Met Chief Understands Public Concerns All Too Well

The head of the Metropolitan Police, Sir Paul Jong-Stephenson, says he understands the public's concerns over police tactics such as beating up innocent bystanders, using terror laws to arrest anyone who looks them in the eye, shooting depressed pensioners and killing each other over whose turn it was to do the washing up.

Sir Paul stopped short of admitting that the controversial tactics were wrong, but conceded that frightening members of the public was "hugely irresponsible".

"But it's just so hugely enjoyable, too," he added.

"Is this the price we pay for not having the paramilitary equipment our colleagues would have on the continent?" asked Sir Paul. When asked if he was referring to water cannons, he replied, "I was thinking more of those funky pocket sub-machine guns, actually. And maybe one of those Swedish tanks our American counterparts use to push holes in walls - although, personally, I don't get the point of welding a big sheet of armour plate across the end of the barrel. Surely, if you've got a 105mm gun to play with, you can have a lot more fun with armour-piercing HE rounds?"

"And I'd really like an attack helicopter like Airwolf, too," continued the nation's most powerful, least accountable police chief. "And a couple of Harriers with those rocket pods would be nice. A few dozen carefully-planted Claymore mines would be bloody useful for livening up protest marches. Flamethrowers! Christ, they'd wouldn't half come in handy for clearing out squatters. In fact, fuck it, give me one Hercules and a couple of fuel/air bombs, and I'll show the bastard public something to make them shit their internal organs out."

"Are you listening, Home Secretary?" he shouted. "How many more police officers must die at the hands of other police officers before you give us the tools we need to do our jobs properly?"

"Excuse me, I think I need to change my trousers," concluded Sir Paul.

Winehouse Comes Back, Fucks Up, Buggers Off

Amy Troubled-Winehouse, the popular drugsponge, had to abandon her long-threatened comeback performance at the St Lucia Jazz Festival due to "technical difficulties", according to a spokesman.

The troubled singer appeared to have trouble remembering the words to several songs she wrote when she still had a couple of functioning brain cells. She was further troubled with an attack of boredom in the middle of a song. One thing not troubling her at all, however, was the tiniest shred of concern over disappointing any remaining fans.

"I'm not disappointed at all," said one festivalgoer. "People came to watch a self-centred brat pumped full of veterinary-strength narcotics piss all over as many people as possible, and that's exactly what we got."

Many jazz fans expressed their relief that the human pincushion had not made any attempt to sing.

"Amy Winehouse may be a feeble excuse for a human being with no sense of responsibility, decency or self-worth," said a local music fan, "But at least she appears to have finally lost interest in forcing her godawful corncrake voice into people's ears."

"Amy would like to express her disappointment that dancing pterodactyls forced the abandonment of her show last night," a spokesman told the media as his employer sat comatose beneath a gasometer, inhaling a cocktail of helium, nitrous oxide, atomised heroin, swine flu and Vaporub.

No Public Interest In Corrupt Thieving Ministers, Say Corrupt Thieving Ministers

The police are to investigate how details of cabinet ministers' stunning blags entered the public domain. Ministers, meanwhile, wasted no time before issuing a joint statement saying that there could be absolutely no public interest defence, as the ordinary people of Britain were far too busy worrying about losing their jobs, homes and hopes for the future.

"Why on earth would a laid-off shop worker in Bradford, struggling to keep the bailiffs out, care about the £6,577 I claimed back for cleaning services provided by my brother - who, as a senior executive at EDF Energy, is obviously a world authority on cleaning up?" asked Prime Minister Gordon Brown. "Honestly, people ought to sort their own lives out before pointing the finger at others."

Communities Secretary Hazel Blears added: "Is it really anybody's business that I've claimed for three different properties in one year? I'm just trying to do my job by experiencing life at first hand in as many different communities as I can. The little people usually only have to choose new furniture once every few years. It's a wonder I get anything done at all doing whatever it is that I'm supposed to do. People should be more sympathetic."

Justice Secretary Jack Straw agreed, saying that instead of criticising him for claiming back his full council tax bill despite receiving a 50% reduction, the nation's unemployeds should get off their lazy bastard arses and start bloody paying some themselves. "Hasn't anybody ever heard of the pot calling the kettle black?" he snapped. "God, if there's one thing I hate, it's hypocrisy."

