursday. I am out of pocket to the tune of two accurate medical reports that contained incontrovertible evidence that my spine is smashed up beyond repair. It was information that should have been sought by DLA I intend to claim back costs.
    Because some dozy clerk decided that ten years of treatment from a GP, a pain specialist and two orthopaedic surgeons couldn't possibly constitute proof of permanent disability, the taxpayer has had to foot the cost of an appeal while I have been through six months of house arrest.

    No wonder I'm so fucking twisted!

    Monday, December 23, 2002

    O.K. I understand ... (run mouse over link for more info) and I guess you're allowed to be a nudist as long as you don't take your clothes off.

    No it's not too late to send me a last minute Xmas gift. The Original CheckMate Infidelity Test Kit.

    TESTIMONIAL:- "A woman's husband spends 3 hours every Sunday evening visiting his son at his unmarried ex wife's house. He makes ridiculous excuses about his relationship with this woman, while at the same time telling her that she is crazy for being suspicious. Upon returning from one of these visits, she discovers a large stain with a stiff starchy feeling, in his white cotton briefs. As a result of this prolonged period of unfair treatment and these repeated signs of infidelity she decides to take action by purchasing the CheckMate Infidelity Test Kit to test the stain for the presence of semen. She discovers semen stains in his underwear in 3 different places. Before leaving the house he had all clean clothes on, including fresh underwear. Now when he gets home from his ex wife's house, he has semen stains in his underwear."

    That's my Christmas shoppin' sorted. I've bin to Iceland where I caused chaos with me Zimmer...managed to bring some kiddy a right good crack round th' noggin...serves the little bastard right ('scuse me Goebels)...'ee shouldn't 'ave bin packin' me bags f'r me, the money-grabbin' little cub-scout sod ('scuse me Collywobbles)...I don't want nobody rummaging' through my belongings, thank you very much, w'at with me personal hygiene accessibles and me heffalump cream.

    Then I called in at the 'ealth centre on the way 'ome for me influential jab. Bloody 'orrible place that ('scuse me Gonads) full of sick people all coughin' an' sneezin' an' wheezin'. That nig-nog doctor tried t' stick me through with one of 'is 'eroine needles. I said to 'im, I said, "Whatcha think y' doin', Sambo? I don't want none o' that!" and I folded me arms across me bosoms all haughty like. "I wants a sugar cube with me medicine on it," I said. "I don't know w'at you've bin doin' with that thing, do I? It might be full of Thorax or Asian Lube some other blackie disease!" Well, that taught 'im. 'Ee came out wi' somethin' in Swahili or Arabic or whatever it is 'ee speaks. Then 'ee 'ad t' call in that nice, clean nurse of 'is w'at they've got workin' there now, y' know the one, Rosemary Bellows' daughter, Irene I think 'er name is, she's married t' that washin' machine repair man from Conniston Road an' they've got that down syndrome kiddy what tried t' suck a car-tyre pump an' 'is 'ead blew up to thirteen times its normal size. Least that's what Mrs Arkwright from the paper shop reckons. She's an interferin' old bitch, that one ('scuse my Pomeranian). Always stickin' 'er nose in an' stirrin' it up without no respect for other people's ways. An' she's a racialist! An' a bloomin' lesbian! Any'ow, whatever the case, the nurse ended up givin' me the jab so at least I ain't got no dysentery or camomile or any other wog disease in me blood.

    Now all I've got t' do is chop up some wood f'r the fire, feed Tiddles 'is favourite tuna tit-tits an' I'm all set to procrastinate like an 'edgehog until new year.

