Saturday, 20 June 2009

Ah, Gerraway, Y' Wee Shites, Shouts Prime Minister From Park Bench

Gordon Brown has spent the day sitting on a bench in Soho Square, off Oxford Street, accosting passers-by with a constant barrage of incoherent, self-pitying whinges bursting with foul language.

The PM was ejected from 10 Downing Street in the small hours of the morning by a burly policy wonk, and told to come back when he'd sobered up. Waving a half-empty bottle of cheap Scotch, Mr Brown hurled abuse at the door as it was slammed in his face. The police officer on duty pointed out that drinking in the streets was prohibited and attempted to confiscate the bottle, but the enraged prime minister smashed the bottle over his protector's head, claimed parliamentary privilege and ran away.

He was later chased out of a convenience store in Central London with a bottle of White Lightning hidden inside his jacket, before collapsing on a bench in Soho Square.

"Ahhh fuckit," rambled the Prime Minister to a little old lady as she fed the pigeons, "A' cude wauk awa' frae a' this tamorra, d'ye ken whit a'm fucken sayin'? A'm nae intes... inrets - fuckit - a' cudnae gie a shite aboot bein' in power lahk... bastuds... d'ye hae a poon' f'ra cuppa tea, hen? Aye, see you then, ye manky Sassenach snotter - ah fuckit, a've pessed masel'."

Mr Brown then took several swigs from his bottle as Metropolitan officers stood off, debating whether or not they had the authority to arrest the leader of the nation. Meanwhile, as the city came to life, several homeless residents of Centrepoint complained that the prime minister was lowering the tone of their preferred daytime haunt.

"A'm no' as greet a praesen'er o' enfer... infae... shite - or commi... canoonic... aw bollocks as a'd laek, see?" slurred the PM to a party of passing Japanese tourists, as he lowered his trousers to crap in a flower bed. "Hey! A' cud be a focken' teecha, y'unnerstaun? A' ken ivra friggen theng, a' tell ye, a've got an IQ a'll hae ye knaw. Giz a few bob, g'wan... Ah ballocks, a've shat in me crackas."

Just after eleven o'clock, Lord Mandelson arrived with a bottle of Glenfiddich and several men with large butterfly nets. After a brief skirmish in which the prime minister tried to lamp the Business Secretary and snatch the bottle, he was captured in a net, put in the back of an ambulance and driven away to an undisclosed location, believed to be either Chequers or the Priory clinic.

Apple CEO Undergoes Cool Transplant

Apple has today revealed that its chief executive, Steve Jobs, underwent transplant surgery several weeks ago.

Mr Jobs, who co-founded the computer company in 1976, is understood to have had his soul removed and replaced with a cold block of granite.

"When you think Apple, you think Steve Jobs," said a cool dude spokesman. "To many of our customers, Apple stands for stylish design, instant street cred and a feeling of superiority. However, the fact is that Steve's soul began withering away to nothing as early as 1997, when we threw him a huge salary to tempt him back and give people the impression that we weren't really being run by a bunch of corporate suits. As we've relentlessly reduced what used to be a quality alternative to beige boxes to nothing more than a flashy PC with a garish, headache-inducing operating system and an eye-watering mark-up, Steve has been there to reassure you all that you are the creative elite."

"Just when some of you were starting to suss it, along came Steve with the iPod, a wonky white hard drive with a headphone socket that wasn't any different from any other MP3 player, except it forced you to pay through the nose for our iTunes downloads," he went on. "Then we fixed a couple of the bugs and sold it to you again. Then we made a smaller one that was so attractively thin it snapped if you put it in your pocket, and you still loved us. On the back of that, we relaunched our sluggish laptops by making a big issue of the fact that they were an incredibly stylish 1mm thinner than anything ever seen before - and when the batteries exploded in flames, you just went out and bought a new one. Clever, clever you. All your friends are in awe of you.

"Now Steve has managed to flog you three iPhones, just by launching them with half an operating system - and not once, but twice. You're all so hip and trendy, it hurts. I'm sure you all wish him a speedy recovery - and we hope that, with the last vestiges of his soul ruthlessly excised by the surgeon's knife, he will continue to pull the wool over your eyes for many years to come."

However, it was later reported by doctors that Mr Jobs' new granite soul had been found to have several chips and cracks, and would be replaced by slightly-improved, thinner versions on Tuesday and Friday.

