Fears Of Nazi Resurgence In Munich

The evil Kameron salute strikes fear into every heart

Freedom-loving Britons were today left aghast, fearful but most of all left, after twisted fascist leader Adolf Kameron shrieked his hate-filled propaganda to the world from the Nazi stronghold of Munich.

Overt racial supremacism poured from the bigoted extremist’s sneering lips, from the rabble-rousing opening words – “Gosh, hullo everyone” – to his final, echoing screech of “Thank you.”

In tones calculated to strike the paralysis of fear into his opponents, Herr Kameron launched into a brutal attack of unprecedented fury on the nation’s ethnic minorities. “You know, I’m not entirely happy about forced marriage,” he bellowed viciously, before outrageously demanding that, ideally, all ethnic children in Britain should be forced - doubtlessly at gunpoint, and using every inhuman torture - to grow up speaking a bit of English.

“Behold the spectre of the death factories,” brave underground activists solemnly warned their Facebook friends. “How can the world stand idly and shamefully by and pander slavishly to this evil hatemonger, who dares to claim that Britain’s Islamic fundamentalists are drawn exclusively from within the greater Muslim community?”

Even as the evil Kameron spoke, his dreaded EDL paramilitary squads were brazenly parading through the streets of Luton, cruelly raising their deadly cans of Heineken to their mouths and bringing them down empty with a sickening crunch, as curious terrified shoppers looked on.

“It shows the extent to which Britain has descended into a repressive police state,” said a shocked Mr Dave Lenin of Facebook, “When a protest march can be allowed to proceed along a designated route without having seven colours of shit kicked out of them by the uniformed thugs of the Bedfordshire Police Authority.”

Stephen Fry Beheaded, Poor Mexicans Unimpressed By Top Gear Amigos

A cravenly apologetic BBC today confirmed that the sadistic war criminal Stephen Fry has been beheaded in Singapore’s notorious Changi jail, in a desperate attempt to defuse growing anger in Japan over his brazen mention of the war on a pre-Christmas episode of QI.

“Historians will debate whether we were morally justified in dropping Stephen Fry’s inoffensive language documentary,” said BBC head apologist Mark Thompson. “But if we had sent him into Japan, every last man, woman and child would surely have risen to defend their homeland against him, poking him with sharp bamboo sticks and strapping grenades to his body.”

Lazy, Flatulent and Feckless (as they are known to their fans)

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, a sleepy Mexican village is less than impressed with the famous trio of Top Gear presenters it hired to defend itself against bandit leader El Guapo.

“Veelage threel to the famouth Three Prethenterth’ brave deedth on pobleec channel, thend ethpenthive telegram athkeeng them to thave uth from El Guapo,” explained Carmen, a pretty peasant girl with an impressive pair of castanets. “They comm here een fatht thporth carth, thcaring all the theep thilly, then thlope about thmiling thmarmily een the thtreeth, thneering thnidely and thaying thtupeed thtuff about uth. We are bethide ourthelveth weeth thorrow. Have they no thame?”

A BBC spokesman with a huge sombrero later apologised for the idle jests of the desperate trio of has-beens, and promised that any future Top Gear programmes would be filmed in total silence. He also promised to give the singing bush a contract to develop ideas for several prime-time shows.

A Third Of All Deaths Could Be Prevented, Claim Health Killjoys

A third of people in Britain, the United States and China would never have to die if they lived cheerless lives of monastic self-denial, said pinch-mouthed harridans today.

“Eating stuff you like gives you cancer. Fact. Drinking anything but water gives you cancer. Fact. Sitting down gives you cancer. Fact,” said a horrible frowning stick-man with a clipboard. “And tits give you cancer too.”

“We have tried persuading people with warning labels on all food saying YOU ARE GOING TO DIE, yet doomed idiots are still recklessly eating things they like the taste of,” he snapped in annoyance. “This has simply got to stop. We call on the government to ban the sale of everything. People must learn to scrape bark off trees for sustenance if they want to live forever.”

Just remind yourself you're saving the world

“And those trees should not be less than twenty miles from where they live,” he added. “Ideally, up a very steep hill.”

