US President Barack Obama made history today, by receiving two Nobel Peace Prizes within 24 hours of each other.
The Nobel Committee honoured the "deeply humbled" president for achieving everlasting peace on earth thanks to his tireless efforts to deliver a string of vaguely aspirational speeches about talking to other nations about nuclear weapons.
"Previous leaders of the free world have always got bogged down in the detail of actually having talks," said a spokesman for the committee. "As soon as you sit down around the table, somebody wants something in return, and somebody else says they'll only do this if everybody else does that, it all breaks down in arguments and you're right back to square one. Obama's genius lies in realising that it is possible to take the short cut to world peace by not actually having those pointless talks at all. Only by not doing anything can you change the world. Brilliant."
"And, of course, he's not George W Bush," he added. "That's almost worth a prize in itself."
Meanwhile, hippies around the world expressed their shock and outrage at rampant US imperialism as NASA unexpectedly declared war on the moon by bombing it in an unprovoked sneak attack.
"Zoicks! They totally like blew the moon to pieces, man," said Shaggy, an organic mystery machine operator with self-inflicted dreads, who claimed he didn't speak for any particular group because everyone's opinion was like as valid as everyone else's yeah except some people's were shit. "It's like they fired a fucking Tranny van at the fucking moon at two million miles an hour. No shit, man, the Yanks blew a fuck-off great hole in the moon's karma, you know what I'm saying? It'll be your garden next, man, I tell you. Fuuuck."
"Rooby wooby woo," agreed his dog, speaking from the end of a piece of string.
The spent rocket stage which was actually crashed into the moon was followed by a probe seeking to detect the presence of ice particles in the cloud of dust hurled miles into the moon's virtually non-existent atmosphere by the impact, unhindered by any significant gravity field.
"It's like worse than Hiroshima yeah," screamed Moonchild Starflower, an anarcho-folkist aura decorator who sincerely believes she is powered by crystals. "The sick murdering bastards. Have some holistic cider, man, this stuff's well wicked."
When the rising tide of cannabis-addled protest reached the White House, President Obama wasted no time in declaring a worldwide war on anarchy and free-thinking radicalism, mobilising the remaining bits of the US Army not currently engaged in fighting abstract concepts in Iraq and Afghanistan and putting them on standby as soon as intelligence experts in the Pentagon had pinpointed the rogue state of mind responsible for the increasing outbreaks of twaddle that threatened world security.
He was immediately awarded a second Nobel Peace Prize for promising to rid the world of the fear of soap forever.
"I love the smell of Palmolive in the morning," said a peace-loving general.
Friday 9 October 2009
Murdoch Demands Annexation of News
Rupert Murdoch has warned internet search engine providers that the world supply of outrageously-slanted news will be cut off imminently, unless they give him all their money immediately.
"Words cannot describe the physical pain I experience when I think that, every second of every day, somebody somewhere in the world is finding something out which may significantly affect their life - and yet I'm not making a single cent out of it," stormed the media tycoon, whose personal wealth is estimated at $7.5bn. "I pay 44,000 flunkies worldwide to superimpose my personal bias onto the press releases we receive every day. I want my cut."
Competing new manipulators Associated Press were quick to echo Mr Murdoch's demands, saying: "Rupert Murdoch is nothing less than a rampaging, avaricious tyrant who personifies the corrosive abuse of power without responsibility. Governments stand or fall at his merciless whim. We condemn utterly his unabashed grab for the ownership of truth itself, and entirely endorse his laudable sentiments. This item: $2000. Payment due within 28 days of publication."
A spokesman for Google, one of the search engines which is cruelly depriving Mr Murdoch of a decent living, said that the company's board of directors would give due consideration to the megalomaniac tycoon's demands after they had stooped laughing and climbed back into their chairs.
"Gosh, if News Corporation and AP stop supplying us with their twisted rewrites of the press releases they get from politicians, government officials, corporate PR departments and marketing companies, I guess we'd have to just ask them all to add us to their cc lists and email the stuff direct to us," he said. "I don't know how the hell our software systems would cope with posting information to our news pages, if it came straight from the source without a coating of right-wing prejudice added by the lackeys of some profiteering middle-man. I guess people might just be forced to start figuring out a few things for themselves, if the likes of Rupert Murdoch were to carry out their threat to stop telling them what to think."
Mr Murdoch was unavailable for further comment, a spokesman saying he was busy in the kitchen baking a tasty pie full of words from his earlier speech.