    Saddam has offered to let American and British security forces into Iraq in direct response to criticism that he is not being honest about his cache of chemical and bio-weapons. It could be, as Brian says, that Saddam is taking the piss because the CIA and MI5 haven’t a clue where the arms dumps are. There is, of course, a possibility that these organisations have a bloody good idea where they are but successfully disarming Saddam now is an unwelcome complication affecting Bush and Blair’s advanced invasion plans to protect the oil and that will never do.
    If this is true then any pretence of giving Saddam a chance to disarm (which he won’t if he can get away with it) is shown up for the sham it is. But only Bush, Blair and the penguins of insanity know for sure.
    Cherie Booth, champion of human rights and, if you believe the press, a major influence on her husband, seems very impassive when it comes to the possibility of thousands of Iraqi men, women and children going down in history as the unfortunate victims of unavoidable collateral damage. Perhaps her interest in human rights extends only so far as the lucrative legal aid money that inflates her bank account. On the whole, she seems to be content with the idea that husband Tony is nothing more than Dubya’s political rent boy or that the French and Germans are able to run rings around him because of his unwholesome affiliation to the Bush administration’s New World Order agenda.
    If there was ever a right time to depose Phoney Tony then it is now. Unfortunately, we cannot expect a Thatcheresque Night of the Long Knives to end his career as a world class prat (Don’t you mean statesmen? Ed. ) because Tony has surrounded himself with Yes-men and fully paid up Toadies with one obvious exception – Gordon Brown. No one has the balls to take him on because Cherie has ripped them off and is busy juggling with them. Given the shambles that is British government and the muddled signals occasionally being emitted by this or that minister, Phoney should pay attention to the fact that clarity begins at home. How can he be taken accepted as an international political farce (Don’t you mean force? Ed.) when his own house is crumbling and falling into a growing chasm of debt and discontent?
    Earlier today I saw a sticker on a car’s rear windscreen it said: I LOVE MY COUNTRY BUT THE GOVERNMENT SCARES THE SHIT OUT OF ME. Although there is little to love about modern Britain the message is clear. President Tone can take the country into a war with Iraq without consulting the electorate or either House. Anyone still under the impression that Britain is a democracy should prepare themselves for a rude awakening.
    For fuck’s sake, find yourself a stalking horse Gordon before it’s too late!!!!

    After continuing allegations by the British and American governments that Saddam Hussein is hiding weapons of mass destruction, Iraq has invited the FBI (or possibly the CIA or MI5 or something) into the country for a snoop around, in the full knowledge that they couldn't find a turd in a swimming pool. Britain and America have, naturally, refused the invite claiming that all their agents are currently busy swooping on local newspaper photographers running illegal nativity play rings. However the allies still reckon that Saddam is lying about his arsenal, and they have the receipts to prove it. In an unprecedented step 10 Downing Street and the Whitehouse have decided to exchange intelligence...a difficult manoeuvre because there hasn't been any intelligence in either building since the Declaration of Independance.

    Festive news and Channel 4 are to run Derek and Clive on Christmas Day, presumably to counterbalance the disturbing effects that too many Disney films have on young people. Also, as an alternative to the Queen, Channel 4 will be showing a speech by Sharon 'fuck-off-you-stuck-up-little-English-bastards' Osbourne. It's always good to see the festive spirit swallowed by the yard.

    Sharon Osbourne watching Ozzy stumble blindly through another pile of dog puke.

    Sunday, December 22, 2002

    I leave the world of the civilised and return to my country-dwelling, Sun-reading parents for Christmas.

    Back on the 29th.

    Save some stuffing for me.

    *looks curiously downwards*

    The latest Christmas Gift Idea from Organ Morgan...

    Says Paul, "I designed this contraption to keep my wife amused whilst I'm away and the dog is asleep."

    Keep an eye on the shops, consumers! As soon as the patent's granted these things'll sell like a bomb!

    Earlier today I took the entrance exam for the England Eleven. I span an attempted googlie, took out two panes in the long room and bowled the char-lady into a coma. Five minutes ago I received an e-mail from Michael Afferton confirming that I didn't make the team. Apparently I'm over-qualified. Back to the drawing board/word processor then.

    "Row! Row until your hearts crack and your backs break!"

    (Where would Christmas be without Jason and the Agonauts, eh?)


    God help Iraqi Muslim men
    In Bush and Blair dismay.
    For they have lots of bombs and guns
    To blow you all away.
    Show them your nukes, your chemicals,
    Your bio-warfare toys,
    Or cruise missiles will surely be deployed, be deployed.
    Or cruise missiles will surely be deployed.