Meanwhile, fatter experts were warning that people had damned well better stop fucking right now, if they didn’t want to be crushed under the ever-increasing mass of humanity on the groaning planet.

“The best thing you can do to help reduce the population,” recommended a rosy-faced epicurologist, “Is to drive round to Maccy D’s right now, gorge yourself on burgers and coke, waddle across the road to the pub and sink ten pints of stout, call a taxi for the arduous half-mile journey home, flop onto the sofa and pass out immediately.”

“Repeat twice daily,” he added, before pushing his face into a huge pile of ready salted crisps.

Western Liberals Shocked As Powderkeg Goes Bang

Please, chaps, just have a nice cup of herbal tea and chill

To the utter dismay of millions of nice people in the West, for whom live coverage of the Egyptian protests has supplanted More4 as their preferred evening viewing, mass outbreaks of naughtiness are now in their second day, with no visible signs of niceness breaking out anywhere in Cairo’s Tahrir Square.

“Never in my worst nightmares could I have imagined that the suspension of law and order could possibly result in outbursts of lawlessness and disorder,” gasped one horrified viewer, as naughty Egyptian supporters of the government hurled stones at its nice opponents, who inexplicably succumbed to naughtiness and threw them back. “Why can’t the army rustle up some tea and biscuits, and sit the two factions down to agree some sort of common ground like sensible grown-ups - preferably involving the immediate departure of the hated Mubarak, who I couldn’t have picked out of a line-up two weeks ago but now realise is the most evil man in the world?”

“Whoever would have thought that, with the mechanism of state paralysed, such unpleasant acts of violence could go unpunished in the ensuing power vacuum?” agreed an ashen-faced Guardian reader. “The army should step in and take immediate action against these evil hired thugs.”

So far, however, the liberal intelligentsia of the West have not specified whether they would prefer the Egyptian tanks to fire explosive armour-piercing shells at anyone clutching a rock, or simply grind them to a bloody pulp under their tracks.

Neither has anyone yet decided how far petrol prices will have to skyrocket before they start to wonder if perhaps their own wicked governments might not have had the right idea all along in backing stability over democracy in the Middle East.

Pub Landlady Destroys Entire Economic Structure Of Football

Karen Murphy contemplates a lifetime of dodging Sun hacks

Portsmouth pub landlady Karen Murphy is celebrating today with a small glass of wine, after single-handedly bringing down the entire financial edifice of the world of football.

A non-binding opinion from Advocate General Juliane Kokott of the European Court of Justice suggests that it may not be entirely fair for broadcasters like Sky to throw unimaginably vast buckets of money into football in return for exclusive regional broadcasting rights which they then recoup by helping themselves to the contents of football addicts’ increasingly threadbare bank accounts and wallets.

On hearing the catastrophic judgement, which will see their fees plummet from millions of pounds to about £50 per match plus bus fare for away games, hundreds of top footballers immediately hanged themselves with their own bootlaces, while the FA and UEFA swiftly filed for bankruptcy.

However, Sky’s CEO James Murdoch vowed to fight the decision, which will probably not be ratified by the full European Court of Justice once Mr Murdoch’s papers explain to its members just how much dirt they have gathered on each of them.

“But if that fails,” warned Mr Murdoch, “We’re declaring war on Greece. It’s as simple as that.”

Weather Forecast: Australia Sucked Into Space, USA Lost To Glaciers

Hurricane Yasi bears down on fragile Queensland

Australians are today putting a brave face on the prospect of spending the rest of their lives wandering through space on a barren chunk of rock, which is what news experts are confidently predicting will be their tragic fate when evil Hurricane Yasi casually tears their subcontinent from the face of the earth and hurls it into the hostile interstellar void.

“Although Australia is a bonzer place to live, if you’re white, unfortunately it is not best suited to sustaining human life indefinitely in the airless reaches of deep space,” admitted Queensland state premier Anna Bligh, wearing a white trouser suit with a fetching black sleeve. “Any Australians who are not strapped down in underground shelters are likely to explode messily before being pulped to a bloody smear by the unimaginable gravitational forces of this category five storm, although on the plus side this should solve the Abo problem once and for all.”