"I'm sure he'll get back to you after he's eaten it," he added humbly.
"Words cannot describe the physical pain I experience when I think that, every second of every day, somebody somewhere in the world is finding something out which may significantly affect their life - and yet I'm not making a single cent out of it," stormed the media tycoon, whose personal wealth is estimated at $7.5bn. "I pay 44,000 flunkies worldwide to superimpose my personal bias onto the press releases we receive every day. I want my cut."
Competing new manipulators Associated Press were quick to echo Mr Murdoch's demands, saying: "Rupert Murdoch is nothing less than a rampaging, avaricious tyrant who personifies the corrosive abuse of power without responsibility. Governments stand or fall at his merciless whim. We condemn utterly his unabashed grab for the ownership of truth itself, and entirely endorse his laudable sentiments. This item: $2000. Payment due within 28 days of publication."
A spokesman for Google, one of the search engines which is cruelly depriving Mr Murdoch of a decent living, said that the company's board of directors would give due consideration to the megalomaniac tycoon's demands after they had stooped laughing and climbed back into their chairs.
"Gosh, if News Corporation and AP stop supplying us with their twisted rewrites of the press releases they get from politicians, government officials, corporate PR departments and marketing companies, I guess we'd have to just ask them all to add us to their cc lists and email the stuff direct to us," he said. "I don't know how the hell our software systems would cope with posting information to our news pages, if it came straight from the source without a coating of right-wing prejudice added by the lackeys of some profiteering middle-man. I guess people might just be forced to start figuring out a few things for themselves, if the likes of Rupert Murdoch were to carry out their threat to stop telling them what to think."
Mr Murdoch was unavailable for further comment, a spokesman saying he was busy in the kitchen baking a tasty pie full of words from his earlier speech.
"I'm sure he'll get back to you after he's eaten it," he added humbly.
Thursday 8 October 2009
Bag of Bones Discovered in Pile of Rubbish At Tory Conference
A bag of bones unearthed at the Tory Party conference has been identified as the mortal remains of Ivan Cameron, a child born with cerebral palsy who died aged 6. The bones were found in a pile of old rubbish spoken by David Cameron in his closing speech.
"What a tragic fate for poor Ivan," said one shocked observer. "Not only to be born into a family with a history of Conservatism tainting their genes, but for his bones to be uncovered by his callous father and shamelessly waved around in front of TV cameras, just days after he declared war on the disabled. It's sickening. I hope they do the decent thing and bury him soon."
Mr Cameron's rallying speech also drew fully on his background in the PR and marketing industry - urging voters not to dwell on the actual impoverished misery they face when they wake up in the morning, but to picture instead a rosy, aspirational picture of Britain after the recession, in which everyone will drive their convertible along desert roads and traffic-free streets to a detached dream home with a living room large enough to swallow several three-piece suites and not be completely dominated by a 50-inch TV, a vast, beautifully-manicured garden full of happy, laughing children, a tropical rainforest for a bathroom and a huge, spotless kitchen equipped with a puce-uniformed woman who can show them how to make stains vanish in seconds.
"What a tragic fate for poor Ivan," said one shocked observer. "Not only to be born into a family with a history of Conservatism tainting their genes, but for his bones to be uncovered by his callous father and shamelessly waved around in front of TV cameras, just days after he declared war on the disabled. It's sickening. I hope they do the decent thing and bury him soon."
Mr Cameron's rallying speech also drew fully on his background in the PR and marketing industry - urging voters not to dwell on the actual impoverished misery they face when they wake up in the morning, but to picture instead a rosy, aspirational picture of Britain after the recession, in which everyone will drive their convertible along desert roads and traffic-free streets to a detached dream home with a living room large enough to swallow several three-piece suites and not be completely dominated by a 50-inch TV, a vast, beautifully-manicured garden full of happy, laughing children, a tropical rainforest for a bathroom and a huge, spotless kitchen equipped with a puce-uniformed woman who can show them how to make stains vanish in seconds.
Corrupt Roman Emperor Shrugs Off Assassination
Italy's notorious leader, Caligulusconi, has vowed that he will not resign as First Citizen and High Priest, telling scribes that he feels "invigorated" after being stabbed thirty times and claiming that the Praetorian Guards who stabbed him were dominated by left-wing officers.
