Saturday, November 02, 2002
ATTEMPT TO SEPARATE TWINS FAILS
At a press conference in Jenin this morning, Dr Yasser Arafat announced that his team had failed to separate Siamese twins Dubya and Ariel Warmonger who are joined at the hip and share one mind.
“It’s a tragedy,” said Dr. Arafat. “The sooner we separate these two individuals the better it will be for everyone concerned.”
The twins are reported to be fighting fit and ready to go to war at the drop of a fart.
The trial of Wynona Ryder was brought to a shocking halt last night when it was revealed the unnamed producer who suggested she research for a forthcoming film role by shoplifting, is none other than Prince Edward.
A spokesman for the Palace has so far refused to comment on this latest revelation but my sources reveal that the Queen may intervene and drop a last minute bombshell to rescue the reputation of the Hollywood princess but not before the lawyers have had a field day.
Diogenes tramped the streets of Athens looking for an honest man. He never found one. It would be nice if Mr. Burrell was indeed a man of integrity and kept his secrets to himself. Why? Because nothing would piss off the vultures of Fleet Street more than a man who can’t be bought. Sadly, Mr. Burrell is being offered a seven figure sum for his story so I’m not going to hold my breath.
THIS JUST IN FROM IRAQ
The ruins of Nineveh, ancient capital of the Assyrian empire, situated in Mesopotamia (now part of Iraq), is being systematically looted of its treasures, at least the ones that are left after time and shameful neglect have taken their toll. An international group of archaeologists is currently working on the site, endeavouring to preserve what is left.
This revolting act of cultural terrorism cannot go unanswered, indicating the writing is on the wall for Saddam. Dubya Bush, the world’s greatest academic and aesthete, took a dim view of the Taliban vandalising a world heritage site when they allowed their friends to park aircraft in the Twin Towers (Don’t you mean lobbed shells at the Twin Buddhas? – Ed.). And we all know what happened after that, don’t we!!!!.
Good old Australia, wonder where it got the idea for "homeland security". Imitation is the greatest form of
Friday, November 01, 2002
Excuse Me Ma'am!
Oh yes...this is a pearler! The trial of Paul Burrell, Princess Diana's former butler who stands...or rather stood...accused of stealing numerous items belonging to her royal deadness, reached an unprecedented halt today. The trial was suspended just hours before Mr Burrell was due to take the stand and give his own side to the story. And the reason for it's sudden ending? The intervention of the Queen!
Exactly why the Queen suddenly announced that it had all been a mistake and she'd known about Mr Burrell's 'safe storing of the items' from the outset is a mystery. The fact that her intervention earlier in the trial would have saved the tax-payer one and a half million pounds and Mr Burrell a lot of emotional hardship is also a mystery.
What exactly was Paul Burrell about to say on the stand? Was the Queen being blackmailed? If this unconventional act, shrouded in ambiguity as it was, was the lesser of two evils then what exactly was the alternative?
Already journalists the length and breadth of Britain are frantically trying to discover exactly what's going on.
Which probably spells bad news.
In times of constitutional crisis, when the media is doing everything in its power to topple the monarchy and, as Sedgwick would say, foist it on its own pertard, any good, royalist Prime Minister will realise that the only way of stopping them is by creating some enormous disaster to steal the headlines.
And this one's going to have to be big.
The trial might have ended suddenly but justice has yet to be served.
Deputy editor notes this amazing pronouncement.
Professor, Lord Philip Norton, an expert on constitutions, said: "I don't think it is feasible or legally possible for the Queen to appear before a court. The rule is that the Queen is above the law, it is her law."
Well bugger me dead good Lord Norton, if it's her law she can shove it up her right royal sphincter. One law for the rich and one for the poor and they're both owned by HRH. Exercising of the Royal Purgative? Not on your Nelly, I call it the perverting of justice ... and of course she's ideally placed to do just that, the House of Windsor is chocker with them.
WIN A FANTASTIC HOLIDAY WITH
Spend a week exploring the ancient ruins of Baghdad! Stay in the luxurious surroundings of the Hotel Paradisimo where you'll be waited on hand and foot by top Iraqui ministers and officials. See the night skies over the arab world light up with explosions and colorful missiles. Taste the exotic organically-grown grass as eaten by the local peasants. Sample the delights of bio-chemically enhanced water and get bombed out of your skull every night!
Sound like Heaven to you? It soon will be!
Here's the question...
Name Five Football Managers!
It's as simple as that! You don't have to provide us with the names of five world leaders or five members of the cabinet. If you can only answer the first question then you'll this wonderful holiday of a lifetime will be yours.
Please send your answers by e-mail to:
Then telephone the "British Armed Forces" and tell them you want to volunteer immediately.
NOT A DOVER SOLE IN SIGHT
Freddie the Flounder was last night languishing in the Portsmouth refugee aquarium after having illegally “rained” on John Rees’ garden.
“It wasn’t my fault,” said Freddie as he lay disguised and in misery at the bottom of his spacious tank. “One minute I was jostling for space in a cloud a fish bound for Bruges and suddenly a gale blew up out of nowhere and knocked us off course. When we hit the English coast it was raining so hard I got washed overboard.”
When asked what he was doing flying to Bruges he replied, “I was taking part in a charity stunt in aid of Charles Fort Day. I was doing the Flounders for Flanders Formation Fish Raining event but it all went horribly wrong. I expect most of my team mates are sharing plate space with chips and mushy peas by now.”
