Regret to inform that there will be no more Minty's Informative Niblets until at least 4th November, as Minty is forced to fraternise with the enemy and attend wedding in Las Vegas.

Never fear though - I have my false moustache and even falser American accent to see me safely through.

They'll never take me alive.

Over and out.

The siege by Chechnyan rebels at one of Moscow's leading theatres ended this morning after Russian Special Forces stormed the building via underground sewers. This strategic attack caught the rebels off-guard and collateral damage was, under the circumstances, minimal. News update: This morning the number of casualties was quoted as 10. This evening the figure has risen to 90 hostages dead and 34 rebels dead. Who knows what the figure will be tomorrow although the phrase 'minimal collateral damage' doesn't seem so appropriate any more. Rumours abound that several of the American actors involved in the play's production were already dying on their feet before the curtain fell at the interval. No Britains have been harmed although the reputation of the BBC statistic-gatherers has taken a severe blow.)

Earlier in the week Vladamir Putin called in the expertise of the British SAS to help deal with the emergency. Less well-known is the fact that American Special Tactics also sent over an envoy to put forward their own plans of attack.

The American strategy consisted of armed troops painting themselves green and khaki, whooping rabidly and then storming the building by the front door. At this point the SWAT team would set fire to the building, napalm the corridors, set off the rebel mines and shoot everything in sight be it rebel, hostage, woman, child, blind dog or fellow American soldier. Any of the American servicemen surviving this assault would then make their escape through the fire-exit, crying like a baby, only to be discovered six hours later in the arms of a Taiwanese prostitute on Moscow's east bank.

President Putin decided not to adopt these tactics much to the chagrin of the American ambassador who stormed out of the Kremlin shouting, "I've secured the film rights you pinko bastard! So don't try and stop me!"

Plans are now afoot for a Hollywood movie. The rebels will be replaced by a gang of brain-dead Iraqi's lead by the evil Anthony Hopkins (or some other ageing British actor) and the Russian Special Forces will be changed to an American Assault battalion. The role of Putin himself will be played by Lawrence Fishbourne.

Currently 256 dedicated scriptwriters are trying to alter the screenplay of the original Die Hard film from being set in an office block to a Russian Theatre. Bruce Willis has been hotly tipped for the lead role but will probably be replaced as he's getting a bit too old to be convincing.

Other News: And veteran thespian Richard Harris has finally shuffled off this mortal coil. According to news reports Harris was "one of the last of the Great British character actors." Which is odd because I was always under the impression that he was Irish. Not that I'd expect the BBC to realise that Ireland has nothing to do with Great Britain of course. But that's the news teams for you. Dumbing down? No...they're too ignorant for that.

Deputy Editor's note. Ollie Reed, Keith Moon, now Harris ... sad, but the upside is that in each case our beloved Editor was the sole inheritor of their liquid assets. Lancashire will be the land of Scotch and honey. The streets of Fleetwood will forever run with single malt. Scrag Ends Castle will reverberate late into the night with renditions of Irish protest songs, the Red Flag, the seminal "500 Miles" and the plaintive a capella version of "Donald ou se trouve votre pantaloons?" (BYO broken noses)

The Proletarian Bolshevik Players Production of "Grease": Reviewed by the internationally renowned theatre critic Vladamir Soljenitzkin.

Having booked tickets for front row seats at the Moscow Old Vic several weeks in advance, as you might expect I was anticipating this extravaganza of Bourgeois Western Culture to be exceptional. But, oh...what a disappointment! Irma Brovadsky, the leading lady, was quite risible in her role as Sandy. Her voice constantly warbled, hardly able to maintain its pitch throughout her performance. And the three pounds of gelegnite strapped to her shoulders gave her the appearance of being hunch backed.

Unfortunately the orchestra fared little better. Despite valiant attempts to ignore the irritating sounds of gunfire from the audience the score was further marred when the kettle drum player had his head smashed repeatedly into his symbols by a rebel fighter.

