Police To Respond To Calls For More Imaginative Demo Tactics With New Mystery Technique

As an expected 100,000 people converge on London for the TUC’s march against spending cuts, the Metropolitan Police promised that they had taken on board criticism from parliament’s Joint Human Rights Committee over the controversial ‘kettling’ tactic, and would be deploying an imaginative new crowd management system instead.

Whatever can it mean?

“The force fully appreciates the MPs’ well-meaning but typically wet concerns that kettling a large mass of lawful protesters for hours in a confined space inevitably leads to heightened stress, agitation and anger, which greatly increases the likelihood of violent behaviour,” said Commissioner Sir Kim Jong-Stephenson at this morning’s press briefing. “In fact, many of my lads look forward to letting off steam in this way. But since it looks like we’ve been rumbled, let me take this opportunity to assure the House that, as part of our policy of constantly reviewing dodgy procedures, we shall not be deploying this unpopular tactic against the marchers today.”

“However, lest 100,000 rabid trots get it into their heads that we’re somehow going to stand idly by and let the revolution kick off with a chirpy ‘Mind how you go now, sir’, perhaps I ought to point out that our Tactical Development Unit, DCI Strangelove, has devised a top-secret new tactic – codenamed ‘Boiling’ – which they’re not going to like any better,” he smiled grimly.

When asked for details of the mystery tactic, the commissioner repeatedly replied with an enigmatic, “No comment.” After several minutes, however, he finally dropped a hint to reporters, pointing out the one important question that really mattered.

“Will it hurt?” he said. “Yes, a lot. Now bugger off, before I detain you all for unlawful assembly.”

Deaf Clegg Scorns Marchers’ Lack Of Alternative Suggestions

Deputy prime minister Nick Clegg today scoffed at protesters who will be marching against the coalition government’s austerity measures, demanding to know what policies they would suggest in place of the swingeing cuts and penalisation of the poor, the sick and the disabled which he and prime minister David Cameron are implementing.

Ignoring cries of “Fuck the rich!” he laughingly pointed out that the opposition movement had absolutely no options on offer.

Mr Clegg would really love to hear some fresh ideas

Putting a pair of earbuds in, Mr Clegg reiterated his point that there was no alternative to the coalition’s wholesale axing of public services. As shouts of “Fuck the rich!” reverberated again around Westminster, he calmly placed a large pair of ear defenders on his head and challenged anybody to suggest a different policy.

As repeated chants of “Fuck the rich!” rose in volume, the LibDem leader calmly picked up a jackhammer and began to bounce around Westminster Green, pointing out that he would gladly back any workable alternative to destroying the infrastructure of the nation and making the lives of millions intolerable, if only the protesters could suggest a viable and fair policy that penalised those who had caused the crisis in the first place.

As passing motorists enthusiastically took up the call to fuck the rich, a blissfully oblivious Mr Clegg bounced straight into the path of an oncoming bus and was swiftly carried off to hospital, where expert medical staff say they will work round-the-clock to shout “Fuck the rich!” into his ear, in the faint hope that his comatose conscience might one day wake up.

Mail Columnist Urges All-Out Nuclear Strike On Japan

Welcome to Richard Littlejohn's mind

Caring Daily Mail chief bastard Richard Littlejohn today urged the West to strike Japan immediately with all the nukes at its disposal, claiming that there would never be a better opportunity to rid humanity once and for all of the most evil race of short, bespectacled sadists the world has ever known.

“A minute’s silence for the earthquake and tsunami victims? Dacre, load my pen with the extra-strength poison - I’m feeling the hate!” exploded the cabbies’ poster-boy for bigotry and spite. “Right, here goes: my wife’s grandfather, who is long dead, was tortured by sadistic little sons of heaven, who are also long dead, in the name of a brutal microzoology-crazed emperor who is also long dead. This, of course, grants me the automatic right to feel as much blind personal hatred for Japan and every single one of its hellish spawn as my grandfather-in-law would if he wasn’t dead – all the more so, in fact, as the little yellow murderers are all sitting pretty on the piles of hard-earned British cash you and I had to hand over just for a bloody television that works.”

“Or is that the chinks?” he mused. “Doesn’t matter. They’re all the bloody same. Where was I?”

This sort of devastation is much preferred by Mail readers

After pausing for his daily punching of an immigrant, the Mail’s top philosopher warmed to his theme: “What I say is this. While the nips are running round like headless chickens, dodging radiation leaks and picking their sacred ancestors out of the debris, we’ll never get a better opportunity to finish what we started in 1945. Let’s stop wasting perfectly good cruise missiles to protect a handful of wailing wogs, load up the nuclear warheads they were designed for and head off down to the South China Sea to show those little slitty rat-men just what a real nuclear holocaust looks like from the inside, in case they’ve forgotten.”