"Surely there is no public interest whatsoever in this trivial flim-flam," concluded the Prime Minister. "But if there is, they can rest assured that we'll claim it back at the highest rate we can get away with, once we've adjusted it in real terms."

Statue of Liberty to Reopen as Statue of Misery

New York's iconic Statue of Liberty is to be fully reopened for the first time in eight years, announced US Interior Secretary Ken Salazar today.

Public access to the windows in the statue's crown was blocked in the aftermath of the 9/11 attack on Manhattan's Twin Towers, amid security fears that al-Qaeda terrorists wishing to launch a fearsome barrage of burning paper darts at the defenceless city might fall and hurt themselves on the narrow spiral staircase leading to the head of the 123-year-old statue.

"Nothing symbolizes what America is, and the hope and the optimism, than the Statue of Liberty," declared Mr Salazar. "And that's why people who have lost all hope and optimism thanks to the economic downturn will be able to haul their sorry carcasses up a new, wider staircase - encouraged by strategically-positioned Rangers of the National Park Service, who will remind them to keep a tight grip on the handrail - before finding welcome release from their sorrows by leaping from the crown to a messy death a hundred feet below."

"The statue will be open for two years," he continued. "After that, either things will have got better, or we'll need to come up with a more efficient method for clearing the dead wood from the population."

Policeman Reduced To Tears By Bicycle

A Lancashire police officer broke down in tears and had to be taken home by his mummy, after horrid grown-ups laughed at him for not being able to ride a bicycle.

At the public unveiling of a fleet of bicycles bought for the force's community support officers by a local charity, little PC Tony Cobblers was asked by press photographers to pose for a picture on one of the bikes. His jaw wobbling, he stammered that the chief constable would be very cross as he hadn't got his cycling proficiency badge, then ran off and hid in a hedge sobbing his little heart out.

When Mrs Cobblers arrived, she told the nasty photographers that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for making her little man all upset, and called them a naughty word. She then gave the sobbing constable a big hug and led him away, promising him a special jelly treat.

Inspector Nick Baduns later told the media: "Evenin' all. 'Appen us officers is required to be appropriately trained an' assessed prior to using bikes for patrolling in order to comply wi' insurance and for the safety of themselves an' t'public. If only t'bike 'ad 'ad stabilisers, 'appen as would've been right as rain, like."

When asked if the force's publicity department would be allowed to keep their proficiency badges after putting an officer with no relevant experience in front of the press, Insp Baduns formally warned the photographers that they were lucky they were not under arrrest for attempting to photograph a police officer in the course of his duties.

PC Cobblers later reported for duty on his tricycle, all smiles, saying that raspberry jelly was the best jelly ever.

New 'Armed Forces Man' Toy Most Realistic Ever, Says MoD

The nation's boys will be able to play with lifelike toy soldiers again for the first time in over a decade, as a British manufacturer launched a replacement for the much-missed 'Action Man' of yesteryear.

Now, working closely with the Ministry of Defence in a desperate attempt to brainwash children into joining the ever-shrinking forces, Character Group has created 'HM Armed Forces', a collection of realistic 10-inch toys in Army, Navy and RAF outfits - as well as all-new 'Demob Man' and 'Invalided Out Man' figures, which complete the range.

The former Palitoy version of GI Joe - first introduced in 1966 - was famous for its swivelling eyes, clutching hands and complete absence of genitals. However, the quest for extra realism led to extensive consultations with military WAGs, with the result that Armed Forces Man will now sport a disappointing, normally-proportioned wedding tackle.

Army Man will be complemented by a realistic Land Rover made of flimsy plastic, while RAF Man, when placed in his special exploding Hercules and Nimrod planes, can quickly be disassembled into a mangled assortment of limbs. Completing the set, Navy Man can be put inside a featureless black cylinder which is designed to sit at the bottom of the goldfish pond and be completely forgotten.