When asked if he expected to be grilled by an official of from the immigration department Freddie replied, “that’s not funny you cruel bastard!”
"We can't have refugees taking over the country..." (Well that's understandable. Australia's only a small place and it's really overcrowded as it is.)
Jesus bloody friggin' Christ, no wonder I get so pissed off when I see nonsense like that from bloody whinging cricket challenged, sexless, cuisineless, namby pamby, arty farty. hoity toity, plastic bag rooting ignorant poms who know bugger all about this great brown land.
Let me set you straight you young friggin' pig ignorant whippersnapper. Byron, I think is the name of the particular pile of dingo dung who mouthed off here.
For your friggin' information Australia (stand up and salute when you hear that name you long haired friggin' pinko layabout) is a friggin' big country BUT only a small part of it is habitable. We dinkum God fearing white Australians live in a small part of the continent. The green bits on the coast where you can get a truck load of bricks and corrugated iron, set up a barbie, knock up a hard working sheila down the local rubbity and call it your castle. The rest of the country is as dry as a dead dingo's donger - totally uninhabitable desert. Spend a day there and you'd be a dead man. The place is littered with the bones of idiot pommy explorers and backpackers. There's nobody and nothing there apart from the half a dozen Aborigines that haven't yet died from alcoholism, TB, diabetes or other indigenous diseases they seem to have forgotten how to cure and those friggin' refugee camps you bloody dumb ponce.
If Alexander Downer let every friggin' refu-bloody-gee who wanted to swan down here and make our country his home, we'd be friggin overrun. Sure as bloody hell they wouldn't want to live in the Outback would they? No they'd be threatening to blow up our buildings, to rape our women and to steal our children to work in carpet factories if the Government didn't give them a free mansion, a car and a friggin' big social security cheque.
Don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about! I'm friggin' old enough to have seen it all before. After World War 11 this place was overrun with Ities, Greeks, White friggin' Russians and Yugo-bloody-slavians. Yeah, World War 11, the one the friggin' Yanks said they won. Bullshit! They joined in at the bloody last minute when our bronzed Diggers all but had it in the bag anyway and only after they got pissed off when the Nips blew up Pearl Bailey. Those refugees have all but taken over this country so's that your average Aussie kiddies today wouldn't know a stew, a bowl of pea soup or a roast and three veggies from their arseholes. It's all bloody pizza, gyros and borscht wherever you look. The fair dinkum, ridgy didge Australian is a friggin' endangered species.
That's why Bruce (God rest his soul and his magnificent never flaccid donger) and me hightailed it here to Kalgoorlie where we started a captive breeding programme for the endangered native Australian. You can walk down any street of Kalgoorlie and you won't see one person who isn't 100% born and bred fair dinkum Australian. (Have to be a bit honest but, Sherrylin Smith is a bit of a doubtful quantity. Rumour has it that some wandering Swiss bloke might have had it away with Sherrylin's mother. She was evidently drawn to his distant yodelling and snuck out under the barbed wire and they went at it like mountain goats for a bit. Anyhow to be on the safe side we've had Sherrylin's tubes tied. That and her not being allowed out of the cupboard under the stairs where she lives without a bag over her head should stop any bloody hanky panky. We had to publicly stone her mother to death as an example to others and so as Sherrylin wouldn't have a bad role model.)
So there you are you great pommy git Byron. Alexander Downer has got it right and you can just keep your friggin' bloody great nose out of our affairs thank you very much. People in glass friggin' council estates shouldn't cast aspersions. From what I hear from the stringers I use for the "Kalgoolie Kronicle" your pathetic lilliputian squat of a country is overrun with "vindaloo hooligans" and friggin' Kraut royalty, and your armed forces couldn't light a fart in anger.
Thursday, October 31, 2002
I've just been watching the tail-end of an interview on Newsnight with the Australian Foreign Secretary. (Sorry...don't know his name...and judging by the fact that Newsnight didn't supply him with the usual caption, neither did they.)
During the interview he was asked about the discrepencies between Australia's need to appear centre-stage as far as the War on Terrorism goes (and therefore putting Australia forward as a major World power) and the despicable attitude that the Aussie government has been taking with regards to refugees. In particular the human-rights abuses (as condemned by the U.N.) that took place/are taking place within the detention camps.
In reply the Foreign Secretary said, "We can't have refugees taking over the country..." (Well that's understable. Australia's only a small place and it's really overcrowded as it is.) "We take an extremely tough stance on immigration and I'll make no apologies for that!"
Well...here's my message to the Australian Foreign Minister then: Fuck off you disgusting, choirboy sucking, racist...and I'll make no apologies for that.
More info on the delightful Australian Foreign Minister Alexander Downer. Eat your heart out Jackie Man O' Straw.
And now, some fun cartooning news, since the host of this Blog is himself a fantastic cartoonist as are many of the members...
I am involved in an exciting new project. The Sci-Fi Channel, one of Americas biggest cable channels, is taping a new show called "The Dream Team", a half-hour show where a woman named Annibel and a dream analyst named Michael analyze guests' dreams. During each show, they highlight a particular dream and they wanted to visualize it, so they decided to find illustrators to do this, and I have been hired and am now working on my first episode. Each dream will be illustrated in 4 or 5 panels that they will narrate over, and the dreams themselves are a lot of fun. They really liked my style as far as matching this project. Unfortunately, for such a high profile job, it doesn't pay much, so I guess I'm just doing it for the fun and for the fact it will be seen by a huge audience.