Frederick Polimakov, in the role of Danny, was even worse, his acting abilities completely unconvincing except for the constant stream of tears down his cheeks. When I saw this production performed in London's West End back in the nineteen eighties I don't recall Shane Richie running about the stage with his hair on fire accompanied by several women in yashmaks beating goats.

By the interval, however, I was applauding...if only because now I could make my escape from this dreadful farce. But no, dear reader! For some bizarre reason the management had decided to hold a lock-in. We were forced at rifle-point back to our seats and made to suffer the second half of this fiasco whether we wanted to or not. And believe me, 'Not' was just about everybody's preference.

Several of the numbers were performed without violins, the instruments having been inserted up the arses of an ensemble of old women during the first half.

Maria Pushkin's rendition of "Beauty School Drop-out" was so appalling that audience members started to heckle her with cries of 'Die infidel! Die!" Then they shot her through the head. Frankly it was a merciful act and the highlight of an otherwise unentertaining evening.

All in all, a very poor effort for what was supposed to be a lavish production. My recommendation for serious theatre goers, save your money and wait for 'Button Moon' to arrive at the St Petersburg Apollo next week.

The Paul Burrell case has given the media yet another opportunity to indulge in one more tiresome orgy of necrophilia. Unfortunately, the sad bastards who lap up any story linked to the late Diana Windsor are causing untold grief to those who don’t give a kipper’s dick. The tragically premature death of this media whore occurred five years ago. Isn’t it about time the “pundits” let the ghost of the poor over-privileged slapper be laid to rest?

A little dutch courage.

Last night Westminster was reeling from the news of an impending cod ban.
“This is disastrous,” said a spokesman for New Labour. “We’ve been codding the electorate since 1997 and a ban at this late stage will plunge the government into crisis."
The Prime Minister, Tony Blair, was unavailable for comment today as he was busy closing down what’s left of the British fishing industry

Following last night's embarrassing invasion of "Celebrity Gossip Followers" to this Blogger board (the figures finally bottomed out at 1,438...all in search of the enigmatic John Leslie) my advice this week should be of particular interest to any stragglers who might still be passing.

Firstly...fuck off and get a life. (This does not apply to our regular readership, of couse, who as we all know are intelligent, well-rounded individuals and don't have to behave in a manner designated by the arseholes at the BBC.)

Secondly...search engines only update once every few days. Typing in the words "Who raped Ulrika Johnson?" will only pick up web pages that were posted earlier than last weekend. Seeing as the scandal broke yesterday, whereever John Leslie’s name was hidden it wasn’t likely to be listed at Google.

As our regular viewers know the Internationally Renowned Team of Bloggers at The Rant of the Week couldn’t give a shit anyway. After all, Ulrika Johnson was only a secretary promoted to t.v. weather girl because she giggled a lot. She's not even a trained meteorologist. She has no literary ability. She can't sing, draw or paint. And it's Vic and Bob who are funny. Ulrika's just there as a stool pigeon for their comic buffoonery. This whole fiasco was just a P.R. exercise designed to improve sales of her crappy book. If Ulrika had done her research then she’d have known that John Leslie’s penchant is for lesbians anyhow. And who can blame him?

The annoying thing is I've spent my life as a struggling artist/writer only to be ignored by the British public whilst some talentless, twatty, old sow gets all this attention. Trust me...she isn't worth it. Her hair is died, she doesn't eat Ryvitas and, from what I've been told, she's got a really scraggy box.

Buy a copy of The Greyminster Chronicles or a pair of Scrag End Boxer Shorts instead. Admittedly they haven't been raped, molested, appeared topless in the Sun or had Max Clifford behind them, but they're a damned site more entertaining than a titless Norwegian bint with a flatter personality than a McDonald's cheeseburger.

Other news: Estelle Morris in Shock Resignation Claim!

Despite admitting that the job was more difficult than she'd suspected, in reality the former education secretary resigned her commission yesterday because David Blunkett, Jack Straw, Tony Blair and Ann Widdicombe raped her bottom repeatedly in the stock-cupboard.