Caligulusconi - or, to give him his full Latin name, Silvio Julius Caesar Scelestus Berlusconius - has run the Roman Empire as his personal plaything, surrounded by astonishing tales of wild palace orgies, misuse of Imperial coffers, strangling his wife's accusations at birth and appointing the Whore of Babylon to the European Senate.
After Caligulusconi declared himself to be a living god and therefore above the petty laws governing mortal men, many leading Roman citizens have been living in fear for their wives. The plebs, however, remained his enthusiastic supporters due to his lavish provision of popular entertainments, featuring spectacular public displays of wobbling tits.
Lying in a rapidly-expanding pool of his own black blood, the stricken god-emperor confidently told his horrified subjects that he would "govern for five years with or without the law" and "show what stuff he was made of".
"We can see what you're made of," said a passing soothsayer. "It's all over the floor."
"Do you need me to tell you your future?" he added.
Caligulusconi - or, to give him his full Latin name, Silvio Julius Caesar Scelestus Berlusconius - has run the Roman Empire as his personal plaything, surrounded by astonishing tales of wild palace orgies, misuse of Imperial coffers, strangling his wife's accusations at birth and appointing the Whore of Babylon to the European Senate.
After Caligulusconi declared himself to be a living god and therefore above the petty laws governing mortal men, many leading Roman citizens have been living in fear for their wives. The plebs, however, remained his enthusiastic supporters due to his lavish provision of popular entertainments, featuring spectacular public displays of wobbling tits.
Lying in a rapidly-expanding pool of his own black blood, the stricken god-emperor confidently told his horrified subjects that he would "govern for five years with or without the law" and "show what stuff he was made of".
"We can see what you're made of," said a passing soothsayer. "It's all over the floor."
"Do you need me to tell you your future?" he added.
'Is It Really So Wrong For A Poof To Call a Wog A Paki?' Begs Doddering Old Fart
Veteran entertainer Bruce Forsyth has waded into the controversy caused by Strictly Come Dancing's Anton Du Beke calling his partner Laila Rouass a 'Paki', telling TalkSport's Victoria Derbyshire that "you go back 25, 30 or 40 years and there has always been a bit of humour about the whole thing. What splendid boobs you've got, dear - go on, give us a twirl."
"Anton may or may not be a limp-wristed nancy-boy - that's his business, as long as he keeps well away from my arse, though just one look at the gyrating knob-jockey would convince most people," appealed Forsyth. "But he was only calling his dance partner a Paki for a bit of a laugh. We all know she's a half-breed wog bint really, even if it does say 'British' on her European joke passport."
The respected showbusiness survivor went on to paint a rosy picture of a happy, tolerant bygone era, before the dead hand of political correctness descended on decent white folk - a time when black children laughed enthusiastically as their white friends called them sambo, darky and nig-nog in respectful recognition of their enrichment of Britain's cultural heritage, in which Michael Bates could appear in 'It Ain't Really Racism, Mum' with boot polish all over his face, wagging his head from side to side as if it had become detached from his neck and adopting an hilarious sing-song voice because right-thinking white families couldn't understand a bloody word said by real Paki actors, isn't it.
"Anton may or may not be a limp-wristed nancy-boy - that's his business, as long as he keeps well away from my arse, though just one look at the gyrating knob-jockey would convince most people," appealed Forsyth. "But he was only calling his dance partner a Paki for a bit of a laugh. We all know she's a half-breed wog bint really, even if it does say 'British' on her European joke passport."
The respected showbusiness survivor went on to paint a rosy picture of a happy, tolerant bygone era, before the dead hand of political correctness descended on decent white folk - a time when black children laughed enthusiastically as their white friends called them sambo, darky and nig-nog in respectful recognition of their enrichment of Britain's cultural heritage, in which Michael Bates could appear in 'It Ain't Really Racism, Mum' with boot polish all over his face, wagging his head from side to side as if it had become detached from his neck and adopting an hilarious sing-song voice because right-thinking white families couldn't understand a bloody word said by real Paki actors, isn't it.
Wednesday 7 October 2009
Dreary Book About Something Other Than Pubescent Wizards Wins Prize
'Wolf Hall', Hilary Mantel's lacklustre book about the life of some dead guy with no supernatural powers whatsoever, has been declared the winner of the 2009 Man Booker prize, earning its author a £50,000 prize and the likelihood of a huge increase in the number of copies on the shelves of charity shops in almost mint condition.