Look for episodes of "The Dream Team" premiering on The Sci-Fi Channel in January 2003! For those of you who harbor a hatred for American television, well...I guess that makes me even more of a part of the problem. Sorry. But this is a fun project from a cartoonist illustrator's viewpoint. Once again, Happy Lucifer Day. May Jesus wrap his arms arounds you and protect you from evil and hopefully refrain from humping your leg.
"You're the only person I know whose name sounds like somebody farting in the bath."
Lawrence Olivier talking to Edward Woodward.
It's Halloween and I'm sitting here in my bedroom with all the lights turned out. Not because it's more atmospheric but because I don't want the little bastards down my street that are going round Tick-or-Treating to know I'm in. Apparently children, according to a survey published today, before the age of seven months only have a 24 hour retention of memory. Therefore playing classical music to babies and showing them 'Flash Cards' to aid their future learning has no effect.
Oddly enough British t.v. celebrities seem to be suffering from the same thing this year. Angus Deayton conveniently forgot that he'd already been caught once frolicking with two buxom prostitutes and as a consequence lost his job. John Leslie stupidly forgot that the papers were hounding him over the Ulrika Johnson rape allegations and snorted coke at a cafe table with several press photographers sitting close by. And Ulrika herself seems to have forgotten the threatening letter I sent her last month that explained how if she didn't stop appearing on the telly I'd hunt her down and kick her teeth in. Short memories or just bastards? You decide! Cast your vote now on 01234-691169. Calls cost a maximum of £7.50 per minute and should not last longer than it takes to drain you of your child benefit.
A REALLY SCARY STORY FOR HALLOWEEN
Most people are aware that GM food (otherwise known as frankenfood) is one of the hottest topics around at the moment. Will genetically modified organisms save the world or tip us all over the edge into the abyss of corporate barbarism? Is frankenfood safe or will it transform us all into cancer-ridden hermaphrodites?
The answer depends on whom you ask. Anti GM campaigners want to see an end to the biotech revolution they perceive to be the most harmful conspiracy against Nature ever. Biotech companies gush about the advantages and safety of GM food and assure us that all safeguards are rigidly maintained to ensure that modified plant genes cannot possibly escape into the wild.
Who do you believe?
The following story may help you make up your mind.
New Scientist magazine recently reported on a court case in the US between a biotech company and a farmer. Unfortunately, I no longer have the article for direct reference but I can give you the general facts. I can’t remember the precise type of crop but for the sake of argument the farmer grew normal maize and the biotech company was cultivating experimental GM maize close by.
Biotech companies believe that a 100 metre exclusion zone around a field in which GM crops are being cultivated is sufficient to prevent cross pollination with unmodified wild and cultivated species. In this particular case the belief proved to be erroneous.
Somehow part of Farmer McNugget’s crop became cross pollinated. McNugget harvested his maize and kept seeds to produce his next crop. He would have been unaware that some of his seeds were hybrids (contaminated with modified genes through cross pollination) unless he had deliberately stolen pollen from the GM plants, which seems unlikely.
The timescale of the events that followed depends upon the nature of the modified genes involved. Were the modified genes dominant or recessive?* If the GM genes were dominant then every hybrid seed would have produced a first cross (Year 1) plant with a GM phenotype (outward appearance) which I assume is markedly different from that of the unmodified maize (bigger perhaps?). If the hybrid seeds contained recessive GM genes then the recognisable GM phenotype would not have appeared until Year 2, when the hybrid plants were pollinated with either pure GM pollen from the experimental crop and/or from other McNugget hybrids. A recessive gene would also mean that approximately 50% of the contaminated Year 2 crop would resemble unmodified maize even though it contained modified genes. Only “double recessive” strains would be recognisable GM plants. The contamination would grow exponentially with each generation (yearly crop).
I assume that the biotech company informed McNugget that part of his crop contained genetic material that was the intellectual property of the company and that he should not propagate the GM/natural hybrids. Whether he was aware of the situation or not, McNugget continued to propagate GM and hybrid maize along with normal stock. The biotech company must have been aware that part of McNugget’s crop had become GM contaminated after either year one or two. They could not be certain he was continuing to sow GM/hybrid seed until year two or three.
This is when the company called in the lawyers.
To cut a long story short, McNugget lost the case, was fined heavily and had his crop destroyed. The New Scientist report casts scepticism on biotech insistence of “safe” margins separating GM and non GM crops. NS believes the farmer was treated most unfairly. So do I.
NS did not, however, report the extent to which McNugget’s field was contaminated. Also, the NS article didn’t report whether or not the GM genes were dominant or recessive. Nor do I remember NS stating whether or not the experimental GM plants were removed from the environment after pollinating non GM crops.
What is certain is that McNugget was punished for “stealing” GM technology. He was not compensated for the contamination caused by a GM experiment that was neither contained nor adequately controlled. The most alarming aspect of the case is that the farmer was found guilty of GM theft but the biotech company was not held to be responsible for polluting the environment. A frighteningly blatant case of might is right!