Friday, 19 June 2009

Much-Calmed Iranians Thank Ayatollah For Kindly Telling Them What To Think

Iran's Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khameneiac, has held a mass public rally, urging disgruntled voters to respect the ballots or, failing that, to respect the bullets currently being loaded into magazines by itchy-fingered Revolutionary Guards.

In a speech addressed directly to thousands of his supporters, who had been bussed into Tehran University from hardline strongholds outside the capital, the Ayatollah said that Britain was "the most evil" of the country's enemies, accusing Gordon Brown of organising unrest in Iran. The British government later summoned the Iranian ambassador to point out that Gordon Brown was obviously incapable of organising the opening of his own flies before taking a leak, let alone fomenting mass protests in a hostile country thousands of miles away.

Ayatollah Khameneiac then told his mindslaves that Allah had revealed to him the evil machinations of American president Barack Obama, in which millions of CIA agents had been parachuted into Iran to vote for Mir Hussein Mousavi. He also accused the Pentagon of developing an anti-Islamic smart bomb that would make the burqa transparent, rendering Iranian men incapable of doing anything but drooling with perverted lust and desperately clutching their trousers.

Throughout the Supreme Dalek's speech, defeated candidate Mr Mousavi sat a few feet from his sworn rival, the victorious President Ahmedinejad, furtively scanning the hall for possible exits.

Meanwhile, an Iranian woman who asked whether she might one day be invited to vote was democratically beaten to death by her loving owner.

Total Bastards

Bosses at oil giant Total have sacked 647 uncouth strikers at their Lindsay refinery in Lincolnshire, a week into the unofficial strike that has halted the glorious construction of a desulphurisation plant at the site, and invited the sacked vermin to grovel nicely on their hands and knees if they want to ever work again.

"These so-called strikes are the work of bomb-throwing anarchist troublemakers, you mark my words," said a gentleman in a top hat who spoke for the board of directors. "I wouldn't be surprised if they weren't all in the pay of the Kaiser, or the Tsar of all the Russias. I shall be having words with the local magistrate, with a view to having them and their families thrown into the workhouse forthwith."

Sympathy strikes have broken out across the country, in response to what is perceived by the uneducated masses as the management's high-handed attitude.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sur," said a flat-capped prole who looked like he hadn't seen a bath in his life, "But the lads 'as arst fer arbliterated torks wi' the management, wot's bin turned dahn flat. 'Corse, they knaws as 'ow there's loads wi'owt work, wot'll be brung in ter replace them as've bin sacked. T'int fair, a'll tell thee straight. Oh, surr, if only there were some kine o' perlitical party wot reppersented the 'opes an' dreams o' the ordin'ry workin' clarses. But a'll not see it in moy lifetime."

"I say there, arrest that man!" said a manager, with a gold chain hanging from his waistcoat.

The government refused to comment on the strike, other than to say it was entirely a matter for the company to treat its servants as it saw fit.

F1 Fingers Hover Over The Self-Destruct Button

Motor racing fans are looking forward to the next thrilling instalment of the Formula One legal season, with another exciting courtroom battle between the teams and the FIA looming.

The battle for the championship hotted up as eight out of the ten teams mounted their strongest challenge yet to current leaders Max Mosley and Bernie Ecclestone.

Up to now, nothing has been able to touch Mosley and Ecclestone's winning partnership of money, arrogance and contempt. However, with determined opposition from such former enemies as McLaren and Ferrari working together on a package of deals with the world's TV companies to run their own breakaway championship, the leading partnership looks set to be overtaken by events and left stuck in the gravel.

"The FIA team is using its tried-and-tested legal threat, as usual," said commentator Martin Brundle, "But it's looking increasingly like old technology. There's just too much money floating round the law courts these days - both the teams and the FIA acknowledge that. But they just can't seem to agree on the answer, which is probably to tell Hitley to stick poison-dwarf Ecclestone up his arse and fuck off to his Nazi dungeon."

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Health Nazis Target Drivers With 380mm Rocket Shells

Britain's new Smokebannführer, Professor Terence Stephenson, has called on the government to issue shoot-to-kill orders on parents who light up while driving with children in their cars.

Resplendent in his shiny new black uniform, the newly-appointed Chancellor of the Reichskollege of Paediatrics and Child Health issued his strident call from the commander's hatch of a Stürmtiger tank, parked on a bridge overlooking the M25.