"This year the judges faced a really difficult choice," said James Naughtie, some bloke off the radio who doesn't play songs, who chaired the panel. "J.K. Rowling was too busy this year sorting her banknote collection into serial-number order to write any great literature, so we were faced with a load of non-magical rubbish thrown together by people whom nobody has ever heard of. I mean, does this 'J.M. Coetzee' even exist? I find it hard to believe."
"It didn't help that not one of these so-called books was worth making into an exciting family film, so we had to read them," he explained. "We took it in turns reading out a paragraph at a time, until we all fell asleep."
"Good job we found some thimbles," added little James, brightly. "Else we'd have ended up rubbing our fingertips down to the bone. Eurrgh! Skeleton fingers!"
Despite its misleading title, Mantel's 650-page doorstop contains no tragic figures doomed to transform into bloodthirsty animals under a full moon. Instead, it tells of the rise of one Thomas Cromwell, who overcomes his tragic lack of latent magical abilities to become the most trusted adviser to some big fat king by the name of Henry Vill, whose credibility is seriously undermined by his unimaginative failure to appoint a court wizard.
Mantel's tedious book ends in a big barney with the villainous Pope, who is the only remotely interesting character in the whole sorry saga as he unsuccessfully attempts to convince the king that he has mystical powers granted by an invisible fairy.
"This year the judges faced a really difficult choice," said James Naughtie, some bloke off the radio who doesn't play songs, who chaired the panel. "J.K. Rowling was too busy this year sorting her banknote collection into serial-number order to write any great literature, so we were faced with a load of non-magical rubbish thrown together by people whom nobody has ever heard of. I mean, does this 'J.M. Coetzee' even exist? I find it hard to believe."
"It didn't help that not one of these so-called books was worth making into an exciting family film, so we had to read them," he explained. "We took it in turns reading out a paragraph at a time, until we all fell asleep."
"Good job we found some thimbles," added little James, brightly. "Else we'd have ended up rubbing our fingertips down to the bone. Eurrgh! Skeleton fingers!"
Despite its misleading title, Mantel's 650-page doorstop contains no tragic figures doomed to transform into bloodthirsty animals under a full moon. Instead, it tells of the rise of one Thomas Cromwell, who overcomes his tragic lack of latent magical abilities to become the most trusted adviser to some big fat king by the name of Henry Vill, whose credibility is seriously undermined by his unimaginative failure to appoint a court wizard.
Mantel's tedious book ends in a big barney with the villainous Pope, who is the only remotely interesting character in the whole sorry saga as he unsuccessfully attempts to convince the king that he has mystical powers granted by an invisible fairy.
Obama Vows To Make Tough Decision With A Sense of Urgency, But Not Yet
On the eve of the eighth anniversary of the invasion, Barack Obama has vowed to act with a sense of urgency at some unspecified point in the future when it comes to deciding the United States' strategic plans for Afghanistan.
President Obama told key members of Congress that he had ruled out pulling any or all American troops out of the strife-torn country. As he has not agreed to increase US force commitments either, he has effectively ruled out the only two options presented to him by General Stanley McChrystal, his top commander in the combat zone.
"I promise to be rigorous and deliberate when it comes to the difficult decision, from which I will not shirk, of deciding when I will take the necessary step of making up my mind on what we may or may not do," said the straight-talking president, "Commensurate, of course, on any future events which may happen but have not happened yet. The hat is a challenge that lies before the American people. And together we can be equal to that challenge. But I will not take the easy path and give the American people the false hope that it might contain some kind of rabbit, metaphorical or otherwise as it may be. America, I humbly ask you to work with me on this, hand in hand. Doing nothing is not an option, therefore I will not do it. Hey, is that the time already? Meeting closed."
President Obama told key members of Congress that he had ruled out pulling any or all American troops out of the strife-torn country. As he has not agreed to increase US force commitments either, he has effectively ruled out the only two options presented to him by General Stanley McChrystal, his top commander in the combat zone.
"I promise to be rigorous and deliberate when it comes to the difficult decision, from which I will not shirk, of deciding when I will take the necessary step of making up my mind on what we may or may not do," said the straight-talking president, "Commensurate, of course, on any future events which may happen but have not happened yet. The hat is a challenge that lies before the American people. And together we can be equal to that challenge. But I will not take the easy path and give the American people the false hope that it might contain some kind of rabbit, metaphorical or otherwise as it may be. America, I humbly ask you to work with me on this, hand in hand. Doing nothing is not an option, therefore I will not do it. Hey, is that the time already? Meeting closed."
