Saturday, December 07, 2002

The 12 Days of Christmas, Sydney style.

On the fifth day of Christmas Baby Jesus sent to me,

Five trains a crashing,

Four planes a smashing,

Three million starving Iraqis,

Two warlords plotting,

One bush a burning

And a twat in the Presidential Suite!

Well, there is winter and we stay here without real sport.
Thank God, the internet give us great possibility of extrem sports in the little rooms.
For example:
- Golf: it helps improve putting,
- Ball: Power Peeball.

Friday, December 06, 2002

Britain's troops no longer need to worry about wearing combat boots that melt in the heat of the Iraqi desert because there aren't enough boots to go around! Maybe they were listed on the same order to supply working firearms and enough helicopter pilots for Britains grounded fleet of Apache gun ships.


Cherie Blair (daughter of Anthony Booth the famous 70's porn actor), judge (I wonder how she got that job) and, of course, the prime minister's missus, has today admitted buying two flats with the help of a well-known and previously convicted fraudster. (So well known I've forgotten his name already.) Despite the government denying Mrs Blair's involvement with the ex-con all week, as new press allegations loomed she decided to make a clean breast of matters. (Hopefully not on page three.) "Yes, I have used a person who is quite possibly the biggest conman in Britain today to further my own ends," Mrs Blair commented. "But I have no plans to divorce him yet."

Other news and gay couples are set to receive the same rights as hetrosexual married couples under new government proposals. Said Uncle Tony, "This isn't me being P.C. It's just that we're sick of having to pay out single-person rate benefits because we previously haven't recognised gay marriages."

Prince Charles is a deeply religious man. He's been on his knees thanking God for Cherie Blair's stupidity all week!!!

Here we are, all these fossilised biddies clogging up this blog board and not one of the silly old bags protesting about the plans to scrap free bus passes for OAPs. Why I wonder?
Could it be that, in our sceptic isle (don’t you mean “septic”? Ed), there is a north/south class divide between biddies? Local spider monkeys and their spouses pay “concessionary” fares for a service that has gradually deteriorated over the last ten years. They are used to paying so hopefully won’t loose out as much as those who currently enjoy free travel (unless you get charged full rate!!!!). Public transport in general has been in rapid decline, privatised, unloved, with unprofitable routes withdrawn. Tone’s transport minister says that biddies won’t mind paying for an improved service.


All the scraping of free bus passes is going to achieve is that Tone’s pals who run the bus companies are going to carry on not providing a decent service and, at the same time, pocket valuable cash choked out of biddies on crappy pensions.
Here’s how to avoid Tone’s evil schemes to make you even worse off than you were before.
1) Fuck off to France
2) Get yourselves a REALLY good suntan
3) Learn to speak Arabic
4) Claim asylum in Britain
5) Laugh at all your fellow biddies who are too unimaginative to grab the free travel passes and housing you have just been granted.
6) Sue the British government for thousands because they expect you to heat your house and exist on the equivalent of an old aged pension!

Thursday, December 05, 2002

Fack me and G'day Cobbers! Steve Irwin here t' tell y' all about what a dangerous place Australia is. Every deadliest creature in the world lives here...from poisonous spiders to lethal rattlers, Germane Greer and those mother facking crocs! But it's not just the wildlife that's bleeding evil! Not a bit! Did you know that Adelaide is the murder capital of the world? Yeah, no bullshit! The place is crawlin' with murderous bastards! It makes the gangland wars in New York resemble a Pommy Puffs' Convention!

Of course Australia's even worse if you're not from round these parts. Pommy backpackers are particularly vulnerable. They don't understand the ways of the outback. Without proper supervision they'll inevitably fall foul of the venomous tramps that hang out down by the billibong! These little bastards will skin your average backpacker alive in under fifteen seconds flat and must be handled with extreme caution!

As for the Pommie cricket squad, well we Aussies like to kick 'em where it hurts time and time again.

Speaking of ashes, I wouldn't go anywhere near Sydney right now if I were you. It's that time of year again that we like t' call the Burning Season! Facking great bush fires everywhere the likes of which I haven't seen since I last bedded me Sheila, Terri, without any KY Jelly. That's why most of Australia is just a big facking desert! It keeps on burnin'! This year's barbie is even more spectacular than usual. The set of Home and Away has been burnt to the ground! So I guess every cloud has a silver lining.

I've finally got me 'emmorhoids under control. Swollen t' the size o' rugby balls they was. That ruddy nig-nog down at the 'ealth centre was no bloomin' good. He kept talkin' about puttin' me in an 'ome where they could look after me properly. At least I think that's what 'ee was sayin'. It's 'ard t' tell wi' these Spanish types.

"Listen 'ere Daigo," I said. "I've still got all me own marbles! I ain't sterile yet! You're not lockin' me away with all those old biddies with their fartin' an' their dribblin' an' their postulatin' an' their rubber knickers! I'm an 'undred and fifteen y' know, an' I've managed very well doin' things for meself so bloomin' far!"