"Achtung! Der vellgeknöwenfact ist zat der schmökers' childrens spend ze brief, stunted lifes coughing up der own trachaeae, before expiring in der sticky explosion of tar und lungs before reaching puberty," he screamed, firing off a huge rocket-propelled shell into the face of a van driver holding a cigarette out of the window. "Parents who force ze liddel childrens to breathe der zweitehandeschmökens might as vell pour ze reeking contents of ze strassbandsbrazier down zer tender throats."

"Make no mistake, schmöker schwein," he continued. "Today I haf your car in my sights! Tomorrow, you can expect ze knock on ze door in ze middle of ze night. Childrens! Do your parents own ein zippo, hein? It is your duty to report zem to me at vunce! Anyvun who asks to see evidence proving ze existence of der zweitehandgeschmökenskrankheit is der traitor! Zey, zer family und zer friends vill be herded into ze nearest church und burned alive - zey vill zen be fined for atmospheric pollutions. Resistance is useless! If you gif up der schmökes, you vill last for a thousand years! Health Hitler!"

A 10 Downing Street spokesman commented: "The Prime Minister is most interested in the Reichspresident's suggestion, as it chimes with his natural instinct to ruthlessly track down and kill joy wherever it is to be found. There is a problem, however, as it also clashes with his other natural instinct, which is to clobber people with tax, tax and more tax."

"Have you got a telephone?" he added. "That'll be 50p a month. Welcome to the digital revolution, suckers."

Regulators' Failure To Notice City's Wild Gambling Spree Proves Infallibility of System, Says Bad Liar

There is nothing at all wrong with a regulatory system that allowed the UK's financial institutions to bankrupt the entire country, saddling two generations of Britons with a mountain of debt, says Alistair Darling.

"The tripartite regulatory system designed by the world's leading economist, Gordon Brown, which comprises the Treasury, the Bank of England and the Financial Services Authority, is the absolute pinnacle of perfect infallibility," explained the red-faced Chancellor of the Exchequer. "The blame for this terrible fiasco lies solely and squarely on the shoulders of the reckless bloody idiots who ran the banks, and no regulator could possibly have observed that the sheer, naked greed of these twisted, avaricious goblins might be leading to fiscal armageddon."

"With hindsight, perhaps, a braver man than me might think that the regulators could have asked harder questions, like 'what the fuck is a Structured Investment Vehicle?' or 'surely you're just plucking big numbers out of thin air, aren't you?' he continued, casting furtive glances over his shoulder. "But you didn't hear that from me. The official line is that Gordon Brown is definitely not some kind of economic fuckwit who couldn't be trusted to watch grass grow without utterly ballsing it up."

As a black cloud billowed into the press conference, denoting the imminent arrival of the prime minister, Mr Darling quickly mopped his sweating brow and gabbled, "And so it was all the fault of Sir Fred Goodwin. Who on earth put that incompetent Scottish arsehole in charge?"

At this point Mr Brown entered the room, glared at the cringing Chancellor - who yelped and cowered behind the podium - then turned and stamped off, muttering "Et tu, Darling?"

Tuesday, 16 June 2009

BA to Beat Recession With Slavery

Demonstrating an innovative approach to staff costs in the face of the ongoing recession, British Airways bosses have emailed the airline's 30,000-strong workforce with an invitation to enslave themselves voluntarily.

Staff are being urged to take anything from a week to a month - either as unpaid leave or, if they prefer, carrying out their usual duties for no pay.

"Dear colleague," goes the message, "You may have noticed the appalling losses we posted last month, which was due entirely to unforeseen factors beyond our control, such as cash-strapped corporate accounts departments becoming somewhat intolerant of their executives whooping it up in business class.

"In these challenging times, why not help British Airways return to profit by doing your job for NOTHING for a few weeks? Of course, you can opt to just sit on your arse, counting your toes, in return for no pay. But imagine the warm feeling you will experience as you dish out free champagne to our remaining fat-cat customers as they cash in their air miles, or when you're struggling with crosswinds as you try to avoid parking your crammed 737 in the sea at the end of Tenerife's notoriously short runway - knowing that YOU are doing your bit to give our suffering shareholders the dividends they deserve!

"We would like to reassure you that the generous donation of your labours will not go unnoticed later in the year, when we start dishing out the P45s."