Tuesday 6 October 2009
Nobel Prize Goes To Sorry Bastards Responsible For Camera Phones
The Nobel Prize for the Debasement of Science has been awarded to the horrible, horrible pricks who made it possible for each and every self-obsessed dullard on the planet to clutter up the internet with thousands of deeply uninteresting photographs of themselves and their like-minded friends doing the yawn-inducingly tedious things that all easily-amused piss artists feel compelled to do whenever one of their number pulls out a camera phone, the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences announced today.
"Before the invention of the Charge-Coupled Device, the only way to capture these mind-numbing moments of inanity was to take along a camera, loaded with film which cost money to buy and even more money to develop," said the Nobel committee. "This tended to inhibit their photography - partly because the film usually ran out before things got really pointless, and secondly because when the prints came back the owner of the camera had sobered up enough to realise that they'd thrown away another tenner.
"Thanks to the tireless research of Willard Boyle and George Smith, however, every pissed-up retard can now snap away with their CCD-equipped mobiles to their heart's content, and instantly post the gut-wrenchingly unfunny results to their Facebook profile without stopping for a moment to ask themselves why in God's name anybody in their right mind could possibly want to cast their eye over yet another herd of slack-jawed inebriates. We want the whole world to know the names of Boyle and Smith, and we urge anyone with a brain to crap in an envelope and post it to them without delay."
The prize was jointly awarded to Charles Kao, without whose work on fibre-optic cables the internet would be so slow that it would almost certainly be restricted solely to stuff that somebody might actually find at least slightly interesting.
"Before the invention of the Charge-Coupled Device, the only way to capture these mind-numbing moments of inanity was to take along a camera, loaded with film which cost money to buy and even more money to develop," said the Nobel committee. "This tended to inhibit their photography - partly because the film usually ran out before things got really pointless, and secondly because when the prints came back the owner of the camera had sobered up enough to realise that they'd thrown away another tenner.
"Thanks to the tireless research of Willard Boyle and George Smith, however, every pissed-up retard can now snap away with their CCD-equipped mobiles to their heart's content, and instantly post the gut-wrenchingly unfunny results to their Facebook profile without stopping for a moment to ask themselves why in God's name anybody in their right mind could possibly want to cast their eye over yet another herd of slack-jawed inebriates. We want the whole world to know the names of Boyle and Smith, and we urge anyone with a brain to crap in an envelope and post it to them without delay."
The prize was jointly awarded to Charles Kao, without whose work on fibre-optic cables the internet would be so slow that it would almost certainly be restricted solely to stuff that somebody might actually find at least slightly interesting.
Tesco Announces End of Recession, Removes Affordable Cardboard-Based Food From Shelves
99% of all the money left in Britain is now in Tesco's bank account, according to the retailer's first-half profits released today.
"We're seeing signs of a gradual recovery in the world economy," said Tesco's prime minister Terry Leahy, over a light lunch of tasty £20 notes. "Of course, selling the food that people need in order to live means that we're hardly bothered by a trivial thing like the worst global recession in sixty years. But the other day somebody bought a cheap, nasty sandwich toaster in our Hounslow branch, and that's hardly an essential - so it looks like things are picking up again, and our evil corporate shareholders will be glad to know that we're clearing out the floor-space devoted to basic Tesco Value stodge and bringing back all that unnecessary crap with plugs on."
Analysts say that it is now only a matter of time before Tesco makes a hostile takeover bid for Britain, replacing the pound with its own worthless company scrip redeemable only in Tesco stores.
"Soon you will all belong to Tesco," said a man with a calculator at BofA-Merrill Lynch. "The nation's economic focus will then revolve around Tesco staff selling Tesco products to their off-duty Tesco colleagues."
"We're seeing signs of a gradual recovery in the world economy," said Tesco's prime minister Terry Leahy, over a light lunch of tasty £20 notes. "Of course, selling the food that people need in order to live means that we're hardly bothered by a trivial thing like the worst global recession in sixty years. But the other day somebody bought a cheap, nasty sandwich toaster in our Hounslow branch, and that's hardly an essential - so it looks like things are picking up again, and our evil corporate shareholders will be glad to know that we're clearing out the floor-space devoted to basic Tesco Value stodge and bringing back all that unnecessary crap with plugs on."
