Saturday, December 28, 2002

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Kenya's opposition set for win.

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

Jobless Americans lose benefits.

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

Bush sets 2003 agenda.

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

TV cooks have 'bad hygiene'.

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

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

Restaurants 'feed' tigers - to patrons.

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

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

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

Dob in terror suspects, ad series urges.

December 28 2002 By Josh Gordon Canberra

An image from the government's terror ad campaign.

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

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

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

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

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

Aussies put on terror alert.


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

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

Keep an eye out for:

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

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

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

  • suspicious property or vehicle rentals,

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

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

  • do not touch it; and

  • alert authorities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Big quake overdue in Victoria

    By MARY PAPADAKIS 29dec02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The campaign urges Victorians to keep an eye out for:

  • suspicious changes in the landscape,

  • unusual subterranean rumblings,

  • any Victorian who looks other than comatose,

  • clandestine or unauthorised recallibrating of the Richter scale

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    100: Edwina Arnorld Oswald Mosley.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Friday, December 27, 2002

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Financial Bollocks with Fosbury Piers Punter:

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

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

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

    Here is a site that is TRULY full of shit.

    Click here

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

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

    Frosty the Blowman!

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

    John Prescott's favourite bistro?

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

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

    Person of the year: The Ordinary Australian.

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

    Above: Pope John Paul II
    sanctifies a Cheetos bag.

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

    from The Onion.

    Thursday, December 26, 2002

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Wednesday, December 25, 2002

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Speaking of dicks...

    Happy Christmas from the Osbournes!

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

     No pic? Right click and click SHOW PICTURE

    "G'day cobbers. Bombs away!"

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

    Tuesday, December 24, 2002

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

    I am SO shocked and surprised.

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

    Yup, there aint no sanity clause!

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

    This image is stored on Photoisland's capricious server. If the image doesn't appear on queue right click and click SHOW PICTURE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Osama bin Laden for giving George W Bush an excuse.

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

    No wonder I'm so fucking twisted!

    Monday, December 23, 2002

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Sunday, December 22, 2002

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

    Back on the 29th.

    Save some stuffing for me.

    *looks curiously downwards*

    The latest Christmas Gift Idea from Organ Morgan...

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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    Battle Carol of the Repugnant.

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


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

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

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

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


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