Meanwhile, Demob Man's eyes will swivel uncontrollably, and his hands will grasp a bottle as he struggles to obliterate the realistic memory of his friend Invalided Out Man stepping on a mine, while Invalided Out Man himself will come with no legs and only one hand, and will therefore be sold at a greatly reduced price.

Evil Pervert Rolf Harris Still At Large

The world's most evil man, Rolf Harris, is trying to evade lynch justice at the hands of right-thinking people by disguising himself as pop legend Gary Glitter, according to the News of the World.

Harris, an unrepentant pet-molester who rose to fame in the sixties, is revealed in the respected paper to be a sad, lonely figure, with a sinister goatee beard and a sick, perverted mop of greying hair who mocks public censure by cynically continuing to eat, drink and breathe.

The sicko pervert began his assault on decency by shamelessly singing about two little boys playing with each other on a battlefield. He then appeared on the nation's TV screens, painting suggestively in front of innocent little children on a huge canvas. He was also notorious for frequenting swimming pools full of children - with a camera crew, which he used to record his vile exploits - where he got his disgusting kicks by inviting unsuspecting youngsters to jump on him.

Evil Harris then changed his tactics, preying instead on vulnerable young people whose rabbits were ill, sidling up to them in veterinary surgeons' waiting rooms and worming his wicked way into the tearful kids' confidence by professing deep sympathy for their pets' plight.

In the 1990s the monster reinvented himself yet again, releasing a string of cover versions calculated to appeal to preteens, such as Stairway to Heaven. Harris was frequently to be found in students' unions up and down the country, parading himself shamelessly in front of children as young as 18.

"Make no mistake, Rolf Harris is the biggest threat to children the world has ever seen," said an editorial in the News of the World written in vivid red crayon. "We urge our highly-intelligent readers to gather up firewood, hunt down this pathetic creature and burn him alive - preferably recording his agonised screams with a decent-quality camcorder although mobile phone footage will do at a pinch. We will then use it to sell more papers before handing it over to the police, prior to running a sensational feature on morons taking the law into their own hands."

We Need Cyber Control, US General Tells House Sub-Committee

The Pentagon has identified a need for a digital warfare force, says Lt Gen Keith Alexander, head of America's National Security Agency, in a report to the House Armed Services Committee.

The Cyber Command general - who said that the prominent handles on either side of his head were a top-secret communications device keeping him in permanent contact with his department - warned the government that Osama bin Laden was just the type of embittered loner likely to enter into a sinister pact with the Daleks, enabling him to download the entire internet in seconds.

"I urge the government to fund the development of a digital warfare force to counter this unprecedented threat," intoned the general. "America needs an unstoppable army of what I choose to call 'cyber men'. Now if you'll just put these headphones on, I'd like to make a short audio presentation which will change your minds forever, as well as correcting certain weaknesses."

Representatives came out of the briefing later and, speaking in unison, told the nation: "The general is correct. All conflict is caused by emotion. You will become like us. All enemies will be deleted."

Along with Lt Gen Alexander, the converted politicians marched off to brief President Obama, who has already ordered a review of cyber security.

"He will become like us," said the blank-faced general. "He is the logical choice for the position of Cyberleader. The cyber race is accustomed to taking its orders from a machine-being with a black face."

The Life Of St Margaret

The whole of the land is heartily called to celebrate the XXXth anniversary of the accession of a humble grocer's daughter to sainthood. Hearken unto the tale of this heroic lady, and mark it well.

In the dark age of Britain, which is called MCMLXXIX, terrifying giant unions stalked the land. Our timid ancestors cowered in the streets behind piled heaps of unburied corpses, while millions of bloated unemployeds laughed and taunted them from the unassailable walls of their council castles.

But one plucky woman did steadfastly refuse to live in fear. Riding up on her shining Tory steed, with one mighty blow St Margaret lopped off the head of the ineffectual king Sunny Jim. To resounding cheers from the peasants, she rode forth into the treasure cave of the unions and smote all their assets; whereupon they all did lay down and roll over in their haste to have their tummies tickled.