Leading by example, chief executive Willie Walsh has kindly offered to work for nothing in July, hoping that the remaining £670,000 of his salary will somehow tide him over.

Sorry, Our Shelves Are Fully Stacked Now, Say Supermarkets

One young person in ten is not in employment, education or training, according to stark figures released today by the government.

With unemployment predicted to rise by hundreds of thousands a month for the rest of the year, the prospects for Britain's youth has not looked so bleak since 1916, when they were called up en masse to be slaughtered on the Western Front.

The so-called 'neets' - an acronym representing 'Not Employable, Ever - Tough' - have been turned away from bulging universities, where students in overcrowded halls are facing the prospect of hot-bunking from September; while Tesco and Sainsbury's report that, since the ratio of shelf-stackers to shoppers is now 4:1, they are unable to fit any more low-paid staff into their aisles.

"Basically, the production lines of Britain's schools are still spewing out vast quantities of youngsters with GSCEs and A-levels coming out of their ears," said employment minister Jim Knight, "But we've run out of places to stash them. Even training schemes are no longer a solution, because employers have laid off all the trainers."

One potential option floated by the Department for Work and Pensions is to open jobcentres in the schools themselves, so ex-pupils never get to leave the campus. However, education chiefs warn that such quick fixes are doomed to failure as, with the playing fields sold off long ago, there is very little space available for school-leaver storage.

Several newspapers have called for a bloody good war, but the Ministry of Defence poured cold water on the suggestion, pointing out that it didn't even have enough equipment to go round now, and there was no money to buy any more. Recruitment chiefs have, however, been instructed to investigate the possibility of asking the young to bring their own guns and knives.

Monday, 15 June 2009

Brown Orders In-Depth Iraq Inquiry

Britain's long-awaited inquiry into the Iraq war will take place, but at the bottom of a flooded mineshaft somewhere in Derbyshire, announced Gordon Brown today.

Born optimists, wishful thinkers and inhabitants of Cloud Cuckoo Land had hoped that the inquiry would take place in public, perhaps in Wembley football stadium or Trafalgar Square.

However, the Prime Minister helpfully pointed out that government inquiries such as this were boring and tedious in the extreme, and great swathes of the public might very well fall into comas so deep that they would almost certainly stop breathing and die.

"We will hand-pick a small group of experts to investigate the run up to, and conduct of, the war in Iraq and the subsequent eight-year occupation by British troops," he told reporters. "As the inquiry will take place deep in a flooded mine at a pressure of several dozen atmospheres, and in total darkness, I expect to appoint a panel consisting of a sea cucumber, one of those squids that lights up and a terrifying deep-sea fish that's basically just a tail with teeth at the front like knives."

"Witnesses will be lowered down the mine one at at time, in a watertight barrel with an armoured air hose," he continued. "If they can interpret the random flashes of the squid as morse-coded questions, they will answer them to the best of their ability. The hideous fish with a mouthful of razors will undoubtedly help to focus their minds, as the longer they stay down there the greater the risk that it will chew through the barrel. If they stall the committee with long, evasive answers, they are likely to be reduced to bloody jam by the subsequent inrush of water at a pressure of several tonnes per square inch."

When it has finished considering - or eating - the witnesses and their evidence, the committee will then be dragged to the surface in large nets, where they will give their verdict if they have managed not to explode during their rapid ascent.

"It is in the interests of national security that nobody ever finds out that we invaded a sovereign state, reduced its citizens to medieval destitution and made our country a prime target for terrorists for no better reason than because George W Bush and his creepy neo-con friends wanted us to," said Mr Brown.

"Bollocks," he added.

Fair And Balanced Western Reporters Cover Growing Tide of Fury Among Tehran's Decent, Civilised Urbanites

The democracy-loving nations of the world watched with mounting glee as civil war threatened to engulf the streets of Iran, days after the rogue state's presidential election was blatantly and self-evidently rigged by the West-hating loony incumbent, Madmad Madmadinemad.

Crowds of Western journalists linked arms and marched up to law enforcement officials, demanding to be hit repeatedly with batons in front of their cameramen, as supporters of the slightly less barmy loser, Mir Hossein Mousavi, thronged the streets of Tehran claiming that the election was rigged.