“However, all is not lost,” she continued brightly. “A doddery old genius with just a year to live has kindly volunteered to strap booster rockets to Qantas’ airliner fleet, which will enable us to voyage to any life-supporting planets we might whizz past, in the hope that their inhabitants will agree to share their dusty world and not try to destroy us, conquer us, rip out our internal organs for transplants or eat us.”

“And there is every likelihood that, somewhere along the way, we will be able to enlist the help of a shape-shifting space-sheila who will assist us greatly by smashing mad computers with her deadly wombat claws, and uncovering alien weirdos’ deadly schemes by infiltrating their huge spaceships disguised as a lovable koala.”

“Oh Christ, not again,” moaned legendary Australian bit-part actor Nick Tate.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, the United States is already vanishing rapidly under the 500mph onslaught of mile-thick glaciers sweeping down the rivers deep from the mountains high.

“Look, I told you once and I’ll tell you again,” commented God angrily, “It’s your own bloody fault.”

Big Society Volunteer Hit With Big Society Stick

Lord Wei of Shoreditch, an ungrateful volunteer from an ethnic minority who had the gall to suggest that he’d rather do a proper job and earn some money, has been slapped down and told to keep slaving away for nothing on a worthless government scheme.

Stop whining and get back to that photocopier, Santa

Since last year, the feckless workshy has been putting in two days a week working on the government’s flagship ‘Big Society’ programme.

“It’s never-ending,” complained the sweating Tory peer, slaving over an ailing photocopier in a dusty room in Westminster. “To add insult to injury, I actually have to work overtime to churn out reams and reams of this guff that nobody is ever going to read. I’m a skilled management consultant, for God’s sake - if I’d known this non-job was going to be so mind-numbingly dull, I’d have held out for something more suitable.”

A Cabinet Office spokesman pointed out, however, that Lord Wei had been given a valuable opportunity to make a difference.

“Lord Wei should remember that we paid for some lovely new robes for him,” he explained crossly. “They’ve improved his employment prospects considerably. He’ll certainly stand out from the shabby hordes in his natty ermine threads, when the chain stores start recruiting Santas again next October. Until then, he should bloody well be thanking us for giving him the chance to hold his head up with pride and say at least he’s making some sort of contribution to society.”

“Even if it is a bit pointless,” he conceded.

Police Knock Ten Grand Off The Value Of Your House

Looks like you'll be stuck there for years, mate

Estate agents across the UK were tearing their hair out today, as a new police website showing crime levels by postcode went online at midnight and promptly sent the ailing property market into freefall.

“We’ve been inundated with calls from homebuyers demanding ten or twenty grand knocked off the price of the house they’ve put in an offer for, after finding out that the ‘vibrant local community’ we mentioned in the ad turns out to be a gangland turf war,” complained a tearful Darren Whideboys, of North London estate agents Lyre & Whideboys.

“There tend to be solid underlying reasons why more people want to sell up and get out of certain areas,” he explained, “And chief among them is that they live in a crime-infested shithole. It’s obvious if you think about it, but fortunately for us people generally don’t. Well, they didn’t until today. Thanks, plods, there’s about to be quite a few high street business/retail premises in the stagnant 1000-2500sq.ft. category coming onto the market.”

Police officers, however, claim that www.police.uk has been a runaway success, showing that residential areas where a lot of officers happen to live are consistently showing reassuringly low levels of crime.

“I’ve told all my green-eyed Facebook mates to check up on just how desirable my manor is,” smiled Det Sup Savage. “Then they find out that they have about five times as many recorded crimes right outside their front door as my entire electoral ward gets. Apparently the site keeps over with all the traffic, so my mate Derek on the IT helpdesk should get a nice wad of overtime out of it.”

I Walk Britain’s News-Free Streets

An eerie calm has descended upon the troubled streets of Britain’s major cities, writes Neville Shite, with the once-ubiquitous journalists - who previously enjoyed the power to intrude into every facet of everyday life – suddenly nowhere to be seen.