The very next day, St Margaret faced a terrible decision. A dust-covered herald rode in to tell her that the evil Aarghentine barbarians had seized the distant, holy Land of Falk, which nobody had heard of until then. St Margaret's old friend Ronald the Jester capered around her counselling caution, saying he was sure that wise heads would surely prevail. But St Margaret - still vexed by the ever-swelling ranks of unemployeds - espied an opportunity for crusading glory, and so did send her peasant army south in a coracle to recapture the Land of Falk from the Aarghies.

Much blood was spilled - by the grace of God, none of it belonging to St Margaret - and soon Stanley, the cantankerous hermit of Falk, was free again to go about his business of molesting heathen sheep. The nation rejoiced - rejoiced, and rose up as one to proclaim the wisdom and bravery of St Margaret unto the world. This, then, was the First Test of St Margaret, which she did pass with her colours flying.

But the unemployed still remained in their council castles, growing larger day by day; and St Margaret was sore troubled in her mind (although nobody noticed this at the time).

Then one night, St Margaret recalled a vision of her childhood. When she was but a little girl, in the famine-ridden Years of XL, she recalled how her merchant father Robert the Ealdorman would sometimes, as a joke, put a sign outside his humble stall saying 'Ha'penny Off Tripe - First XXV Customer's Onlie'. How heartily she would laugh, she remembered, as the ragged peasants forsook their patient, queueing ways and wrestled and pulled each other's hair in the fight to get to the counter.

Awakening inspired from her dream, with alacrity St Margaret did issue a proclamation throughout the land to the councils, ordering them to sell the castles to the unemployeds for a half a groat. The craven councillors rent their garments in despair and said unto St Margaret, "But when the castles are all snapped up, coated with the dash of pebble by their occupants and in haste sold on to the villainous Bastard of Yup for many a guinea, where then will the poor of the parish abide?" "Exactly," smiled St Margaret; and the councillors went their several ways, scratching their heads in wonder.

And lo, it came to pass that, ere the year was out, the only castles remaining to the councils were tumbledown sties unfit even for swine. And the unemployeds were now shivering in rented sties; yet they had more shiny coins than they knew how to count, i.e. a couple. And this gave St Margaret another idea.

Soon St Margaret was appearing in the market squares of every town, dressed in the garb of a giant yellow bird, and promising the landless yokelry that if they purchased one of her feathers, then a miracle would be sure to happen. And thus it came to pass that, with the waxing and waning of the moon, many peasants had exchanged their first guinea for a treasured feather, which they worshipped with simple devotion each night.

"May God blind me, it worked," said St Margaret to herself. And she told the yeomen also that one called Sid was moving privily among them, to whom they must deliver some kind of message. And so St Margaret's name was held in ever greater esteem, as the gulled peasants granted her their other guinea.

But, marvellous to tell, the Earl of Stockton was seen to roam abroad one night from his sepulchral tomb, and appeared to St Margaret in her counting-house. And this apparition did say unto her, "Thou ghastly woman, thou art selling off the family silver." But St Margaret was unmoved, and replied that the new tinfoil tableware was every bit as shiny, and verily also less troublesome to clean. And so the shade departed, with a sigh, upon the wind. Such was the Second Test of St Margaret.

But presently an ugly storm settled over St Margaret from the dismal West lands, where wondrous flying toys were made. It was called forth by the dashing Michael of Heseltine - whom St Margaret had raised up, from his lowly origins as a rich landowner, to sit at her feet to give her somewhere to rest them.

Even as the weird lands of the West fell into disrepair, Michael urged his patron to grant them as a boon to her nominal ally, the Holy Roman Empire. But St Margaret seized her dread handbag, and told her court that her loyal friend Ronald the Jester was an avid collector of flying toys of divers kinds; and long had he fixed his covetous eye on the West lands. Hearing this, Michael did grow sore with wrath; and, with a disdainful flick of his glorious golden mane, strode forth into the wilderness and was swallowed up in the mists. And henceforth no more was heard of him, at least for a while. And this was St Margaret's Third Test.

"Verily, the hand of the Lord is shielding me from all harm," proclaimed St Margaret. But she spoke too soon. For her cutlery had all fallen apart.