“I’m as sensitive as the next man, as long as the next man just got out of Pentonville and back into his minicab,” he seethed, as millions of readers who swear they only buy the Mail for the quality of its sport coverage feverishly stroked their prejudices to a frenzy. “But I draw the line at not launching enough ICBMs to make the earth’s crust to crack wide open and drag the entire subhuman yellow race back down to hell in a handcart.”

“And I will not cease from mental strife until Rumbelows returns to our high streets once more, its shelves filled with honest British tellies made by Rediffusion, Pye and English Electric whose buttons fall in when you press them,” he added patriotically.

Mr Littlejohn then went on to rant about EastEnders not accurately reflecting the multicultural reality of the East End of London which, in his mind, lies under a permanent pall of smoke from billions of poppies burned by a teeming horde of bomb-carrying al-Qaeda terrorists.

Plastic Toy Will Definitely Make You Forget Crushing Disappointment Of Your Existence This Time

Your little friends really will beckon you into their world like this

Thousands of hollow-eyed refugees from life queued for hours to be the first to escape into a gaudy 3D world of pixellated gratification, as Nintendo’s eagerly-awaited new toy finally went on sale today.

“Look – we gave a couple to Tinchy Snyder and Blue,” said a gloating suit from Nintendo. “Just hand over your last £230 – sorry, cheques not accepted - and you too can be exactly like them in every way.”

“With not one but two screens, the last Nintendo toy promised to totally make me forget about the black decades of constant disappointment that will be the rest of my life,” explained champion thumb-twitcher Josh Geake, who joined the queue outside HMV’s Oxford Street temple of empty promises last night. “Somehow, though, that didn’t quite work out. Looking back, the missing ingredient was obviously a limited version of 3D. So I have no doubt at all that this new plastic thing will lock my mind forever in a colour-saturated fantasy world of running and jumping and finding things, finally locking out the bad thing forever.”

“Just in case it doesn’t, though, I sent my mum out last night to queue up for an iPad2,” he added. “When I get home, my life will be perfect.”

Dancing In Streets Over Entirely Academic Reduction In Soaring Price Of Petrol

After only 83,928,500 litres, you'll have the cock you've always wanted

Britain is still reeling in delight today, after chancellor George Osborne became the nation’s darling after allowing a tiny 1p reduction in the enormous chunk of the skyrocketing cost of a litre of petrol which goes to the Treasury.

“George Osborne can bugger me bandy right now, if the fancy takes him,” enthused ecstatic petrolarse Jeremy Clarkson through tears of gratitude, speaking for the entire car-addict community as he unpeeled his stretch jeans for the first time in years. “And James May has volunteered to administer the Swarfega. Watch and learn, Richard Hammond.”

As millions of grinning car owners feverishly attempted to calculate how many throaty Bugatti penis substitutes they will be able to buy with all the pennies they will save, nobody was churlish enough to spoil the party by paying any attention to Mr Osborne’s encouragement of even more tax evasion from British companies exporting their cash to the numerous tax havens overseen – if that’s the word - by the Foreign Office, or his green light to the banks to carry on gambling as usual.

Meanwhile, the nation’s private jet owners quietly set about restructuring their operations as exclusive charter airlines which will sell nominal tickets to their corporate passengers to take advantage of the laxity of Mr Osborne’s fuel duty rules, thus neatly circumventing his meaningless threat to tax executive travel perks.

Industrial Estate Units To Make Ideal Starter Homes

Parking probably won't be a problem

Councils all over the country gleefully served P45s to their planning departments, as George Osborne announced that they would no longer need to consider any factors associated with a proposed development other than the temporary requirement for a couple of part-time jobs in the painting and decorating trade before granting planning permission for anything, anywhere.

The Budget also released councils from their statutory duty of saving people from living in shitholes.

“Jolly good, that’s the housing crisis sorted,” beamed Mr Osborne, looking supremely pleased with himself as usual.

“All over the country, councils are up to their necks in unleasable small business units on out-of-the-way industrial estates,” explained a spokesman for the Town and Country Planning Association, as he nailed a ‘For Sale: Excellent Potential For Social Housing’ sign to the association’s elegant SW1 headquarters. “Now that industrial premises can be flogged off to the usual suspects for conversion to rabbit hutches, expect to see Sky dishes and tacky prefab conservatories sprouting up all over those hideous conglomerations of leaky tin shacks in the next few months.”

“And I’m sure the upper galleries of Britain’s forgotten coal mines would benefit greatly from a couple of judiciously-placed partition walls and the application of a few rolls of B&Q wallpaper,” he added. “No need to go to the bother of connecting them to the water mains, either – there’s a plentiful supply in the lower levels.”