The mood is strangely calm. Ordinary citizens ran around freely, released - at least for now – from the ever-present fear of a dreaded tap on the shoulder from an uninformed journalist demanding an immediate soundbite.

The hated newspapers have imposed a total ban on news from the UK, and both state-run and independent broadcasters have taken the nation completely off-air. The TV screens are filled instead with constantly-repeating loops showing Egyptian tanks, interspersed with bored reporters in Cairo taking turns to interview each other.

MPs have taken to camping out, in case a reporter appears

Everybody in Britain seems to be expecting something to happen, but nobody knows exactly what. In the unprecedented news-vacuum, vigilante groups have begun wandering around the quiet streets with smartphones at the ready, pointing cameras randomly in case a story breaks out in their neighbourhood.

Meanwhile, the government finds itself increasingly isolated. Desperate ministers have been milling around aimlessly in Parliament Square, hopefully asking passers-by and bemused tourists if they have a camera, and begging to explain a policy or two.

The biggest fear among the British public, however, seems to be that everything will return to the way it was before. One man summed it up when he told me, on condition of strict anonymity, that he was afraid the feared journalists would soon descend from the skies in force, hitting on everybody indiscriminately with a deadly barrage of silly questions and hauling crowds of people away to the dreaded studios for interrogation.

Dunce Osborne Given Six Of The Best

Davos didn't quite go as well as Mr Osborne hoped

George Osborne has finally limped out of the World Economics Teachers’ Common Room today, tear-streaked and clutching his buttocks, after his prep was unceremoniously given 0/10 and torn up in front of him.

Little George, 13, who says he has put a lot of work into his economics experiment, received a dreaded ‘See us’ note on Friday after handing in his homework project, the transformation of Britain into a pre-Victorian workhouse.

“Cutting your way out of a recession? Wherever did you pick up such nonsense, boy?” roared his form master, as teacher’s pet Barack Obama stood at the door sniggering. “Cuts lead to a sharp increase in unemployment, which reduces the overall amount of money in the system! The correct response to a recession is government stimulus of key industries - Keynes, Chapter 3! Perhaps, Osborne, you were too busy skiing or playing Soggy Biscuit with your dorm chums Cameron and Clegg to read the set text? I’m afraid I shall have to beat you severely, boy.”

Little master Osborne tried to protest, but his lame excuses cut no ice with his irate teachers.

“’I don’t like taxes’?” bellowed the headmaster. “Balderdash! Taxes are the main source of government revenue, and without revenue how are governments supposed to inject money into a stagnant economy to keep it moving? Bend over at once, boy - I can see I’m going to have to administer this beating personally.”

When young George emerged, however, he promptly told his admiring classmates through gritted teeth that it didn’t hurt at all, really, because he’d cleverly stuck all his research notes down the back of his shorts.

His prestige plummeted, however, when sneaky swot Obama set to work with his slide rule and calculated that George’s notes - consisting of a solitary page torn out of an old Reaganomics primer - would only have absorbed 0.007% of the cane’s impact.

The BBC later apologised.

UK Bravely Picks Goodies For Eurovision

The Goodies have already set out for Germany

Nul-points specialist Britain has bravely broken with tradition, by picking an established chart-topping act for its 2011 Eurovision Song Contest entry.

The Goodies - who recently staged a schedule-filling comeback on BBC2 over the Christmas period - claim to have written their own song for the competition, but say they are keeping it a closely-guarded secret until the contest begins. When asked if it involved a gibbon, however, Tim Brooke-Taylor said “Yes” while Graeme Garden said “No” and hit him; both then vigorously denied any gibbon-related content.

“Ooooooooooooo,” commented a strangely hairy Graham Norton, after being shown a picture of a banana.

“The Goodies may be a bit past our hit-making prime,” commented 1970s heart-throb Bill Oddie, speaking very quietly from a canvas hide in the Cricklewood Bird Sanctuary. “But surely it has to be in our favour that we do anything, anytime – unlike previous entries, who do fuck all every time.”

The BBC later apologised.