Imagine what would happen if dominant modified genes escaped into the wild and spread. For all we know this process is already well under way. The biotech companies assure us that they have the problem under control, that they are producing “designer” genes that ensure modified genes have a built in “self destruct” that will switch them off and render them “safe”. The theory is sound but in practice it doesn’t yet work. McNugget’s hybrids certainly didn’t contain this “terminator” technology. Biotech companies are playing with fire. When will governments wake up to the serious possibility of conflagration and send for the fire brigade?
* Quick lesson in basic genetics. Genes can be dominant (D) or recessive (r). First cross hybridisation would produce genetic diversity such as DD, Dr, rD and rr. DD and rr are “pure” strains and would be different. (say DD produces large plants and rr produces small ones). Any plant containing the D gene would be large even if it contained a recessive gene too. Small plants would be “double recessive” i.e. contain two r genes. GM plants would possess either double dominant or double recessive genes therefore first cross hybridisation for double dominant plants with normal plants would produce DD Dr rD genotypes. All the plants would resemble the double dominant GM parent. A double recessive GM first cross hybrid would produce Dr and rD. Both plants would resemble their “normal” dominant parent. Year 2 pollination would produce DD, Dr, rD and rr offspring but only the rr plants would resemble the GM stock, leaving 50% of the transgenic crop with modified genes but a “normal” appearance. Hope you’re still with me after reading this!
Tam Dalyell MP (Labour) was paraded in front of news cameras to explain why “scores” of brand new Westland Apache helicopters, worth hundreds of millions of pounds, are being mothballed immediately. Dalyell, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable, mumbled his explanation in a halting Scottish accent.
It transpires that the British Army does not have sufficient pilots to fly the Apaches and does not expect the situation to change any time in the next three to four years. Meanwhile, the gun ships, that are the equivalent of flying tanks, will be kept in hangers and cannibalised to keep operational the ones already in service. Dalyell admitted that high-tech equipment that is kept unused and non-maintained can deteriorate with time. If you are a taxpayer you will no doubt be wondering why your hard earned money is being wasted in this appalling manner.
We are given two reasons. Firstly, the programme designed to train pilots is about three years behind schedule. The fact that the programme is being run by a private company and not the armed forces isn’t seen as the main problem apparently. The sole perpetrator of this debacle, you must understand, is the Tory Party, the favourite Labour scapegoat. You see, back in 1995, John Major’s government ordered too many Apache helicopters!
The order for the helicopters was placed seven years ago. Labour seized power in 1997 and were presumably aware of the fact that sooner or later Westland would be delivering the helicopters.
Five years is more than sufficient time to train pilots. The responsibility for this fiasco falls solidly on the shoulders of Labour and its swingeing cuts in the defence budget. Before Tony Bleurghhh offers military assistance for Bush the Bewildered’s War for Oil, shouldn’t he be making certain that our “boys” are sent into conflict with guns that work and enough helicopters to back them up? New Labour, New F*ck-up.
UNNAMED FOOTBALLER IN STEROID ABUSE SCANDAL!
For those of you who might blunder into this site looking for a certain “name” in connection with the above major news item, prepare to be disappointed. The commentators on this blog site couldn’t give a flying f*ck about football nor the greed crazed bastards who make a living from it.
Although this story has knocked the celebrity slappers and bonkmeisters from the news’ top billing this morning, the real scandal is that it is considered to be a major item of news at all. Footballers are a bunch of (mostly) moronic faux heroes who get paid obscene amounts of money for kicking an inflated bladder around a field. Compare these primping shitwits to emergency workers, doctors and nurses, who actually perform worthwhile jobs but have to fight for a decent standard of living and they don’t look all that wonderful after all.
While the NHS and emergency services are in crisis some overpaid troglodyte is popping drugs to make sure he can squeeze in one more Merc into a garage that is probably the size of Wales. And we don’t want to hear the excuse that he is the victim of food supplements. This defence is only believed by fans and stupid people. Food supplements have long been blamed for sportspeople testing positive for Noradrenalin. Sensible people would avoid these supplements like the plague and buy Lucozade and Mars Bars like everyone else. Of course, it could be simply a handy “get out” for the losers who are actually popping pills and hoping to pull the wool over the eyes of various sports authorities.
Here’s some sound advice – the food supplement defence doesn’t work you dumb f*cks! Now piss off and find a proper job!!!!!
The last ever episode of Ally McBeal has just played on Channel Four. This off-the-wall series that introduced American t.v audiences to the word 'Penis' (and even showed one in the guise of Robert Downey Jr) was the epitome of American humour. The final episode, as befitted such an internationally famous programme, was filled with fond remembrances, sad farewells and plenty of tears culminating in Ally leaving Boston for New York. There wasn't a dry eye amongst the cast and the whole thing was very moving. Then the announcer between the programmes said:
Now that's British humour for you.
Wednesday, October 30, 2002
When questioned further about his previous acquaintance with the peroxide-blonde sea-mine back in the 60's, Mellor added, "Oh...you mean she looked different back then?"
It might be difficult to believe from looking at her these days but former Tory mascot and toad impersonator, Ann Widdicombe, was once a stunning, lithesome bit of totty...according to her press secretary, Norma Snockers.