Analysts say that it is now only a matter of time before Tesco makes a hostile takeover bid for Britain, replacing the pound with its own worthless company scrip redeemable only in Tesco stores.
"Soon you will all belong to Tesco," said a man with a calculator at BofA-Merrill Lynch. "The nation's economic focus will then revolve around Tesco staff selling Tesco products to their off-duty Tesco colleagues."
Monday 5 October 2009
Cameron Spells Out Plans For Crips As Europhobes Cast Doubt On Party Unity
The carefully-managed unity of the Conservative Party coven in Manchester threatened to collapse on the first day, with Grand Imperial Wizard David Cameron struggling to maintain the momentum of his attack on the sick and disabled in the face of diehard Eurosceptics within the party demanding a referendum on Europe.
"We are not seeking to punish those who are genuinely unable to work," insisted Mr Cameron as he hastily chalked a protective pentagram around himself. "Under our caring proposals for assessing a claimant's fitness to work, a business friend of ours will take the flid's claim form, tear it up and throw the pieces across the room. If they can hop, crawl or roll themselves across the carpet to gather up the pieces, then they will be deemed fit for work and be put onto JSA, patriotically saving their country £25 a week."
"As for all the barmy nutters, they will be given a good slapping and told to pull themselves together," said Mr Cameron. "Allow me to demonstrate."
He then waved his wand, magically transporting Boris Johnson onto the stage from a fringe meeting in a nearby lapdancing club.
"I hear you've been going round saying the public should be consulted on parts of the Lisbon Treaty, Boris," he sneered, as the drooling Mayor of London pathetically banged his hands together and spluttered incoherent nonsense. "I've told you before and I'll tell you again: despite what the voices in your head tell you, there is no absolutely danger from Napoleon's mighty armies."
He then punched the sobbing, slack-jawed idiot off the conference stage and told him to "go back to London and do some bloody work for once in your life."
Mr Cameron went on to say that there was nothing to prevent the mentally incapacitated from working, as most of the party's rank-and-file supporters were managing to earn a comfortable living, despite having lost all the human warmth, emotion and capacity for rational thought from their miserable, joyless lives long, long ago.
"We are not seeking to punish those who are genuinely unable to work," insisted Mr Cameron as he hastily chalked a protective pentagram around himself. "Under our caring proposals for assessing a claimant's fitness to work, a business friend of ours will take the flid's claim form, tear it up and throw the pieces across the room. If they can hop, crawl or roll themselves across the carpet to gather up the pieces, then they will be deemed fit for work and be put onto JSA, patriotically saving their country £25 a week."
"As for all the barmy nutters, they will be given a good slapping and told to pull themselves together," said Mr Cameron. "Allow me to demonstrate."
He then waved his wand, magically transporting Boris Johnson onto the stage from a fringe meeting in a nearby lapdancing club.
"I hear you've been going round saying the public should be consulted on parts of the Lisbon Treaty, Boris," he sneered, as the drooling Mayor of London pathetically banged his hands together and spluttered incoherent nonsense. "I've told you before and I'll tell you again: despite what the voices in your head tell you, there is no absolutely danger from Napoleon's mighty armies."
He then punched the sobbing, slack-jawed idiot off the conference stage and told him to "go back to London and do some bloody work for once in your life."
Mr Cameron went on to say that there was nothing to prevent the mentally incapacitated from working, as most of the party's rank-and-file supporters were managing to earn a comfortable living, despite having lost all the human warmth, emotion and capacity for rational thought from their miserable, joyless lives long, long ago.
England's Internet-Only World Cup Match Causes Massive Technofear Among Football Fans
England's world cup qualifier against Ukraine will be broadcast exclusively over the internet, it was announced today - prompting howls of anguish from football fans as it was patiently explained to them that just because they can play FIFA 10 on their second-hand PS2, it does not necessarily mean it is capable of downloading Saturday's live video stream of the match from service provider Perform.
"Paruntly right I got 'ave samfink corled a camputa innit?" said one baffled England supporter. "Me missus sez she got one at work like, but they'll be shut wunt they 'cos iss Satdee jenotameen? Praps if she arskt all nice like an' givd 'er boss a quick flash uv 'er baps, joo fink ee'd let 'er borra it?"
More enterprising fans are already out casing middle-class residential areas looking for suitable homes to burgle, but admit they have no idea how to plug a PC into the telly or tune it into the internet.
Meanwhile, harassed pub managers are struggling desperately to connect the knackered beige Tiny on which they do their accounts to their massive plasma screens.