So I went t' that Homo-erotic doctor 'oo lives above the shops and 'ee gave me a bottle o' water. I don't understand 'ow it works, dilutin' stuff until there's nothin' left and then stickin' the remains up one's posterior ('scuse my Dutch). I shudder t' think of all the times I've emptied me po in the ocean.

Mind you it appears to 'ave 'elped the whippets in me legs. I've bin much more sprightly of late. I can reach speeds of almost thirty miles an 'our now on me Zimmer. Although that might 'ave more t' do with the ice on the pavement than the curvature of me knees. But it makes cleanin' me front door step a damned sight easier an' that's got t' be good.

I'm thinkin' of going back next week for somethin' t' cure me autism. It's been givin' me shoulder no end of gyp durin' this miserable damp patch. Which reminds me...I wonder if 'ee's got something for me incompetence an' all.

Lawrence quits Labor frontbench

Prominent federal frontbencher Carmen Lawrence has quit the Australian Labor Party's Shadow Ministry, launching a wide-ranging attack on the party and its policies.

Dr Lawrence says she may not contest the next election if the Opposition does not change its refugee policy.

She says her opposition to the new refugee policy was the trigger for her resignation.

The federal Caucus approved the party's policy this morning, which still provides for mandatory detention of asylum seekers.

Dr Lawrence says the party has lost its direction and she wants to work from the backbench to try to recapture the values of the ALP.

"I don't want to belong to a Labor Party that's just marginally different to the Liberals," she said.

"If you want the original, go for it. Why would you want a facsimile?"

Dr Lawrence says the Shadow Cabinet no longer stands for the Labor Party's values.

She says it is timid and conservative, with policies designed for opinion polls and the media.


She's to Simple Simon what Tony Benn was to Lickspittle Tony. Ironic (but becoming more common) that it takes a female member of the Labour Party to show some balls on this issue. Putting on my political pundit hat (you know, those tri cornered hats with bells attached) if Simon the Bland is still leader of the Labour Party in 12 months time I will start eating tofu.

Remember a year and a bit ago, shortly after the tragic events of November the ninth, when George Winston Bush asked the question, "Why would anyone hate America?" Well, apparently the American government were so ignorant as to how anybody could possibly consider their fine upstanding Land of the Free so detestable that they comissioned a survey. The results were broadcast on Newsnight tonight and, it seems that, over 76% of those questioned consider America to be oppressive and the war on Iraq to be more to do with oil than ethics. This was especially true in the muslim world. (Obviously the arabs know more about American politics than the Americans do.)

This, however, didn't particularly answer the question (probably because the surveyers forgot to actually ask the public why they hated America so much) so Jeremy Paxman put the question to Mary Not-at-albright instead. And her response was:

"The rest of the world obviously considers us to be the rich folk on the hill and they don't like that."

Actually her response went on for much longer but the general gyst was that America is great and everyone else is jealous of them.

Nothing to do with America's appalling human rights record then? Or the fact that America is the largest polluter on the planet but continually snubs the 'Anti-Pollution Summets' that all the other world leaders attend? Or the fact that America's corporate-driven government has exploited countless lesser countries into poverty for the sake of its own pocket? Or because America has the largest stock pile of nuclear missiles in the world (which, of course, it will only ever use in self defence...much like its army) and since the second world war has attacked almost 70 different countries without provocation? Or any of the other numerous problems that the xenophobia of successive American presidents have caused across the globe etc?

It's all down to everyone else being jealous because they've got such big cocks?

Well, that was a survey well worth the money spent on it then. At least we've sorted that out. Now America can rest easier in its bed at night knowing that they've done nothing wrong anywhere and they will all go to heaven when they die and be made into saints.

Wednesday, December 04, 2002

Here is the Christmas (all right, except in Australia) and here is the funniest gag gift in the world.

Ready, Steady, Produce a Cheap Programme. Two Fat Ladies (or rather one fat lady, one rapidly getting thinner lady), Floyd on Piss-ups, the Cookery Hour, Nigella Whoreson, Jamie Sainsbury's Oliver...the list endless. Cheap, nasty television designed to fill in the gaps between Ann Robinson. I have been watching these futile attempts to 'improve' Britain's cuisine lately (in my opinion a plum-tomato stew with stuffed peppers could never beat steak and kidney pie and chips no matter how much the American's whinge, but there you go) and I've reached the following conclusion. Take one chef and a handful of ingredients and, invariably, they will a) make pasta to go with it b) fry everything in at least four inches of fat c) take a blow torch to anything vaguely fruity (including Michael Jackson) Editor's note: That's topical and d) add tons and tons of clotted cream to it. "Alright Chef, what are we going to do with these spring beans from Sainsubury's, nice and fresh look, that's Sainsbury's, remember the name!" "Well Ainsley...I thought we could start by frying them, then mixing in a bucket of clotted cream, whipping up fifteen eggs and adding them to the mix, pour on a bucket of extra virgin Sainsbury's olive oil and then add more cream and butter. And finally we'll stick a bayleaf on the top because we're professionals." "Oooh...sounds lovely! And if the customer complains are you going to spunk in the gravy?"