Nowadays, of course, delectable but right wing extremist protozoa Ann is battling the bulge on T.V.'s Celebrity Fit Club (a derivative title from the former flop of a programme 'Fat Club' but with the word 'fat' changed ever-so-slightly so that none of the overweight 'B' list celebrity egos can be bothered to sue.)
Said Conservative menace and slug-lipped Casanova, David Mellor, "I'd have shagged her!"
Other former 'personalities' claiming to have had an affair with the frumpy Widders are Cecil Parkinson (deceased), David Ike (mentally defunct) and Terry Sedgwick (wombat abuser). More recently Ulrika Johnson has refused to name Ann as her mysterious rapist although Angus Deayton reckons he gave her a stiff one up the Gary Glitter during a bondage-party at Frank Bough's house.
The trial continues.
On the 'fit' related issue, the parents of a Christmas-pudding shaped schoolgirl who, at twelve years old, weighs a mighty 20 stone have decided to seek medical treatment and have her stomach stapled. (What to exactly we're unsure...although rumours have it that she'll be used as a flood defence system in Bewdley next year.)
Apparently, despite a healthy diet and regular exercise, Gemma piled on the weight. At this point, normally, I'd be tempted to say that not only was she a sweaty obesity but was also a liar. However...having suffered from an all-singing/all-annoying gallbladder for umpteen years now I am forced daily to check the fat-content of everything that I eat and realise how impossible it is to match the figures with the waistline.
According to the Health Authority the average fat-allowance for a man per day is around 100 grams (whatever they are). Interestingly, if the statistics plastered all over the meals that I buy are anything to go off, my daily intake is just over 30 grams. And yet I still have a bit of a spare tyre and haven't wasted away to Ally McBeal proportions yet.
Either the Health Authority has got things badly wrong or the manufacturers of food products are lying through their big fat arses. I suspect the latter as one of Tesco's Microwave Meal Range (I forget which one off-hand) states on the front that the product is: ONLY 3% FAT...whilst on the back it claims "7 grams of fat per 100".
What's the betting that Tesco's don't cock-up their mathematics so pathetically when it comes to their profits?
When questioned further about his previous acquaintance with the peroxide-blonde sea-mine back in the 60's, Mellor added, "Oh...you mean she looked different back then?"
Just a few lines to let you know what I would like to find in my knickers on the Big Day.
I know I always ask for a doll and this year is no exception. However, I have a few things to say about some of the dolls you have given me in the past.
The John Leslie Dating Doll was awful. Surely I’m the one who gets to tear the packaging off! The later Lesbo Leslie version was notoriously popular with the press but proved short lived. However, the original Dating Doll, now supplied with an authentic coke snorting kit, is still causing a widespread problem for gullible bimbos like me. The doll is quite unsuitable as a playmate and should be withdrawn from sale as soon as possible.
The Stan “The Man” Footballer Doll proved to be faulty. He kept kicking me instead of his ball and when I complained he smacked me about as well. The bastard obviously wasn’t programmed to understand that I’m the slapper, not him!
The Swedish Sven you sent me came with a Velcro Nancy: The Bloodsucking Italian Leech attachment. The Wop bitch clings like shit to a blanket and has so far proved impossible to pry loose. I am very disappointed.
I don’t really care what doll you send me this year so long as he’s rich, famous, non-violent, with easily detachable accessories and anatomically correct. I’d prefer it if you didn’t send me a Shagging Angus though.
Love Ulrika XXXX
Following the BBC's policy last week not to name the late John Leslie as Ulrika Johnson's alleged rapist, this week I personally refuse to name and shame ***** ******, the now ex-presenter of 'Have I Got News For You'. I don't want thousands of mindless fans of the third-rate-John-Cleese-rip-off treading these boards in search of the names of the prostitutes he shagged.
***** ****** isn't the only talentless cretin that the BBC ought to sack from the show. Spud-U-Like, stuck-up, smug little shithead I*n H*slop ought to get the chop as well. (Me? Bitter? Just because the stunted little twat, after claiming himself to be an authority on cartoons, turned down Scrag Ends for his boring little bog-roll of a magazine? Shurely Shome Mishtake...)
Further more the BBC ought to sack the bastards responsible for the 'Great Britons - calls cost 25 pence per minute to vote' contest, for allowing Princess Diana to be in the top ten. The greatest philanthropist that Britain's ever known? Elizabeth Fry, William Wilberforce, Lord Shaftsbury, Florence Nightingale...all pissed off the side of the great urinal of humanity by the ultimate (bar-Ulrika) self-publicist of the twentieth century.
Even more disturbing is the fact that, apparently, Dearly-deceased Di is currently topping the aforementioned polls.
Even even more disturbing...the majority of those voting for her are women.
Germane Greer must be turning in her boudoir. Still, at least she ought to be happy that in this egalitarian age women can prove themselves to be just as moronic as their male counterparts. That's feminism for you.
When I was a kid women always used to say, "If a woman was in charge then the world wouldn't be in a such a mess."
Then Thatcher happened.
Funny...but you don't hear that phrase being bandied about so much nowadays.
Ian Hislop showing his anger at Deayton's dismissal.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Mount Etna rocks Sicily
"A strong earth tremor rocked Sicily's lava-spewing Mount Etna on Tuesday, panicking local villagers as it damaged dwellings and left more than 1,000 people homeless."
At the behest of President Bush the carbonieri are interviewing the notorious suicide vulcanologist, Giovanni Bin Richter.