"Following damaging anal sex," reported eyewitness Frederick Engels of Lancaster Mental Institute. "Ms Morris was then forced to French kiss a tortoise named Simon."

Click here for more tasteless details!

Hey! I sold three Terry Sedgwick mugs last night. That's more than I've sold in the last fifteen years. You can't blame me for trying!

p.s. This posting, in conformity with BT's new "only four hours a night" policy, was written off-line...so many apologies for any repetition of the posting below. Terry: John Leslie was once the presenter of Blue Peter and took over from Richard and Judy on "This Morning" when they left. He was noticibly absent today...

Yesterday the four top keywords on our reference tracker became Jonnsen, Ulrika, raped and who; proof positive that sex scandals motivate people to go online to sniff out a salacious snippet of gossip the nationals were, until today, too coy to print. It brought in nearly 1500 seekers of truth to this site.
Now we know how to get the masses in to view our trashy, self-opinionated codswallop (don’t you mean cutting edge social comment? Ed.) we, the team of Rant Of The Week, will be lobbying the national press to publish at least one story per month about mystery celebrity sleaze – all in the name of internet awareness of course.

FOUR HORSEMENT OF THE APOCALYPSE SPOTTED IN BASINGSTOKE
Local landlady rents B&B room to riders of doom.
by Edith Blunt: Rockall's confused, octogenarian housewife

Basingstoke landlady Mrs Dorothy Parsons today spoke of her shock upon realising the four men renting room six in her suburban B&B were none other than the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

"I didn't see their horses, at first," said Mrs Parson. "They must have hidden them in the hedge while they were booking in. I'd never rent out my rooms to anyone with a horse on account of my license not permitting pets, see, not even if they are belonging to anthropomorphic personifications of the apparitions Death, Famine, War, and Pestilence."

Sightings of the portents of doom were also reported by other local residents. Mrs Edna Parsons, no relation, spoke of her shock when War entered the sub post office on London Road demanding first class stamps upon pain of siege. "I thought it was George Bush," said Mrs Parsons. "It was short and ugly and all evil looking, but it wasn't until Mr Parsons pointed out it was really War that the penny dropped, so to speak. Needless to say, I gave him his stamps."

Local nurse Mrs Gladys Parsons, no relation, was not surprised when she saw Pestilence visiting patients upon ward three of Basingstoke Infirmary. "It stood there bold as bold in the guise of Health Secretary Alan Milburn. I suspected all along that the government was running the NHS in a pestilential manner. How else do you explain John Gummer? A breeding ground for super bugs if ever there was. And I can tell you I wasn't impressed at his idea of reducing waiting lists by infecting everyone on the ward with bronchial pneumonia."

Death had not been reported seen since the closure for repairs of the Basingstoke YMCA swimming baths up on Faggots Hove, and was believed unwilling to agree to any interview in which he'd have to actually say anything. Instead, he issued a brief statement through his agents Queen Mother Artiste Management plc in which he said: "You can call me an awful entertainer, but you can't call me a killer. One is not proven, and the evidence for the other has been on the BBC at six pm every Saturday for the last 10 years."

Theologian, Father Seamus O'Parsons, no relation, speculated upon the apparent non-appearance of Famine, the fourth rider of doom. "We'll know him when we see him," said the father. "He'll be a fattish bloke, bloated, self-absorbed, with little or no feelings for the plight of the poor and hungry." Iain Duncan-Smith was unavailable for comment.

Breaking News: Archangel Clinton appears to Blair in dream — party faithful to go down on both knees just in case.

Source: Rockall Times

I have no socio-political revelations to offer, only this freshly brewed Coffee Spill...

Deputy Editor's note:- I don't think this chap should be released. He fits the general description of the Ulrika molester.

Intrepid investigative reporter g/f has mentioned the name John Leslie in despatches. Now that is all well and good g/f, BUT this ignorant Australian wants to know WHO THE HELL IS JOHN LESLIE? ... and wasn't he playing cards at the time in question with the entire Timpson family down at the "Magpie and Stump"?