Now, is it just my misguided intuition, or is all this whipped cream and fried food, no matter how professionally cooked and presented, extremely bad for you? I mean, seriously, a sprig of Sainsbury's thyme on the top of five pounds of pure fat isn't going to help reduce cholestral much is it? These programmes are on all day every day. And we wonder why the average Briton is becoming obese? I don't give a monkey's fart if the rest of world hates British food. You'll notice that it's the French and the Americans who laugh at our culinary tastes the most, and they eat frogs legs and McDonalds! At least traditional food didn't clog up the arteries as quickly and cause Ann Diamond monsters to wander the streets and snap buses in half. Folks...ignore the peer group pressure and go back to the good stuff before we all turn into onion chomping, gun toting fat bastards.

Tuesday, December 03, 2002



Men! Huh! What are they good for? Men! Huh! Absolutely nothing! Well some of them work in the factories that build dildos I suppose. But other than that my message is blunt: Sisters! Do it for yourselves! Unshackle the chains of male oppression and let's fight for equality! Banish men from the workplace and make them eat shit from the gutter outside! Force men to rear their own children whilst being beaten with a very large stick with nails in one end! Make it law that men have to suffer Fern Britton and Philip Schofield every morning whilst ironing our knickers and sucking the stains from our rancid old socks! Make them wear bras and panty hose and suspender belts that cut into their cellulite! Force them to wear lipstick and perfume and foundation! Kick them in the bollocks and ram cattle prods up their arses. Then put them all on a big boat, sail it out to sea and sink the bastards. They can all drown, the chauvernistic twats! Die you male scumbags! Die horribly with your lungs full of putrid water and your arseholes full of sperm! Shrivel and burst and then get eaten by sharks you penis-driven filthy stinking morons and then let's have your remains being fed to the sealions coated in chocolate.

That's all we're asking for. A bit of equality.

This week I shall be reviewing "TLC", BBC 2's latest half hour comic offering set in a national health hospital and starring that bloke out of The League of Gentlemen and one half of Armstrong and Miller.

One word...shit.

Addenudum: Following several hastily scrawled e-mails complaining about my treatment of this programme I have decided to lengthen my previous critique. It appears that I haven't given enough thought to the ground-breaking style, the satire, the wit and the character development within the series. The new review now runs thus:

Unfunny shit.

Monday, December 02, 2002

The News in Boxer Shorts

Another oil slick from the sunken tanker has reached the shores of Spain today. A retired fisherman from the resort affected commented that, "Once da sea was alive anna we made our living from eet. Now eet eesa dead."

Oh dear, how sad. Still, at least they know what it feels like now. The Spanish illegally trawled the seas off Britain to extinction back in the 80s. During those years, through the use of massive nets, they reduced Fleetwood's own trawling fleet from seventy plus vessels to less than ten. Further more the over-fishing brought the size of an average cod down from at least three feet to the same length as an Elvis impersonater's dick. Such is life. At least now they've got plenty of oil to smear all over their greasy heads.

According to Channel 5 news earlier, in Britain a shop keeper is attacked once every hour. The poor bastard. You'd think he'd pack it in and look for an alternative career wouldn't you?

Closer to home and our washing machine has finally gone into its death throes. This afternoon we were forced to visit Fleetwood launderette. It's good to see that traditions don't die easily in these places. The yellow colour scheme is still in evidence as it was back in the 1950s. The posters on the walls still show the customers how to perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre in case one of them swallows a washing machine, and others remind people that 'Careless Talk Costs Lives'. The ashtrays are stapled to the formica benches. And the dry-cleaning machine appears to have broken in 1902, never to be attended. What an easy investement launderettes must have been eh? A one off payment and then money for old rope ever since. Once every thirty years the engineers are called out to add a bit of solder to the coin-slots due to the ever diminishing size of coins and that's it. Mind you, it's understandable why nothing ever changes in these workhouses. Temporal progression has different rules here. A half hour washing spree seems to take at least four months and, judging by their appearance, most of the customers have been waiting for the dryers to complete their cycles since 1951.

Elvis hasn't left the building yet.

eXtreme Elvis

Sunday, December 01, 2002

So, as Mr. Sedgwick said, I have a little sympathy for the bizarre things.
Perhaps, it can be true...

Short rant. Last two days -- two steak and kidney pies, four ham and cheese butties, bangers and mash. Bloody gallbladder. Back ASAP. 'Nuff said!


An Orstrayen chastity belter.

Chastity belts, the Safeway.

What is it they say? "Not work safe!" Well in my humble opinion THIS doesn't appear to be particularly safe ... work place or no. (Other than perhaps those dedicated zealots beavering away at the Conservative Party HQ.)

Mr. Petrenyi you seem to have a ready capacity to find odd stuff. Your mission Joe me boy, should you choose to accept it, is to top this weird lot.

(Should the visitor to this site be still stumped for Xmas present ideas for Uncle Brian, I can forward his barely vital statistics.)