    I'm getting the flu for Christmas. I originally wanted a Play Station 2, but there you go, seems I'm stuck with the shit end of the stick as usual. It doesn't surprise me though. Everywhere I go at the moment there's some old biddy or kid sneezing and/or coughing their disgusting germs all over the place. The idea of covering up their mouths appears to be an alien concept to them. I was standing in Iceland the other day and some middle-aged woman coughed so violently into my face that my hair parted. I had an urge to strain down a copious amount of snot from my nostrils and spit it at her, shouting, "How do you like it you foul, diseased old hag?" Some wizened old goat outside on Lord Street beat me to it though...emptying most of his lungs onto the pavement without giving a stuff and causing a hazard that no doubt some other old prune would be suing the council over by the end of the day.

    Nobody seems to give a shit about anything or anyone else nowadays. In fact, I'm so sick and tired of the ignorance of the average human being that I've decided to give up my so-called 'writing and cartooning' career next year. My books are too complicated and confusing for the Douglas Adams fans it appears and my cartoons aren't cute and cuddly enough for the newspaper-reading public of America (grow up and act your age folks) so I've had enough. I've decided to become a cricketer instead. I'll join the England squad because they don't need any talent. Just the ability to lose spectacularly over and over again and not give a shit. Why would they? They still make millions whilst failing pathetically. Sounds like just the sort of job I've been in training for all of my life.

    My throat's sore and my ribs hurt. No doubt I'll have developed pneumonia for New Year. I feel like shit...but I've just had my breakfast so it'll have to wait until I get to the cafe where, if experience is anything to go off, they'll serve me some up whether I ask for it or not.

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    Battle Carol of the Repugnant.

    Violent Night, Saddam’s in our sights.
    He’ll get his comeuppance so fuck human rights.
    Iraqi nationals so reckless and wild,
    We’ll bomb the bastards; man, woman and child.
    We’ll blow them to bloody pieces.
    We’ll blow them to bloody pieces.


    Tony Blair: Bomb Baghdad II: Scram Saddam for BattleStation 2.
    Ian Duncan Smith: Charisma Transplant.
    Cherie Booth QC: Paul Dacre’s balls in a vice.
    Raj & Shahana Hashmi: Pro-life campaigner and professional busybody Josephine Quintavalle run over by a bus.
    George “Dubya” Bush: To triple his IQ to 12.
    Sven Goran Eriksson: That Nancy would do a “Samantha” and run off with Ulrika.
    Dr. Hans Blix: For Saddam to tell him whether he is getting warmer or colder.
    Jacques Chirac: Tony Blair to drown in a pool of his own arrogance.
    Colin Powell: To be able to finally pronounce his first name correctly.
    Victims of Burglary: To see Lord Justice Woolf’s wig crammed down his throat.
    Osama Bin Laden: For Dubya to be buggered by an anthrax infected camel.

    O.K. I know some of you soft centered, tree hugging hippy types are going to start braying like stuck donkeys at this, but I don't think you can prepare your kiddies early enough. I bought one these for my great great grand daughter this Xmas. Was a tough call, she really wanted a Tickle Me Suicide Bomber Elmo or a Camp Follower Barbie.
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    "Cross! Cross? I'll show you frigging cross!"

    While I'm here let me tell you I'm outraged at this story about a mother who tricked her daughter into believing she had a fatal form of leukemia -- and then told neighbours, who promptly donated $20,000 for treatment. My blood boils when I think of the $10,000 I raised through an appeal I ran in the Kalgoorlie Kronicle when I fell for that infamous Brian Hughes scam. Deceptive predatory frigging bastard. Turns out he was even faking his phantom pregnancy. The ghost who throws up in the morning, my arse!

    Now I hear he's started up yet another of his frigging scams on the internet. For a mere $50,000 he's promising American couples desperate for a blond haired, blue eyed gall bladder of their own he will bear a gall bladder full term for them. Yeah right!


    (Especially to Agatha ... an inspiration as always.)

    Saturday, December 21, 2002

    Will somebody please explain to the four tossers on the WKD advert that they're obviously suffering from repressed homosexuality? Touching each other up in the showers, wetting each other's pants in the pub loos, prancing round the flat together in frilly aprons and bugger all else. Lads...if you're gay just say that you're gay. It's not against the law these days and there's no point in pretending to have a girlfriend when your bumchums obviously mean so much more to you. Besides which that WKD stuff looks like a real puff's drink.

    Anyhow...here's this week's Scrag End and Merry Buggerin' Christmas...