And in other Earth shattering news ... "Ulrika Jonsson has taken out a court order to stop her former boyfriend Stan Collymore from selling videos of them having sex. Collymore had been trying to sell the tapes to newspapers."

SWEETER THAN SACHARIN


In a world where millions die of starvation every year, fashion magazines regale us with pictures of “famine chic”, stick insect “supermodels” whose cadaverous frames are hung with obscenely expensive rags. Surfing on the wave of these images is the multi billion pound “health food” industry with its reduced sugar, low calorie chemical gloop products aimed at image conscious, weight watching Western populations. Thin is most definitely in. Fat is an “ishoo” that only hairy-lipped, lesbian feminists and all round losers champion and, God forbid, you don’t want to be labelled one of those!
The culture of Image is big business and not just for the fashion industry. The pharmaceutical industry makes a bomb out of food additives that allow millions who possess an irresistibly sweet tooth to literally have their cakes and eat them. The biggest money-spinner has to be aspartame, marketed by Monsanto and more commonly known as NutraSweet. If a product is labelled “no added sugar” then it’s a fair bet it contains aspartame.
So what is this wonder chemical that gives us flavour but not flab?
Aspartame consists of three main ingredients: aspartic acid (40%), phenylalanine (50%) and methanol (10%).

Aspartate acts as a neurotransmitter and excess causes brain damage by “exciting” neural cells to death. It is particularly harmful to children since the blood/brain barrier that protects their brains from toxins is not fully developed during childhood. It can “seep” into adult brains with very little trouble. Disorders linked to chronic or long term ingestion are:
MS, memory loss, hormonal problems (notably disrupted menstrual cycle in women), hearing loss, epilepsy, Alzheimer's disease, Parkinson's disease, hypoglycaemia (a major symptom of diabetes), brain lesions, neuroendocrine disorders (brain hormones).
Acute reactions to aspartate are:
Headaches/migraines, nausea, abdominal pains, fatigue (blocks sufficient glucose entry into brain), sleep problems, vision problems, anxiety attacks, depression, asthma/chest tightness.

Phenylalanine is an amino acid found in the brain. Excess phenylalanine can decrease production of serotonin and cause emotional problems such as depression. People suffering from phenylketonuria (PKU) cannot metabolise phenylalanine so it builds up in their brains. Excess is extremely harmful and can even be lethal. This is why all products containing aspartame warn of a phenylalanine content. People who do not have PKU but who ingest large amounts of aspartame have been found to have excess levels of phenylalanine in their blood. It is especially harmful to children and foetuses.

Methanol is more commonly known as wood alcohol and is very toxic. In very small quantities pure methanol causes blindness and death. Aspartame, when heated to 30 degrees Celsius and above releases free methanol that is easily absorbed by the human gut. It breaks down into formic acid (the poison in ant bits) and formaldehyde (used to embalm the dead) which is a deadly neurotoxin. Symptoms of methanol poisoning include:
Headaches, ear buzzing, dizziness, nausea, gastrointestinal disturbances, weakness, vertigo, chills, memory lapses, numbness and shooting pains in the extremities, behavioural disturbances, and neuritis. The most well known effects of methanol poisoning are vision problems including misty vision, progressive contraction of visual fields, blurring of vision, obscuration of vision, retinal damage, and blindness.
Formaldehyde is a known carcinogen, causes retinal damage, interferes with DNA replication and causes birth defects.

Aspartame has been classed as a food additive yet it was first synthesised during research into ulcer treatment. It causes brain tumours in rats and mice. Tests on rodents are less than helpful since they can metabolise both phenylalanine and methanol far more efficiently than humans and therefore give a “false” positive. Hypoglycaemia sends diabetics into comas yet most diabetics take aspartame as a sweetener.
This is how much your friendly neighbourhood chemical multinational cares about the health of people. The scandal of aspartame is slowly leaking out. But don’t despair – something nastier is waiting in the wings for a licence to poison the weight conscious masses.

Source: www.holisticmed.com/aspartame

I would just like to say "Thank you" to the various British news programmes who mentioned that, whilst they couldn't reveal his identity, Ulrika Johnson's rapist has been named on the internet.

