|This Mail reader is 137, and full of it|
“I’ve never defecated in all my born days,” snorted Emily Weill, a twisted old spinster from Hastings. “The very thought! On the rare occasions when I feel the pressure building against my sphincter, I simply read that nice Richard Littlejohn’s latest wise words on the darkie threat and I’m as right as rain again.”
When asked about sex, Miss Weill rang the police.
Meanwhile, coroners have confirmed that, when a Daily Mail reader finally succumbs to the permanent state of towering anger which dominates their every waking moment, autopsies show that their internal organs and skeletons always turn out to have withered away and been replaced by impacted crap, which has slowly been fossilised by decades of intense pressure.
“The only certain way to live to a ripe old age,” explained top rentapathologist Dr Freddy Patel, ”Is to rigorously spurn everything that makes life bearable, and exist solely on a joyless diet of 100% unadulterated bile made from Melanie Philips, Jan Moir, Richard Littlejohn, Quentin Letts and other certified animals culled from Britain’s finest free-range funny farms.”
Meanwhile, fevered Mail hacks were already hard at work on their next health shocker, hastily manufacturing spurious evidence that shit is, in fact, very good for you if consumed on a Maily basis.