    Emergency Deputy Editor:- Peggy Farcus. (Deputy Editor Sedgwick seems to have disappeared. One minute he was watching "Santa Claus Conquers the Martians", the next he was nowhere to be seen. I think we are talking serious alien abduction and festive season anal probing.)

    I took a look at those WKD ads and I think the Editor is right on the balls. What a pack of frigging nancy boys! Haven't seen anything like that since the end of season shenanigans by the Kalgoorlie Krocs footy team. As bad as that poofy "Lord of the Rings" that was shown at the Kalgoorlie Majestic last week.

    And yes young poncing lad ... your bum does look big in those poofy Calvin Kleins! Nice cleavage though.

    I am watching this great movie as I type ... TRUE! Promise I'm not kidding.

    Brilliant stuff ... and I've just seen a high tech Martian radio telescope made entirely from cardboard paper towel tubes.

    Who says Christmas can't be fun? ... that is apart from the Red Cross. Only 4 more sleeps (and 12 more equally brilliant Xmas movies) to go.

    Today the Red Cross organisation won a major victory for stupidity and religious intolerance by banning any signs of Christmas from its charity shops.
    Earlier in the week I posted a pseudo-PC article about JC and Christmas on this site (go look it up) which took religious PC to the extreme – or so I thought. I was joking but now the Red Cross has done one better and made it policy!
    This will offend Christians (I’m an agnostic) and has apparently earned the mockery of non-Christian religions. In fact it will offend or earn the derision of everyone who is not a non-Christian fundamentalist nutter. In other words – a miniscule minority!
    Next, we’ll be having some human rights lawyer saying that it’s racist to lock up so many Muslims for murderous hate crimes in one week. Expect Cherie on the case very soon!
    Like it or not, Britain is now a multicultural society, at least in the cities and large towns. Racial tension is running high, especially with the massive influx of refugees of all colours and creeds. Banning Christmas in a supposedly Christian country that has more than it’s own fair share of white nutters and racists serves only to pour petrol on the flames.
    I suggest, if you truly want to help the starving and impoverished of the world, that you give your money to organisations that get on with the job rather than offend the majority of donors in this country with its ridiculous PC politics!

    A suggestion for the Red Cross - dump your emblem and replace it with the silhouette of a bloke that has a limp dick sticking out of his forehead because the symbol sums you up to a tee!!!

    Friday, December 20, 2002

    This day in history On December 20.

    'Roughly 400 years ago, on December 20, 1606, three merchant ships, the "Susan Constant," "Godspeed" and "Discovery" set sail from London loaded with passengers and cargo on a voyage that would later set the course of American history.. Their landing at Jamestown, VA, was the start of the first permanent English settlement in America."

    ... and the beginning of the end of civilisation as we knew it. Thanks a lot England!

    Defining Quote.

    "America has an almost obscene infatuation with itself. Has there ever been a big, powerful country that is as patriotic as America? And patriotic in the tinniest way, with so much flag waving? You'd really think we were some poor little republic, and that if one person lost his religion for one hour, the whole thing would crumble. America is the real religion in this country." -- Norman Mailer

    This picture is stored at Photoisland and their servers can be a bit tardy so if the image fails to show first up ... right click and click SHOW PICTURE.


    Last minute pressies available at "The ROTW Online Shopping Mall".

    Some Culinary Tips for the Festive Season!

    1) Shoppers: When buying food in for Christmas try to remember that the holidays only last for two days. There's little point in stockpiling for a nuclear winter. (That's not due until January.) Leave some bread and stuff on the shelves for the rest of us, you greedy fat bastards.

    2) Fatties: Avoid adding an extra couple of inches to your waistline this year. Move to Afghanistan.

    3) Parents: Make sure you fill your kids up with fizzy pop and turkey sandwiches and selection boxes on Christmas Day. That way, by ten o'clock in the morning, they should be vomiting nicely all over their new toys and clogging their Playstation's innards with sick.

    4) Manufacturers: Don't put expensive gift items in your crackers. When relatives that you haven't seen all year turn up for dinner there's never anything to talk about. Those pointless bits of melted plastic, laughingly known as novelties, are a superb icebreaker. Especially when one of them flies out and lands in Uncle Gordon's pudding, causing him to choke.