Our server is currently going into meltdown due to the unprecendented amount of traffic to this backwater region.

Might I just add to all the Ulrika fans visiting this site for the first time that you can find the real name of her rapist by clicking here and please make sure that you have your cheque books ready.

Click on the image above to find out more about Ulrika's sordid past!

Deputy Editor's note. Until I read this book I had no idea that some of the antics engaged in by Ms. Johnson and Stinky Hardbottle were physically possible. I suspect they aren't and are merely the product of the deranged, perverted and foetid imagination of a hopefully never to be discovered writer.

RONNIE CORBETT HAS not ADMITTED TO RAPING ULRIKA JOHNSON!

Other News: And as the fire-fighters strike looms ever closer (interestingly, before Sept 11th we used to call them firemen but that’s beside the point) Tony ex-unionist Blair and his government lackeys are growing ever more agitated.

“This behaviour is irresponsible!” complained John I-can-swallow-an-entire-rugby-team-in-one-go Prescott when questioned about the situation. “A fire-fighters’ (sic) strike would put people’s lives at risk.” (Not to mention their political careers.)

Tony spin Blair, however, is adamant that the Firemen will not be getting a pay increase despite the danger and self-sacrifice they put themselves through every day of their lives. When asked, “Why not?” he replied, “Giving them a pay rise could severely affect the country’s economy. We’d have to find the extra money from somewhere, so other people would ultimately lose out.”

Here are a few helpful tips for Uncle Tony as to where he might find that extra money without harming those in need:

1) Try taxing the rich and inbred for once instead of always giving them benefits and handouts. Remember your predecessors, Tony? Socialists? Any idea what that actually meant? Do you remember why the Labour movement was started in the first place? Or are we all so far right-wing now that there’s no going back?

2) Try not giving yourself and all your politician friends a massive pay-rise every year. I notice that nobody ever stops that particular increase from being passed.

3) Try sacking some of these useless fat bastards running the public utilities. They cream off thousands a week whilst wrecking our social infrastructure. Replace them with hamsters who will work for a only a handful of grain and do a better job.

4) Get rid of the Royal Family. They are out-of-date, anachronistic and extremely expensive. On top of the massive costs of the civil list they don’t even pay tax. Give them council houses to live in and restart interviews and open up their massive stately homes to the general public for a small entrance fee.

5) Stop wasting money on nuclear weapons. If we’re not going to use them, as you so insistently claim we’re not, then we don’t bloody need them.

6) Stop pouring money into the EU. Especially into the dinner soirées attended by self-centred and useless politicians. If we must be part of this farcical set-up at least let’s have some of the benefits that the EU is offering such as ‘no monarchy’, ‘minimum wages’ etc. In for a penny...in for a pound, eh? You can’t go round half-cocked all the time. That’s David Mellor’s job.

7) Don’t pay any more money into the UN. If Britain and America can’t be arsed abiding by UN rulings then there’s no point in it being there. Sod the damned thing off and give the money to the firemen instead.

8) Kill Pete Waterman. Not because he’s particularly rich but because the bastard just deserves to die.

Song after sniper offends fans

Immediately after reporting the latest sniper attack Tuesday, the "John Boy & Billy" radio show on Americain station WRFX- FM played the song "Another One Bites the Dust," spurring complaints to the station about it's signature program.

Ooooooo-hahahahahaaaaaaaaaa!

Does anyone have any idea who this "well known presenter" accused of raping Ulrika Jonnsen is because I'm buggered if I know. Celebrities, who are usually only too eager to name and shame one of their own, are showing remarkable restraint. National papers have never shied away from naming and shaming before so why now? Surely they aren't harbouring doubts about the Swedish slapper's allegations are they?