The British Government today has brought in new legislation regarding Customs procedures. In particular changes have been made regarding the clamp down on illegal tobacco smuggling. The amount of tobacco now allowed to be brought back into Britain for 'personal use' has been increased by five cigarettes per tourist or something, thus freeing up valuable customs officers so that they can target the 'evil bastards' who smuggle vast quantities of French tobacco into the country because it's considerably cheaper.
According to Anna Ford on the BBC news this 'back-down' on previous policy must be good news for smokers. Er...why exactly you stupid cow? It might be good news if you happen to live in the south of England. Exactly how it benefits us poor bastards in the north who still have to pay through the nose for a packet of cigarettes I've no idea.
Time was when I used to smoke Silk Cut Extra Mild. They were the equivalent of smoking fresh air but with all the benefits to a serial smoker such as myself as having a normal packet of fags. (Go on Americans...I said the word 'fags'...laugh your tiny bollocks off. I'm glad it amuses you...especially seeing as you can't even decide which side of a woman the fanny is situated.) These days however, due to the fact that twenty Silk Cut Extra Mild costs over £4.00 I'm reduced to smoking roll-ups that contain approximately 400 times the amount of tar and nicotine instead. Even worse than that, due to the inordinate amount of tax on normal cigarettes, towards the end of each financial month I'm reduced to re-rolling the dimps of previously smoked roll-ups that are even higher in tar and shit.
In my opinion it's about time that the government actually gave a flying fuck about our health instead of the exchequer coffers. They should remove tax from cigarettes, especially low tar ones, to encourage better smoking practices. But then again we're all going to die young anyway because of their prudish, totalitarian fucking attitude. May their rancid livers burst from tax-reduced alcohol poisoning and their wayward genitals rot from the syphilis of the unregulated whores that ply their trade around the Houses of Parliament.
Biofilch Pharmaceuticals announced yesterday that it had been granted a patent on human snot. When asked to comment on the morality of the company’s decision to patent an abundant substance found in nature Gladys Gobworthy, a spokeswoman for Biofilch, responded by quoting from a prepared statement.
“As you know, the Human Genome Project has lead to a number of genes being patented by biotech companies. The aim is to further research into diseases like cancer and AIDs.
“Human nasal mucus contains a plethora of antibacterial agents and enzymes. It is a scandal that such a valuable resource is constantly lost to paper tissues, fingers and shirt cuffs. Only by patenting HNM can we begin to research the benefits to medicine and the prospect of increasing Biofilch’s market share of chemist shelf cold remedies.
“Experimenting with HNM can no longer be performed without the permission of Biofilch. This also includes HNM sculpting. From now on crow butties, snot balls and back-of-the-headboard bogie parks etcetera, can only be created under licence from Biofilch. The licences cost £50,000 per month (not negotiable). Anyone caught breaching the company’s patented rights will be arrested and summarily tortured by the newly formed Bogie Patrol who will be visiting a school near you very soon.”
The reaction of Year Two children in Miss Humpgood’s class, Bratdean Primary School, Tring, was to hold a one day “Pick’n’Gobble”. Kylie Smillie, aged six, told reporters that her dad would thump anyone interfering with her right to pelt that nerdy swot at the front of the class with ink loaded “snotties” (snot balls).
The Ten Commandments of Mr. Reginald Supreme-Being Pty. Ltd.
II. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven corporate logo.
III. Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy financial advisor in vain.
IV. Remember the closing quote, to keep it holy.
V. Honour thy mom and pop shares.
VI. Thou shalt not kill neither bull nor bear.
VII. Thou shalt not commit to anything (especially on paper).
VIII. Thou shalt not inside trade.
IX. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour's portfolio.
X. Thou shalt not make a hostile takeover of any thing that is thy neighbour's.
NATION MOURNS OAP VICTIM OF OUTRAGE
by Geoff Pattison
The sleepy Yorkshire town of Pontefract was rocked to its foundations last night by an attack that locals have attributed to al-Qaeda.
"I was at the top of the Red Lion's cellar steps when it happened," said octogenarian victim Albert Ross, beloved grandfather and pigeon-fancier. "One minute I was reaching into me pocket for me fags, and the next I was upside-down in a dustbin at the bottom of the steps. I didn't see or hear nobody, but this cowardly and viscous attack has all the hallmarks of a fundamentalist atrocity. I had me wits about me — I'd only had six pints — but there must have been just too many of them."
Hitherto, Pontefract's chief claim to fame has been having more pubs per person than any other town in Britain, and ironically it was on the path between the Liquorice Bush and the Red Lion that the terrorists launched their assault.
President Dubya has yet to be informed of the attack, but the White House has announced a press conference for later today where he is expected to confirm that the operation would have been impossible without al-Qaeda finance and that its silence, speed, cunning and merciless brutality bore all the hallmarks of an bin Laden-inspired crime. Or a very long word to that effect.
UK prime minister Tony Blah has joined in the calls to despatch UN special forces to Pontefract, saying: "I am sending out a message to terrorists everywhere — and I hope that if they can't speak English someone will translate it for them — that we will not cease our War on Terror™ until we can think of an even more fatuous slogan, and that nobody is safe from us, even in Pontefract."
Neil "Whisperer" Smith, speaking for the Conservatives, could not be heard, but an aide confirmed he had nothing useful to say.
