Friday, 19 December 2008
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Monday, 15 December 2008
Front-page headlines in the Herald highlighting the disturbing rise - which bucks the national trend - sparked punch-ups in newsagents and supermarkets, and spontaneous rioting was reported in the city's three traditional fight arenas of Union Street, Mutley Plain and the historic Barbican.
"In other parts of the country violent crime is on the wane, thanks to high-visibility policing and Gordon Brown's inspired fiddling of the statistics," Vivien Pengelly, leader of Plymouth City Council, told the Nev Filter. "However, in Plymouth there is a large population of ignorant fuckers who are genetically closer to bonobo chimpanzees than human beings. When they get excited they either fight or fuck. Or both at the same time."
"Y'want some, wanka?" she added. "Come on, then."
"As a matter of urgency, we are implementing an action plan to deal with the escalating violence in Plymouth," warned the Chief Constable, Stephen Otter. "We are putting extra officers 'on the beat', which means they will beat seven colours of shit out of every fucker that crosses their path. That should teach them. Got a problem with that, y'cunt?"
Concerned community leaders from notorious flashpoints such as the Barbican, Barne Barton, Cattedown, Chaddlewood, the City Centre, Crownhill, Derriford, Devonport, Efford, Eggbuckland, Estover, Ham, Hartley, Higher and Lower Compton, Laira, Manadon, Mannamead, Marsh Mills, Mount Wise, Mutley, North Hill, Pennycomequick, Pennycross, Plymstock, Plympton, Southway, St. Budeaux, St. Judes, St. Peter's, Stonehouse, Tamerton Foliot, West Hoe and Whitleigh are meeting up in North Prospect to discuss the problem with an assortment of clubs, knives and broken bottles.
The Nev Filter sent a work-experience trainee out onto the streets of the city to canvass local opinion. After being repeatedly asked what the fuck he thought he was looking at, he is now continuing his investigations in the A&E unit of Derriford Hospital, another well-known hot-spot for fights.
Meanwhile, local tourism chiefs tried to talk up the city's unfortunate reputation as the arse end of Britain with the slogan: "Come to Plymouth and Fuck Off."
The winning baby, Sammy-Leeanne, was praised by judges for having two eyes, one nose, one mouth and a pair of ears, and all in the right place.
"Of course, the photographs only show the baby's face," said the Herald's editor, "For all we know, little Sammy-Leeanne could have fins and a prehensile tail. Still, at least she has a humanoid head, which is an improvement on most of the population round here."
The rare, human-faced baby and its low-radiation mother are to receive tickets out of Plymouth.
Unions have added their voices to calls for the UK government to throw some more money it hasn't got into the gaping chasm of business finance.
"Since you're giving it away like there's no tomorrow, Gordon, how about a bung to what we in the trade laughingly refer to as the British car industry?" said Tony Woodley, joint leader of Unite. "Otherwise the few remaining workers who serve the mighty robots might lose their jobs. Sod everyone else - if the bastards hadn't stopped buying cars, we wouldn't be in this mess."
Senior figures in the motor industry squealed their agreement and pointed to their gaping beaks.
"Admittedly the continued existence of the UK motor industry is entirely at the mercy and whim of the American, Japanese, Chinese, French and German companies who actually own it," added Mr Woodley, "But I'm sure they wouldn't turn down a couple of billion of taxpayers' cash to cover their embarrassment at making long-term financial plans predicated solely on the somewhat fanciful notion that the economic boom would last forever. Go on, widoncha. It's not like it's your money, is it?"
"His evil spirit will torment the corpses of his wife and daughter for all eternity," said one shocked non-relative. "What kind of sick justice is that?"
Another person entirely unconnected with the family suggested that, in the event of a zombie outbreak, the reanimated cadavers of Jill and Kirstie Foster would suffer the unspeakable horror of embarking on their flesh-eating rampage in the company of the callous husband and father who so brutally snuffed out their lives.
Headlines such as "Will Their Suffering Never End?" and "Bury This Monster On A Landfill Site" screamed out from the tabloids.
"Oh, for God's sake grow up," said a bishop this morning. "They're dead, OK?"
Sunday, 14 December 2008
The unnamed Iraqi reporter delivered the early Christmas present at high velocity at a press conference. He was immediately surrounded by an appreciative group of security guards, who congratulated him on his seasonal offering by good-naturedly slapping him on the back, face, groin and kidneys while the beaming president looked on.
Mr Bush had previously been participating in a festive party game with the Iraqi government on Saturday to see who could come up with the silliest word. The US team were declared the winners, after Defense Secretary Robert Gates reduced players to tears of laughter with his straight-faced claim that the process of "drawdown" had begun.
Parents were beside themselves with anger when their children stumbled home in tears after the evil, twisted supply teacher at Blackshaw Lane Primary School told them that Father Christmas wasn't real, and their presents were just bought for them in a shop by their parents.
"It is not for teachers to contradict any child's fondly-held beliefs with inconvenient facts," said a spokesman for the council, adding that the head of the school had been ordered to write out 'My staff must not tell the truth' 500 times.
"I'm bloody fuming, like," said one local parent. "Next thing, some bastard might be telling my precious little darling that the world doesn't actually revolve around him, or he might need to work a tiny bit harder if he doesn't want to look forward to a life of stacking shelves. That would just break his little heart. The next teacher I run into is going to get a right lamping, so help me God."
Other concerned parents agreed, saying that if this sort of thing wasn't stamped out, their little men and princesses might even get the impression that, far from mummy loving daddy and dearly wanting to start a family, the harsh truth was that they were no more than the unwanted result of a furtive, fumbling shag behind the pub after an ill-considered night of pissing it up on the Bacardi Breezers.
The Nev Filter asked some typical seven-year-olds what cherished beliefs they held to be true - but, unfortunately, all we gleaned from our research was that they were all a bunch of hopelessly self-deluded little gits.
"It's a bloody fix innit?" said one former fan, speaking for many. "If voting changed anything, they'd ban it."
Angry fans were divided on the way forward, however. Some favoured anarchy, with all dancers performing simultaneously until they individually decided to stop dancing and do something else. Others said that what was needed was the emergence of a strong, no-nonsense leader who would simply tell people which dance couple was the best, and execute the rest.
One older viewer, who suggested that each pair should dance to the best of their ability and be awarded prizes according to their needs, was laughed at by all the others and told to wake up to the reality of reality shows in the 21st century.