Sixteen year old schoolboy, Edward Elliott, and his father Mike, are being sued for a cool £50,000 by Liverpool’s John Lennon Airport. Former pig farmer Mr. Elliott owns 40 acres of land adjacent to the airport and converted his failing farm into a long stay car park for customers of the airport three years ago. He charges a fraction of airport parking tariffs.
Enterprising Edward, keen to help out his dad, paid £15 for the domain name www.liverpoolairportcarparking.co.uk to help promote the business on the web. In March he received a demand for £1000 damages from Liverpool Airport together with an order to hand over the domain name because it infringes the airport’s trademark. Mr. Elliott wrote to the airport and pointed out that Edward, a schoolboy, only receives £1.50 per week pocket money. Meanwhile, Edward registered the website under a new address, www.liverpoolparkandfly.com but refused to hand over the disputed domain name because of the airport’s attitude. Last week the airport reacted by issuing a writ against Edward and his father.
A cynical person might observe that the airport is keen to put the Elliotts out of business, not because of trademark infringement but because of the threat to their car park profits. This might explain why the airport took the decision to sue the Elliotts rather than offering to buy the troublesome domain name. Liverpool Airport’s defence against Edward and his father is because they “are trying to protect the company name”. They shouldn’t bother because the company’s name is SHIT.

Uncle Brian, Seems like we have to thank you for the posting about that rare mix of beauty and mindnumbing cretinism, Ulrika Johnson for a lot of traffic. How can you live with yourself, too clever by half young fella me lad ... which is more than can be said for Ms. Johnson.

Editor's note: In the Valley of the Blind, the one-eyed man is king.

Young woman taken by crocodile

October 23 2002
"A crocodile grabbed and killed a 24-year-old German tourist as she took a late-night swim with her sister in Kakadu National Park."

Sad I'm sure, BUT there are signs, bigger than the crocodiles themselves, all over the area about NOT swimming, especially after sunset. The crocodiles view the rivers and waterholes as lightly salted stock for "Stupid Tourist Bouillabaisse".



Full story ... "don't mention the water!"

Advice for Uncle Brian. (Snipped this from somewhere, sometime ... no idea where.)

"When it comes to printers, your best bet is to find a monk, hire him, and get him to transcribe what's on your screen.

You don't need anything besides bread, wine, and the occasional quill replacement.

Rarely does paper get jammed in a monk unless you’re the one jamming it in him.

You rarely hear cracking or thrumming sounds come from a monk because they take a vow of silence.

The occasional fart from the monk is reasonable compared to a laser printer with a broken ozone filter.

And if the monk has any problems or dies, you can always hire a new one. Heck, you can even recycle the robes."

This week we shall be looking at the Hewlett Packard DeskJet 610C for the PC.

Like all Hewlett Packard printers this entertaining little number performs fine for about 20 pages or so, more than enough for the average novelist. However, when the ink cartridges run out, which shouldn't happen for at least three quarters of an hour, the Hewlett Packard monopoly comes into its own. Fortunately Hewlett Packard aren't selfish, greedy or insulting to their customers. The Hewlett Packard replacement ink cartridge (black ink only) is a snip at only £25.00 for almost a whole thimbleful of ink.

When you compare the combined prices of the black and colour Hewlett Packard ink cartridges (£55.00 in total) to the fact that you can pick up a whole brand new Cannon printer complete with larger-sized cartridges for only £47.00, then you might start asking yourself, "What's the point in buying a Hewlett Packard at all? They're expensive, produce speckled print-outs and are basically shit." And you'd be right to ask this question, if it wasn't for the fact that you can have so much more fun with a Hewlett Packard.

For example, cheap alternatives to the £25 and £35 cartridges (respectively) are almost impossible to find, but once every blue moon you might stumble across a mysterious back-street computer shop that actually stocks one. This is where the real enjoyment begins.

Once the refill package is opened it quickly becomes clear that the instruction booklet and accompanying diagrams bear no resemblance to the actual ink cartridge you've removed from your machine despite the insistence on the packet that the kit is designed specifically for the Hewlett Packard 610C. But nil desperandum...Hewlett Packard kindly include in their kit a small piece of metal with which you can bore the missing hole into the top of your cartridge. This takes about fifteen hours and eventually snaps, the blob of melted rubber laughingly referred to in the kit's contents as 'The Plug' being completely the wrong size to be of any use.