"Where the fack's the VGA socket on a Panasonic Viera TX-P42V10 telly?" wailed one cable-festooned landlord. "I wonder if I kin git an artside caterin' licence for Currys' frant windah?"
"Paruntly right I got 'ave samfink corled a camputa innit?" said one baffled England supporter. "Me missus sez she got one at work like, but they'll be shut wunt they 'cos iss Satdee jenotameen? Praps if she arskt all nice like an' givd 'er boss a quick flash uv 'er baps, joo fink ee'd let 'er borra it?"
More enterprising fans are already out casing middle-class residential areas looking for suitable homes to burgle, but admit they have no idea how to plug a PC into the telly or tune it into the internet.
Meanwhile, harassed pub managers are struggling desperately to connect the knackered beige Tiny on which they do their accounts to their massive plasma screens.
"Where the fack's the VGA socket on a Panasonic Viera TX-P42V10 telly?" wailed one cable-festooned landlord. "I wonder if I kin git an artside caterin' licence for Currys' frant windah?"
Sunday 4 October 2009
Cameron: Unemployment In This Country Is Caused By The Unemployed
On the eve of the Tory Conference in Manchester, party leader David Cameron has bravely stuck his neck out, risking public censure by identifying Britain's unemployed millions as the root of all evil.
"Just as we all know that rape, murder, fraud and burglary are entirely the fault of the victims, it goes without saying that jobless scum are the sole cause of all this unemployment," Mr Cameron whispered seductively into Andrew Marr's flapping ear this morning. "I know this is not going to go down well with the do-gooders at the Daily Mail and the rest of the liberal media, because the unemployed are loved by all and have powerful vested interests lobbying constantly on their behalf - but I will not shirk from saying it anyway."
"And the same goes for those feckless, workshy bastards in wheelchairs too," he added.
"The theme of our conference will be to get Britain working again," he continued bravely. "We will scrap Labour's disastrous policies which, instead of creating real, worthwhile jobs, served only to mask the true levels of unemployment in this country. Useless schemes like New Deal will be replaced by a one-to-one personalised service, whose aim will be to twist those bone-idle dossers' arms into signing up for training schemes. We could call it Big Deal, so people will see just how radically different and original it is."
When Mr Marr suggested that training schemes were by no stretch of the imagination equivalent to proper jobs, however, Mr Cameron disagreed vehemently.
"Not so," he countered. "Let's say, for sake of argument, that I am an employer and I need some oik to clean the toilets. I have two options. I can squander some of my accumulated wealth - which, as everybody knows, is so essential to the recovery of our economy - by putting an ad in the paper, going to the time and trouble of interviewing candidates, after which I put an employee on the payroll. I am then forced to pay wages, national insurance and god knows what else, possibly for years and years.
"Or I can ring up the Jobcentre and tell them that I may be willing, for a small consideration, for them to select and send over a trainee for a fixed period of time, during which they will gain priceless workplace experience as they practice and develop the skills necessary to scrape shit off toilets. Then, when the toilets are nice and shiny, I can get rid of the lazy little runt until such time as my toilets are overflowing with crap again.
"So you see, a training course is indeed every bit as good as a job," he concluded. "If not better."
"Vote Conservative," he added.
"Just as we all know that rape, murder, fraud and burglary are entirely the fault of the victims, it goes without saying that jobless scum are the sole cause of all this unemployment," Mr Cameron whispered seductively into Andrew Marr's flapping ear this morning. "I know this is not going to go down well with the do-gooders at the Daily Mail and the rest of the liberal media, because the unemployed are loved by all and have powerful vested interests lobbying constantly on their behalf - but I will not shirk from saying it anyway."
"And the same goes for those feckless, workshy bastards in wheelchairs too," he added.
"The theme of our conference will be to get Britain working again," he continued bravely. "We will scrap Labour's disastrous policies which, instead of creating real, worthwhile jobs, served only to mask the true levels of unemployment in this country. Useless schemes like New Deal will be replaced by a one-to-one personalised service, whose aim will be to twist those bone-idle dossers' arms into signing up for training schemes. We could call it Big Deal, so people will see just how radically different and original it is."
When Mr Marr suggested that training schemes were by no stretch of the imagination equivalent to proper jobs, however, Mr Cameron disagreed vehemently.