    5) Whilst we're on the subject...Cracker manufacturers: Please continue to employ cartooning genius Steve Gill-Elan to write the jokes for you. They're so clever and original and have become as much a part of Christmas Day as Stanley Baxter and/or the Krankies.

    6) Turkeys: If you notice an open gate around this time of year, use what tiny brains you have and run for it. If you manage to reach Nuneaton, chances are the Daily Mirror will rescue you and keep you alive for at least the next six months. Your family will end up on their dinner plates mind, following the annual turkey holocaust, but at least you'll be well fed.

    7) The Iceland store in Fleetwood: Please put back the crisp-stand. Not all of us want (or, due to gallbladder restrictions, can actually digest) thousands of fucking mince pies, Yuletide logs and bowls of nuts.

    8) Mothers: Support feminism this Christmas and don't make dinner. There's no point in complaining about it if you're going to let the male members of your household walk all over you. It's your choice...nervous breakdown by Boxing Day or divorce by New Year! Take the sensible way out and dump the ignorant bastards!

    Uncle Brian...removing the brown sprouts from the festive season on your behalf!

    This column has been sponsored by ANUSOL: the preferred haemorrhoid ointment.

    Glad tidings we bring, to you and your ring,

    We wish you a Merry Christmas and a bum-grape free year!

    Geoffrey Robinson, one of Phoney Tony's top cronies and friend of drowned serial embezzler Robert Maxwell, has been arrested and charged with failing to provide a specimen after being caught driving in an erratic manner. Further charges are pending the analysis of a suspicious substance found in Robinson's car. What a refreshing change from the embarrassment of Cheriegate.

    HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!

    The sight of yet another senior London social worker weaselling out of the responsibility of the death of an abused child on national TV was both sickening and pathetic. The abusers, the child’s parents, have received prison sentences but not one single social worker has been disciplined for a woeful failure of duty.
    Ainlee Walker died of negligence by her case workers following hard upon the horrors inflicted upon her by her loving parents. She died because social workers feared her violent parents and were too scared to knock on the door. It is hard to decide who is the most culpable; the mentally deficient parents or the criminally inadequate authorities.
    The question I asked myself was why, if they genuinely feared they would be harmed, did these so called professional carers not engage the help of the police to gain access to the child? The answer, I suspect, is because going in with a copper in tow doesn’t give the “right message” to the community they purport to help. If this is the case then the actual message they are giving out is that political correctness and self preservation is more important than protecting a child that is critically at risk.
    In the aftermath of the case we have the press baying for blood, or at least a change in legislation that would stop another child dying so needlessly. The usual get out by the authoroties has been wheeled out – not enough staff to cover the unpopular job of dealing with difficult and potentially violent people. The fallout is covering a wide swathe of the London authorities responsible for the Plaistow area of London but no one has been blamed for this appalling travesty and probably won’t be. There is much talk about revising the “rules” and even the appointment of an independent Commissioner for Children. The sad truth is that the great and the good will talk and recriminate until the furore calms down and then do what they always do – fuck all.

    Thursday, December 19, 2002

    Oh, I love Christmas w'at with all the queer lights an' the festerin' cheer an' the cherry randy an' w'at not. An' I always like t' do my bit. Every Christmas Eve I phone those nice women up down at the Samaritans. Fancy 'avin' t' work on Christmas Eve an' miss Wallace an' Gromit? Me givin' 'em a call stops 'em gettin' lonely an' disentangled even if they don't appreciate it none an' keep tellin' me to 'ang up 'cos there are potential kamikaze victims tryin' t' get through.

    Course, Christmas isn't f'r everyone. Not all of us are imbibed with 'oly spirit. Look at that darkie down at the 'ealth centre. I doubt 'ee even knows 'oo the baby Jesus is let alone ever bought any of 'is artefacts from the Catholic shop. I tried to explain to 'im about 'ow the baby Jesus slithers down the chimney with 'is sack o' perfume an' a bag full o' loofahs, but 'ee just laughed at me with 'is big white teeth an' said something in Wog w'at I couldn't quite grasp. Where 'ee comes from they spend all Christmas dancin' round a big black pot in leopard skin groin cloths, boilin' missionaries an' stickin' wax eulogies with pins an' chantin' sushi spells. Ignorant nig nogs. Still, you've got t' laugh at 'em, an' at least there's always somewhere open on Christmas Day to 'ave me bunions scraped.