Imagine your delight when, having followed the instructions to the letter and left your cartridge -- now replete with fresh ink -- to stand overnight (a difficult procedure due to the unique design of the cartridge that doesn't allow it to remain upright in any position unless surrounded by a complicated arrangement of books and cutlery) you wake up in the morning to find said cartridge empty and your sink/pots/books/cutlery etc stained beyond repair. Much more fun than just buying a cheap £4 cartridge for the Cannon and placing it in your printer I'm sure you'll agree.

HEWLETT PACKARD...screwing their customers with far more vehemence than they screw their print heads into position.

Why should Hughes be the only one to get away with gratuitous postings?!



I can gratuit with the best of 'em. Assorted black and white Feral Eye cartoons in a dinky folder presentation.

Editor's note: That's odd. I had a hairy chest and a spare tyre this morning.

Deputy Editor's note: How odd, I just had the usual coffee, bowl of muesli and cigarette to start the day.

"PMs popularity soars after Bali."

I presume the abbreviation in the headline refers to the Prime Minister (he is after all a very abbreviated creature) and not to the condition that is painful, depressing and irritating to women (then again little Johnny does fit that description).

In any case it is a depressing (but entirely predictable) bit of news.

Well, an another life form with two penis.
I wonder, what do Mr. Coffee thinks of this nice guy?

In compliance with Sedgwick's request posted earlier on this board, here are the two greatest tits on the planet for your enjoyment.

"Be proud of your president folks. I swear he slipped me a crippler this long!"

News just in: Ulrika Johnson claims to have been raped by an unnamed showbiz personality. MORE

In their hunt to catch the perpetrator the police are questioning Stevie Wonder and Peters (out of Peters and Lee).

Said Chief Inspector Corner of the Yard, "These two are the most likely candidates although we'll also be questioning Kermit the Frog and Pinky and Perky. As yet we haven't ruled out the bloke from the Krankies as, quite obviously, he'll shag anything."

Last week Channel 4 gave us the incredibly over-rated Clockwork Orange.

This week's offering was The Blair Witch Project...quite possibly the most overhyped, under-achieving, unfrightening load of fucking bullshit like dude man, like, it was just repetetive fucking shit fucking like man, like...and it was like fucking annoying repetetive bullshit too man 'cos like it just went on and on repeating itself dude all the fucking time man and it was crap and fucking bullshit and fucking repetetive dude and complete fucking like fucking waste of repetetive fucking video fucking tape man dude like dude man fuck AAAAAAAAAAAAAARHGH! Channel 4! You should be so sorry! Long gone are the seasons of truly great films! The Jean de Florets, the Betty Blues, the Man Bites Dogs! Instead we're reduced to this banal bollocks! Sod the ratings dudes and give us back some proper culture you fucking dude man bullshit dude bastards. You'll be showing us fucking dude football next man!

In fact, The Blair Witch Project was so crap that, after an hour when it became apparent that the irritating little tossers weren't going to die horribly for ages yet, I actually turned over and watched "The 100 Greatest Britons" on the BBC. Oh please! Don't get me started! More like twenty reasonable Britons and the Eighty Greatest Tosspots to emerge from this god-forsaken country. Princess Diana? Princess fucking Diana like dude man fuck man dude tit. And to witness Johnny Fuck-The-Establishment Rotten proclaiming that Diana was great because she challenged the monarchy...well that's enough for me. This afternoon I'm throwing the television out of the window at the next little twat who calls collecting pennies for the guy so help me God I will!

STOP PRESS

Luciano Pavarotti complains that there isn't enough food in the world. Maybe the fat warbling Italian twat should stop eating it all then!