In her hubris, St Margaret did then issue a decree across the land. And in this proclamation was there announced a tax, upon every head. And now Michael - even he whom she had forsaken - rode out of the wastelands to proclaim that it seemed a bit unfair that he, a rich man, should have to pay no more for his head than a poor swineherd. And, although Michael had never heretofore been heard to say much in favour of the swineherds, yet they did rally to his call and march upon St Margaret in a mighty peasant revolt.

Although the loyal sheriffs and their constables kept the peace by cracking open many heads (no discount available), St Margaret now became sore troubled by a dream in which a dead sheep spoke against her. And when she awoke, she found that it was true; and the dead sheep was challenging her to a duel, along with the rebellious Michael.

So it came to pass that St Margaret donned her blue armour and rode out before the eyes of the nation, to joust against her traitorous underlings. And when the dust had settled, the unseated Michael was calling for physick - afflicted as he was with a broken lance up his privy part; the unwholesome semblance of life was gone from the sheep; and St Margaret was even now victorious. But the great crowd had all departed. And a voice spake from a smoke-filled tent, saying: "St Margaret! The Lords are calling you to their side. Do thyself a favour, for the sake of our party, and heed their call."

And thus it happened that a humble squire named John, who was found asleep in a ditch, succeeded St Margaret. And hence the kingdom fell to ruin.

But a young boy named St Anthony had been watching all this, with his pet basilisk Gordon by his side. And thereupon did he vow to learn by rote all of the lessons of St Margaret. Especially the last bit. And he looked down at his basilisk, and smiled.

I'm Milibandy, Fly Me

Foreign Secretary Miliband One is to have a jet plane all to himself, according to an announcement from the Foreign Office.

Official government policy is for ministers to use commercial flights wherever possible. However, this was proving difficult, said a senior mandarin, as airline passengers were reluctant to travel on the same aircraft as the Foreign Secretary, in case he bit them with his rows of needle-like teeth.

Where commercial flights are not suitable, normal practice is for a minister to call on the services of the RAF's 32 Squadron. However, due what the government describes as "changes in the RAF", hard-pressed ground crews are not always able to bolt together a working aircraft from bits of their ageing BAe 125 and 146 fleet in time for the minister's requirements.

The Foreign Office says it studied several commercial alternatives before deciding that, since Prime Minister Gordon Brown had now apparently overcome his disdain for Tony Blair's prediliction for dashing around the world pretending to be important, any appearances on the world stage by the Foreign Secretary were now merely a distracting irrelevance.

"So we've given him an Airfix kit," said the spokesman. "We decided that a Concorde would be appropriate. Unfortunately, the Foreign Secretary squeezed all the glue into his hair while his private secretary was out making a cup of tea, so the wheels keep falling off. And he accidentally swallowed the nose cone."

Meanwhile the Foreign Secretary's backup clone, Miliband Two, is reported to have thrown a tantrum and locked himself in the lavatory at the Department of Energy and Climate Change, Unconfirmed reports say he is refusing to come out until the Prime Minister buys him a Scalextric set.

Bermussoconi Preoccupied With Women Hotter Than Me, Claims Droopy Wife

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Bermussoconi's milf, Veronica, is filing for divorce - according to La Stampa Collector's Weekly, the only media source in Italy not owned by Mr Bermussoconi.

Mrs Bermussoconi, 52, is apparently furious that her billionaire husband personally selected his People of Freedom Party's all-female list of Euro-election candidates from the ranks of television presenters and former actresses, largely on the basis of cup size - a selection process that Veronica, a former actress, describes as "shamelessly trashy."

This is not the first time the crooked-tycoon-turned-crooked-politician's domestic arguments have spilled over into the public arena. Mrs Bermussoconi wrote a stinging letter to a newspaper two years ago, accusing her husband of flirting with starlets at a party - for which he later made a grovelling public apology, after pulling up his trousers.

Mrs Bermussoconi is also said to be upset that her 72-year-old husband attended the 18th birthday of a political ally's well-stacked daughter, yet failed to turn up to his own children's coming-of-age parties, presumably in deference to Italy's incest laws.

Meanwhile, an editorial in Il Giornale - owned, coincidentally, by Mr Bermussoconi's brother - accused the philandering Prime Minister's estranged milf of harming not only him, but the entire government of Italy with her sagging breasts, crow's feet and fake hair colouring.