"Tehran is a powder keg which could explode into telegenic scenes of mob violence," said a BBC reporter hopefully, giving the finger to a nearby policeman. "Everyone in the city who speaks English is saying that President Madmadinemad is so isolated and unpopular that even he didn't vote for himself. Come on, you stupid jumped-up wog, call yourself a copper? I took your mother up the arse and she begged for more, now crack me over the head like you mean it."

"The supporters of Mir Hossein Mousavi say he would have introduced a Western-style democracy, with full civil rights for everybody, within minutes of taking up the presidency which has been so blatantly stolen from him," announced a Channel 4 News correspondent. "He would have broken the mullahs' grip on power by forcing them to take part in a humiliating Big Brother-style reality show, replaced Iran's nuclear enrichment program with wind and wave energy schemes, joined the Eurovision network and allowed women to walk down the streets topless if they wanted to. Excuse me, officer, you have the penis of a tiny dog, would you tap me lightly on the head with your truncheon please?"

Reporters in the vast hinterlands of Iran, where the majority of the population live - and tend, as in Western nations, to be deeply conservative supporters of the status quo - were conspicuous by their absence, however.

"I'm not going out into the sticks, not on your bloody life," said an ITN journalist, wiping a small, but suitably bloody, lump on his forehead with a handkerchief. "First of all, there's a serious lack of decent hotels with adequate lavatory facilities, but mainly because that's where all those backward, Westerner-hating headcases live. Have you any idea how many of those crazy, Madmadinemad-loving bastards are out there? Bloody millions, I tell you."

Sunday, 14 June 2009

Everyone But Us Honoured

You and I are the only people not to be honoured by Gordon Brown - in a desperate attempt to buy himself some friends - in the Queen's Birthday Honours List, published yesterday.

You missed out on a meaningless medal because I didn't nominate you, and I missed out because apparently it's considered "bad form" to nominate oneself.

And you sure as hell didn't nominate me.

"I am, naturally, moved to tears by the knighting of Christopher Lee's pointy teeth," I told myself in an exclusive interview with the Nev Filter. "And I'm sure Delia Smith richly deserves her CBE for telling us all how to boil an egg. But I can't help thinking that, although it is the satirists who alone keep this country from erupting into mass civil strife by providing a much-needed safety valve to diffuse the towering resentment of the disenfranchised masses, yet again I have been completely overlooked by the humourless establishment drones who really run this fatuous charade."

"I blame my readers," I continued bitterly. "If just one of the literally 141 people who claim to read my blog occasionally had written to the Prime Minister singing my praises, I'd almost certainly be on the train to Buckingham Palace right now, wearing my best trilby, ready to give the Queen the benefit of my well-informed opinions. Well it's their loss, not mine. If they think I'm going to remember them next time round, they can forget it, the ungrateful bastards."

"Go on, what about an MBE?" I added hopefully. "There must be a spare one lying about somewhere."

The Wrong Stuff

The capital breathed a collective sigh of relief yesterday, as a large contingent of the Royal Air Force somehow managed to fly over central London without a single collision or mid-air explosion.

The flypast featured self-combusting Nimrods, over-revving Chinooks, wing-shedding Hercules, Typhoons which wobble alarmingly if fitted with the gun they were designed for, and a rusting Apache which had been sitting in a field for four years. As panic-stricken Londoners ran for cover, the ceremony was rounded off by the Red Arrows, who somehow managed not to collide with each other for once.

"I wasn't too worried by the Battle of Britain Flight," said one citizen, cowering in the safety of a tube station. "After all, they've had seventy years to sort out any problems with the Spitfire, the Hurricane and the Lancaster. It's everything built since the war that scares the living crap out of me."

"Tell you what, I'm bladdy proud of the Queen, though," said an elderly, shaking Cockney. "After all, she kin remember them doodlebugs back in 1944, when you ran like fuck if you 'eard a jet engine overhead. Just like today, innit? And yet, Gawd bless 'er, she was stood there like she dint 'ave a care in the world. She's an inspiration, that woman."

"Cawse, she could just be deaf as a stone," she reflected.

The finest traditions of needless self-sacrifice for which the air arm is famous were, however, gloriously upheld barely 24 hours later when an RAF Volunteer Reserve pilot - with almost the entire bloody sky to himself - decided to fly his Tutor trainer into the one tiny bit of airspace already occupied by a glider, killing himself and his child passenger in a virtual carbon copy of a similarly-avoidable crash in February between two RAF trainers.