    It's gettin' difficult these days, o' course, t' make it t' midnight communication. Time was when My 'Enry (God rest his nose) used t' take me down there on the back of 'is big, fat Bourneville. Don't know about the roar of Moses' triumph bein' 'eard all round the desert. Y' could 'ear My 'Enry's all the way to Cumbria on a clear night. It was 'ard riding side-saddle an' all that mind, especially wi' me feet in one o' those great big slipper things where both of 'em fit into the same 'ole...oh, aren't they funny them...w'at will they think of next, eh? I remember one year our Brian bought me one o' those influxable 'emmorhoid rings. It was no bloody use ('scuse my Pig Ignorance). The 'ole was too big an' it kept slidin' off. These days I use it t' stand the teapot on when the vicar calls. I 'ope 'ee calls this year. I ain't got no-one left outside those miserable buggers ('scuse my Bolshevik) w'at call 'emselves my family now. Oh yeah...sure...they'll be round at five o'clock as instructed on Christmas mornin', fussing about an' tryin' t' make me comfortable. But they're only after me in'eritance, the theivin', ungrateful bastards! They can't fool me! I'm an 'undred and twelvety-nine, y' know, an' I ain't lost me baubles yet!





    In naming Setev Gill-Elan our "Man of the Year", The Rant of the Week honours a fine artist, a man among men, a legend in his own laugh time and an all round great guy. A fun guy who often gets down and dirty but always comes up smelling of roses.

    More on the Rant of the Week's Man of the Year as published in the Kalgoorlie Kronicle today.

    (Thanks for the scoop chaps! Circulation soaring ... sold 18 today! Shall be away for a few weeks, off for a Fucking holiday to see how the hip replacement stands up. Not quite sure what to make of this Xmas present I received from Great Grandma Hughes. Actually I'm not frigging sure what to make of Great Grandma Hughes, period.)


    Wednesday, December 18, 2002

    I don't know, whether this is true or not... but this is a note to the biology lessons.

    Aaaaah, the generous dahlings didn't have to do that. BUT how come I didn't crack it for 1st prize?! What's more I already have Beary Peach Crutchless Knickers, Miss Cotton Candy Big Knockers and Big Beary Tasty Vanilla Goolies.

    Congratulations Terry!
    Your Prize is 3 Angel Bear Ornaments!
    Dear Terry,

    You're being awarded Second Prize from yourfreepresent.com!

    Your prize is 3 adorable teddy bears dressed like darling angels. They're just waiting for you to click here now, so they can dress up your holiday tree!

    Each one has her own special angel dress - Beary Peach... Beary Vanilla... and Miss Cotton Candy! What a sweet way to celebrate the holidays!

    You can claim your prize any time on Dec 18 to Dec 20. Simply click here to claim your prize!

    Happy Holidays,

    P.S. Terry, reply by Dec 19 and you can claim an additional ornament for $0 retail. Click here now to view the entire holiday store!

    Support the Anti-War campaign by displaying this banner on your site? No fuckin' chance, mate! Not that I've got my own site to display one on anyhow. Can't figure out all that html stuff to be honest. Obviously computer language was created by a man 'cos you can't understand any of it and it never fucking works. But even if I did have my own site I wouldn't put one of those stupid shitting banners on it. If men want to go round killing themselves without any bloody logic that's fine by me. The stupid bastards! You know, if women were in charge of the world there wouldn't be any of this war crap in the first place. Oh yeah...sure...I know Maggie Thatcher went to war with Argentina and all that, but that was different. Those Argie bastards were all macho-type, moustachioed blokes and we women had to teach them a lesson they'd never forget. Bloody male tossers, always leaving the bog seat up and talking out of their arses and fiddling with kiddies and THE EDITORIAL STAFF WOULD LIKE TO INTERUPT THIS POSTING BECAUSE...WELL, FRANKLY, WE'RE SICK OF IT.

    Having reviewed some of the recent 'referrers' to this Blogger board from various search engines ("Find me photos of Nig Nog's Tits"? "Carol Caplin Naked"? Who the hell is Carol Caplin anyway?) I have decided to add a few gratuitous lines in order to pull in some extra punters.