Meanwhile, as battle-torn Pontefract struggles to come to terms with its own Armageddon, a photofit picture of someone sinister looking with staring eyes has been pinned up on Tesco's notice board, and a Book of Condolence has been opened in the Nag's Head.
Source: The Rockall Times
A spokesbeing for G.O.D. blamed the collapse on the three high street names failing to agree who should lead the market on the run up to Armageddon.
“It’s very sad,” said the spokesbeing. “Living in love, peace and harmony simply isn’t fashionable any more and they've taken the fun out of fundamentalism. Our three major publications are being used to crush opponents of rival ideologies and the all time best seller, the Ten Commandments, has been in steady decline throughout the last hundred years or so and has now finally fallen by the wayside. The sale of Devil-May-Care Bears has increased exponentially but can never replace the revenues lost by the recent U turn in policy.”
The CEO of G.O.D., Mr. Reginald Supreme-Being was last seen leaving the Chelsea branch of the Buddha Shop clutching a top of the range prayer wheel.
Thank the deity of your choice that John Howard stopped all those refugees in their tracks or had them locked up in
"Russia will never make any deal with terrorists nor will it give in to any blackmail," he said at the Kremlin. Adopting rhetoric similar to that used by President Bush after the Sept. 11 attacks last year, Putin said Russia would respond "everywhere where terrorists themselves are located, organizers of these crimes, their ideological and financial sponsors. I stress: whatever their whereabouts."
Dubbya tells us Al Qaeda is given succour by Saddam, Vlad the Impaler Shade of White tells us the Chechen rebels are connected to Al Qaeda. Vlad m'boy, welcome aboard Dubbya's rhetoric of mass obfuscation. Enjoy the carte blanche in Chechnya Vlad.
Saddam is that tyrant who used chemicals against his own people. Vlad on the other hand ... errrr ... best not to pursue that line.
Vlad is not letting anyone know what chemicals were used, surely not stuff in little parcels Saddam sent him in happier times. Not the very same stuff supplied to Saddam by America ... again in happier times. Ah, what a tangled web we weave.
Might I add that my own extensive research has revealed the shocking news that the World Scout Movement is affiliated to Al Qaeda. Below is a tract from a Boy Scout website. When you consider this organisation's connection to Al Qaeda this is hardly the innocent document that it might first appear to be. Read between the lines and you will be shocked and alarmed at the barely concealed subtext in the parts I have highlighted and commented upon.
"When the Troop assembles the visitor will notice that the boys have collected in four or five small groups, each containing six or seven boys. (CODE FOR SUICIDE SQUADS I BELIEVE.) These are the Patrols (!!!) and it will be noticed throughout that the activities are worked on a Patrol basis and that the Patrol Leader (FEE FI FO FUM I SMELL THE BLOOD OF A BIN LADEN.) plays a very important part in everything which is done.
The first item of the meeting will be the breaking of the Union Flag, (BREAKING AND BURNING MORE LIKE!!) followed by an inspection. (CAREFULLY STAGE MANAGED TO FOOL THE U.N. DELEGATION LOOKING FOR WOGGLES OF MASS DESTRUCTION.) This is not allowed to take up much time but does just ensure that degree of smartness and correctness of uniform, personal cleanliness, etc., which are important in the training of the boy. This inspection will probably be followed by some very active games.
The boys have either been shut up in school all day or at work in a factory or elsewhere,("SLEEPER" OPERATIVES WHO HAVE BLENDED INTO THE COMMUNITY.) and they need an opportunity for letting off steam, and so they will be given a full chance of doing this with as much noise as they like for ten minutes before they settle down to more serious work. (BOMB MAKING 101 NO DOUBT!)The range of games that can be played is very considerable so that there is no need for constant repetition of the same game. Most Troops, however, seem to have certain games which become their own special favourites."
Black Owl troop study Knot Tying and Bomb Making 101.
Scout Kevin (right) appears to be paying more attention to his willy than to the lesson
on how to make a 15 megaton bomb from 3 pieces of Meccano and a foot of dental floss.
"The more destructive war becomes, the more fascinating we find it." - George Bernard Shaw.
"War is like love; it always finds a way." - Bertolt Brecht.
"Tweedledum and Tweedledee/ Agreed to have a battle./ For Tweedledum said Tweedledee/ Had spoilt his nice new rattle." - Lewis Carroll.
"I'd like to see the government get out of war altogether and leave the whole feud to private industry." - Joseph Heller in Catch 22.
"Television brought the brutality of war into the comfort of the living room. Vietnam was lost in the living rooms of America, not on the battlefields of Vietnam." - Marshall McLuhan.
"War will never cease until babies begin to come into the world with larger cerebrums and small adrenal glands." - H.L. Mencken.
"War is capitalism with the gloves off." - Tom Stoppard.
"All wars are popular for the first 30 days." - Arthur Schlesinger.
Quotes nicked from HERE. An article by the estimable Phillip Adams.
Monday, October 28, 2002
Ricky Tomlinson, on a documentary about Special Branch surveillance, after being confronted with the news that MI5 had kept files on his 'subversive' behaviour back in the 1960's when he was a member of the British Communist Party:
"Subversive, my arse!"