PATRIOT MEMES: The Genetics of Cultural Conformity and Mass Hysteria - Part IV

The Mighty President of the World, Dubya “Champion of Democracy and Crusader Against Terrorism” Bush, has called upon the military to assist the beleaguered Washington Police Department in the apprehension of the sniper. A few chickenshit pencil-necks have complained that this is in violation of the 125 year old (and outdated) Posse Comitatus Law that forbids military involvement in civil law enforcement. Sources close to the President have proof that the sniper is actually Osama Bin Laden in disguise and is therefore considered too dangerous for the police to tackle alone. The continuing military presence in Washington has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that the Senate’s democratic leadership has so far failed to accept the president’s God given right to deny any and all of the new Homeland Security Department’s employees the right to union representation.

Sieg Heil

Who am I am to deny to the public what they want?
Enjoy.

(And next week, if you're really good, I'll show you my whimbrel)

Australian Porn



But Mr. Hughes, more shocking is bicultural Porn.The digitally remastered "Menage à Widdows 3".

I have been dreadfully remiss in not welcoming Green Fairy and Twisted Sister in the time honoured Australian way of greeting any bonzer sheila who lights up the firmament.

"SHOW US YER TITS!"

Conkers ... the antidote to terrorism paranoia ?

I think Chuck really needs to hear our voice of reason.

Ahh...Sunday! God's day of rest.

Bone idle, lazy little bastard.

If he thinks he's going to spend all day with his feet up watching the cricket he's got another think coming! Look at the state of this place! Germ warfare everywhere. Untidy politics. Maggots running the world. Unwashed pots. Earthquakes, famine, floods and poverty. You can get off your fat omnipresent arse my lad and start sorting this lot out! Partying away all night with your fundamentalist friends. Look at the mess you've made! There'll be no more angels for you, Sonny Jim. Not until you actually do something good for a change. And there's no point in looking at me like that. Lazy little shit! As you're so fond of telling us, there's no rest for the wicked! So chop, chop you self-centred little deity. And don't forget to wash behind your big fat ears!

Whilst I'm here, hello Araminta and welcome to the arse-end of the web. You didn't pass the corpse of a Welshman on your way here, did you? He bears a passing resemblance to George Michael only a bit more gay...

And do not miss the "Training Classes".

But the best is always kept for last.


Right on chaps! What's the point of terrorism if you can't make a dishonest buck out of it?

Oi! Wotch 'oo yer callin' beardy yer titchy green flighty bint 'oo's name sounds like a cat toy!

Seriously, welcome to ROTW. I like reading what you have to say so I'm looking forward to your posts on here.

Luv 'n Smackers

Twisted Sister

At last, at last. Welcome, welcome! A breath of minty fresh air.

We may disapprove of what you say, but we will defend to the death our right to report you to the Department of Homeland Security and to attend your subsequent burning at the stake.

Hello.

My name is Araminta and I've been brought in here by the chaps at Rant Of The Week to inject a little feminine charm and London sophistication to this assorted collection of beardly malcontents.

So let's get started right away with the first of Minty's Informative Niblets.

Part One.

Five Helpful Suggestions To Bring The Creativity Back Into Your Swearing.

1. Pappersnax Bignose

For those days at the office when a simple, loudly-applied CUNT just wont do, I offer this boss-friendly alternative. For example: "I have just spent twenty minutes of my lunch hour on the phone to the most obnoxious pappersnaxing bignose ever to call this company". If overheard by said boss, you can always claim that the pappersnax is a particularly troublesome Excel macro that you are wrestling with, since bosses never ever know anything about computers seeing as they never do any work (though this may not work so well if you belong to a firm of IT consultants).

2. Cock

A word of many uses, but consider the one that saves wear and tear on the oral cavity when attempting to describe someone you've taken an instant dislike to. For example: "What did you think of my new boyfriend? isn't he simply dreamy?" "Cock".

3. Buggernaught

An imaginative and original replacement for any insulting word used to reference the second person at the end of an
insult, for example: "You unbelievable arse-fusking buggernaught".

4. Pemp-slider

One who smunctates another avially. Sample useage very similar to above. (c.f. Fry & Laurie)

5. Dubya

Not yet a swear word (though obscene in polite company), this will only fully realise it's potential after this inevitable
war with it's inevitable outcome, when sample usage will run thus: "Oh I can't believe you've messed it up so comprehensively, you made a right Dubya of that".