    Therefore I'm happy to announce that the latest batch of skinny lolita sheep photographs on this site are highly illegal and banned in the USA and make our previous horse-sex, frog-bondage, holocaust-porn pictures of an autopsy in Ohio with Jesus whipping a nun's naked buttocks in the snow seem tame by comparison. If your bellend doesn't burst with the excitement of seeing Britney Spears squealing like a pig beneath the furious pounding of McCauly Kulkin's young manhood accompanied by an automatic Ronco-black-mamber-ribbed set at full tilt, then I don't know what will. Carol Vorderman naked with Connie Huq from Blue Peter? What a fantastic photograph! I can't believe you posted it here along with the stills from Irene Handle's illicit underground anal penetration film. Princess Diana from Cheers romping naked with Haley Mills.jpg. Illegal Thumbnail Gallery. TPG. BBF MILF MPG. Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck double dealing Goofy's wife. (15 pictures). Bizarre medical insertions. Carrot love. Dame Edna Everage photos showing post op scars. Transvestites nude in public with small gazelle. 100 free photos. Hard core manga erotica featuring snowmen with large cocks. Felatio-loving, wee wee drinking schoolgirls in illicit sugary bonk fest with Simon Groom, John Lesley and several twinks.


    I'm not eighteen and I'm frightened. I am at least eighteen but my IQ isn't.

    Just noticed (greenfairy, will you ever forgive me for this?!) ... it's Tchaikovsky day ... 18/12/02-er day.

    (Hanging, drawing and quartering at Tyburn 2 p.m. sharp. Ladies, a plate.)


    In the 87 years that God has allowed me a spot in this great brown vegemite of a country, I don't think He has served me up a better one than 2002.

    John Howard was returned to government with a majority that Saddam could only dream about manufacturing. He didn't even need the votes of those refugees banged up at Woomera. The photos of them throwing their kiddies overboard was the only help he needed from them. Some say it never happened. Pshaw, that's what they said about Uri Geller's bent cutlery.

    Peter Foster, a great Australian patriot and purveyor of "Foster's Technicolor Snake Oil Weight Reduction Teabags", made the woman who lives with that rabidly communistic British Labour Prime Minister look like a right nincompoop.

    George Bush has kept the entire Free World safe from terrorists. The capture of that frigging Bin Laden dickhead capped off a great year for the greatest American president since the magnificent gum chewin', walkin', talkin' Gerald Ford.

    "Neighbours" goes from strength to strength. That Kylie must be ruing the day that she shuffled off Charlene's mortal coil. Television that shows Australia at the cutting edge of mass entertainment. Soaporific!

    The Kalgoorlie Kronicle broke circulation records. Hightide mark, November 11 2002, 15 copies. Frigging brilliant considering only 8 people out of the entire population of Kalgoorlie are literate. I have to modestly concede that my encore appearance on page 3 was in no small measure responsible for the record breaking figures.

    The official toll of murdered British backpackers was yet another record. However I fear that the great Aussie patriots responsible for this wonderful result are going to have to look to their laurels as the figure for German tourists consumed or hideously disfigured by crocodiles is steadily creeping up. (Don't mention the waterhole.)

    Capping off a brilliant year was the news of that longhaired lout Byron Hughes' great grandmother's nomination for the Nobel Prize for Homespun Philosophy. Far be it for me to give a leg over up for old pommy biddies, but if she doesn't win then there's something rotten in the State of Denmark, or which ever of those totally pointless Scandinavy countries where that Nobel bloke invented blowing up stuff.

    Well, now I'm off down to the local to sink a few cans, chew the fat with a few of Kalgoorlie's finest and wistfully wonder if it gets any better than this.

    (P.S. The only downside to the year was the Xmas present sent to me this week by my wombat molesting 97th cousin ... not yet removed, sad to say ... Terry Sedgwick. Let me give you a tip. If any malicious bastard gives a copy of some book called "Patternoster Row", as much as it is tempting and appropriate, DON'T use it for dunny paper! You end up with paper cuts all over your frigging arse and the print comes off so's as I've currently got chapters 3 to 15 spread across my bum.)