"Not so," he countered. "Let's say, for sake of argument, that I am an employer and I need some oik to clean the toilets. I have two options. I can squander some of my accumulated wealth - which, as everybody knows, is so essential to the recovery of our economy - by putting an ad in the paper, going to the time and trouble of interviewing candidates, after which I put an employee on the payroll. I am then forced to pay wages, national insurance and god knows what else, possibly for years and years.
"Or I can ring up the Jobcentre and tell them that I may be willing, for a small consideration, for them to select and send over a trainee for a fixed period of time, during which they will gain priceless workplace experience as they practice and develop the skills necessary to scrape shit off toilets. Then, when the toilets are nice and shiny, I can get rid of the lazy little runt until such time as my toilets are overflowing with crap again.
"So you see, a training course is indeed every bit as good as a job," he concluded. "If not better."
"Vote Conservative," he added.
Creative Genius Emin Ponders Move To France, Realises Some Effort May Be Required, Goes Back To Bed
Britain's leading intellectual, Tracey Emin, woke up briefly yesterday and texted the Sunday Times whilst taking a dump to say she would move to France in protest against the upper tax rate of 50%, if only it wasn't so fucking far away.
"i workt fackin ard rite 2 git 2 were i am 2day init," explained the nation's foremost artist. "i shagd me fany red ror 4 munce n got fru 6 or 7 majick marcas ritin me fukbudys on da tent wot git me notist orl them yers aggo me rist urt lik fuk 4 daze i telyer!!! then i ad 2 spen weaks rollin rand in bed, pissin orl ova it like n wen it wen on exerbishun rite sum cheaky chinky cant onely wen an maid it!!! nex i drored sum nekid wimin u cud tel it wus wimin cus they ad tits an flict sum maw drorins at a camra so it lookt like sum burd wankin it wuz orl abat luv init aw xxx"
After a nap, Ms Emin later remembered to send the second part of the text message, which read: "me acuntent bin rand 50% tax fak me??? im orf 2 frarns there like rilly inta ART and i wudnt arf 2 shav me armpits eva agin brilyunt!!! fack u godrun bran u facist CANT"
A spokesman for Eurostar later confirmed that the company had received an enquiry asking about times and fares to Paris, but added that when the caller asked if there was a discount for 'interlexul slebrities' and was told no, she was cut off by the call-centre operator after being warned about swearing.
Just before the paper went to press, a courier arrived with a package containing a fresh turd from Ms Emin's creative end, inscribed with the message "pannick ova me acuntents sawtid me a swiz bank acunt"
A spokesman for the leading creative thinker of her generation said that Ms Emin's considered verdicts on the economy, the political classes, Britain's ongoing involvement in Afghanistan, the 2012 Olympics and the shocking price of a packet of fags these days would be available to the media shortly, once she had finished digesting a curry and several pints of lager.
"i workt fackin ard rite 2 git 2 were i am 2day init," explained the nation's foremost artist. "i shagd me fany red ror 4 munce n got fru 6 or 7 majick marcas ritin me fukbudys on da tent wot git me notist orl them yers aggo me rist urt lik fuk 4 daze i telyer!!! then i ad 2 spen weaks rollin rand in bed, pissin orl ova it like n wen it wen on exerbishun rite sum cheaky chinky cant onely wen an maid it!!! nex i drored sum nekid wimin u cud tel it wus wimin cus they ad tits an flict sum maw drorins at a camra so it lookt like sum burd wankin it wuz orl abat luv init aw xxx"
After a nap, Ms Emin later remembered to send the second part of the text message, which read: "me acuntent bin rand 50% tax fak me??? im orf 2 frarns there like rilly inta ART and i wudnt arf 2 shav me armpits eva agin brilyunt!!! fack u godrun bran u facist CANT"
A spokesman for Eurostar later confirmed that the company had received an enquiry asking about times and fares to Paris, but added that when the caller asked if there was a discount for 'interlexul slebrities' and was told no, she was cut off by the call-centre operator after being warned about swearing.
Just before the paper went to press, a courier arrived with a package containing a fresh turd from Ms Emin's creative end, inscribed with the message "pannick ova me acuntents sawtid me a swiz bank acunt"
A spokesman for the leading creative thinker of her generation said that Ms Emin's considered verdicts on the economy, the political classes, Britain's ongoing involvement in Afghanistan, the 2012 Olympics and the shocking price of a packet of fags these days would be available to the media shortly, once she had finished digesting a curry and several pints of lager.
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