Tony Robinson (no...not Baldric...another one), an ex-member of special branch on the same documentary, when asked if breaking into Trade Union Headquarters, tapping ordinary working-class people's phones and recording private conversations wasn't an infringement of people's rights:
Sylvester Stalone when asked about the change of direction in his acting roles:
"Manh ngbhvnjgnmb nvnjnbdfhghyg mmmgnghuhuhuhuhuhuh."
Other news: Following the devastating storms that swept across Britain over the weekend, leaving seven people dead and causing millions of pounds of damage, people have been desperately phoning their insurance companies only to be told that, "We are unable to pay compensation in such cases, as they were clearly acts of God."
In a statement to the Commons Tony spin Blair announced that, "This was a cowardly act of terrorism by a despotic deity and the consequences to Heaven, and any other parallel dimension that seeks to harbour this criminal, will be catastrophic."
In the meantime God himself/herself has vanished, not having shown his/her face since King Arthur was last told to find the Holy Grail. However, intelligence reports have pinpointed his/her location to a small cave/stable in the Orion constellation. Efforts are now being taken to mount a taskforce of shuttlecrafts to smoke him out.
Closer to home and a number of people believed to be in support of God's malicious actions have been arrested. The Archbishop of Canterbury and the Pope are now both being held against their will at Lancaster Assizes where their obvious links with that other well-known bearded subversive, Jesus Harold bin Christ, are being assessed by the application of thumb-screws.
Colon Powell, speaking at a rally of far-right extremists, added this afternoon, "Make no mistake folks. We'll leave no planet unturned in our hunt for this evil bastard, God. Just who the hell does this tin-pot deity think he is? Some sort of George W Bush?"
Let me introduce myself. My name's Peggy Farcus, wife of Bruce Farcus (dec.), daughter of Doug and Ethel Smith, grand daughter of Paddy and Portia Hannan and great grand daughter of Jebediah and Mabel Comerford and lastly but not leastly, the great great grand daughter of Arthur and Milly Sedgwick.
There you go, that's the connection to this blog thing. Young Terry Sedgwick is my 34th. cousin removed (he was not actually "removed", he was more chucked out on his arse from the family, something to do with friggin' underage marsupials) and at the last family reunion I managed to get young Tezza absolutely legless on XXXX beer and nicked his kangaroo scrotum wallet. (It's an old family tradition pinch each other's scrotums. Yes, women in this family still bear scrotums, we bare them proudly, we also bear bloody great arms, so no smart arse comments from any of the pinko leso types I've seen on this site.)
Anyway to cut to the friggin' chase, I told him he could have it back if he got me a gig on this Rant blog thing. I run the "Kalgoorlie Kronicle", a newspaper servicing a bloody great town in the outback of Australia and I figured that a bit of straight talking Australian Waltzing Matilda outback philosophy wouldn't go astray on this blog.
I love Australia, it's a bloody great country, I love the people that made this country great and I won't hear a bloody word against them. If they don't like it they should bloody move to Russia. (Go to the bloody theatres over there and see how they bloody get on!) Some Aussies turn out to be ungrateful snakes in the grass. Mel Gibson, Kylie Minogue, Clive James, Greg Norman, Edna friggin' Everage, Rolf Harris, Germaine Greer and their friggin' like feed from the nipple of Australian culture and then when they have sucked it dry just bugger off overseas without as much as a "thank your mother for the rabbits". Hope their chooks turn into emus and kick their friggin' dunny doors down. Whatever happened to good old fashioned national family values?
I've had a look through some of the stuff on this blog and I can't say I'm happy with the attitude of some of you young people. Still wet behind the ears and mouthing off as if you have the friggin' wisdom of Solomon. Anyway I'll sort you lot out later.
Just wanted to let you know I'm on board, I'm friggin' hotter to trot than a lizard's belly in the Simpson Desert at midday and if you don't like some of the things this plain talking 87 year old Australian woman is gonna say, then stiff shit! I may be getting on a bit but I know my friggin' onions.
I don't say it like it is, I say it how it should be. That's why the readers buy my newspaper.
Sunday, October 27, 2002
It's good to see the viewing figures are back to normal after last week's Ulrika fest. It's also pleasant note that not a single one of Ulrika's fans has returned to this board. The fact that the Rant of the Week didn't contain any scintillating gossip about the Norwegian weather bint must have dampened their passions no end and left them very frustrated.
With that in mind...and working on the premise that the sad, adolescant toss-pots won't return to this backwater site in the future either...here are two photographs of Ulrika Johnson with her tits out.
As the death toll in Moscow rises American/Russian relations continue to improve. The unknown gas responsible for killing 117 hostages was, allegedly, leant to the Russian Special Forces by American Intelligence. The Russian government still refuses to gives details about the gas and why it produced such fatal effects. Outside sources have stated, however, that the incident proves that in these enlightened times George W Bush is willing to give the Russians the steam off his shit after all.
Guess who forgot about Daylight Saving Time this morning? I woke up thinking it was nine-thirty only to discover that it was actually the second of March and Cliff Richards had died in a car accident. The truth is I've been saving more daylight hours than the government recommends for some considerable time now. The odd forty-five minutes on a rainy afternoon here, the occasional one hour and twenty minutes of early morning television there. So far I've amassed 67 years 4 days 8 seconds and three books of Greenshield stamps. Now all I've got to do is to find some terminally ill aristocrat with less than six months to live and trade them all in for a yacht.