UN Forces ‘Have No Mandate’ To Topple Kill-Crazy Defence Secretary

Colonel Muammar Gaddafi confirmed today that UN Resolution 1973 makes no provision for the removal by military means of the despicable madman Dr Liam Fox, despite the increasingly bloodthirsty threats made by the hated British defence secretary in recent days.

“Whilst I have every sympathy for the rebels in Britain who are struggling to overthrow their despotic leaders, unfortunately no mandate exists to specifically target this unstable and increasingly isolated madman,” explained Libya’s embattled leader. “That is a sovereign matter which the British people must deal with themselves.”

Every night Dr Fox has the same dream

Earlier, the swivel-eyed Dr Fox had appeared to overstep the mandate of the UN operation, suggesting that RAF Tornado fighter-bombers could be used to assassinate Col. Gaddafi.

“Unfortunately it appears that the idea that came to me whilst playing with my toys in the bath may not be entirely in keeping with international law, dammit,” the defence secretary later told reporters in his tinfoil-lined war bunker. “However, the extremely limited intelligence available to me strongly indicates that Colonel Gaddafi’s khazi is the tactical nerve centre where all his rebel-crushing battle plans are formulated. I have therefore issued orders to Squadron Leader ‘Biggles’ Bigglesworth in Italy, instructing him to bomb up his crate with toilet-busters, potter about in the general vicinity of Tripoli and, if the opportunity arises, follow his nose.”

“If Colonel Gaddafi should have the misfortune to be in residence when his khazi is blasted to kingdom come, that would of course be nothing more than one of the hazards of war,” he added with a smile.

Asked whether Sqn Ldr Bigglesworth was under orders to refrain from releasing his deadly payload if he found the target protected by a human shield, Dr Fox cackled insanely and promised that, to anyone in close proximity to Col. Gaddafi’s bowel movements, being blown to smithereens would be a merciful release.

BBC Decides Making TV Programmes Is Far Too Much Like Hard Work

Jesus, make it stop

BBC director general Mark Thompson complained today that making television programmes is awfully hard - and jolly expensive too.

In an internal review, BBC staff suggested that the BBC could save £150m a year – and a considerable amount of effort – if it simply stopped showing programmes between 10.35pm and 6am.

“Obviously that's one theoretical possibility, or you might do something else, you might put something else on – my money would be on those marvellous shopping channels, or a few of Richard Desmond’s raddled old hags writhing about with a telephone,” said the D-G. “In a sense, it's more of a question it seems to me of how much money, how much of the licence fee, should you direct to this part of the schedule given the people available to view? After all, everybody should be in bed, safely tucked up in bed by half past ten. I know I am.”

“The big advantage is that, if we stopped showing naughty swearing comedians, films with horrid guns and nasty scary monsters in them, signed programmes for the deaf and all that nonsense we could spend even more money on dear old Bruce Forsyth,” he added warmly. “Or we could make six episodes of a costume drama every year and repeat it three times a night, every day of the week.”

“It’s all about viewer choice here at the BBC,” he beamed. “Goodness me, is that the time, is it that time already? I mustn’t miss my afternoon nap.”

Cash Machines To Dispense Your Last Fiver

You can have one more, then, just for old time's sake

The Bank of England confirmed today that you will be soon able to draw that last fiver out of your bank account, taking you to within pennies of your overdraft limit, thanks to the addition of crisp new £5 notes to thousands of cash machines.

“With a hack-and-slash budget just around the corner, millions of people will soon be wistfully eyeing that tantalising last few pounds which their ATM – being full of unattainable £10 and £20 denominations - is not, at present, inclined to give them,” smiled the head of the Bank of England’s notes division, Victoria Cleland. “The printing of these extra £5 notes means that as many as 15% of cash machines will be able to dispense the wherewithal for one paltry last meal before you finally accept that the time has come to have yourself declared bankrupt.”

“Of course, you could quite easily have burnt a fiver’s-worth of petrol before you find a cash machine with £5 notes in,” she laughed. “Oh, I love you little people - you’re so funny.”

Forget Wars, Disasters And The Recession - It’s The Hobbit!

Britain cast off its worries today and - for a brief, poignant moment of self-delusion - forgot that it was enmeshed in yet another war with no strategic goals, with its economy in ruins and facing worse to come in a widely-dreaded budget, while on the other side of the world Japanese engineers were risking their lives to prevent a nuclear meltdown.

Thank God you're here, Peter Jackson

“Look, everyone, we’re filming The Hobbit!” announced inflatable New Zealand director Peter Jackson as he finally got round to pointing a camera at some actors.

“Who else but the foremost multi-Oscar-winning director, producer, scriptwriter, production designer, sound editor, key grip, costume designer, model-maker, focus puller, armourer, CGI artiste, stunt pilot, cameo extra, fluffer and visionary the world has ever seen could have emerged still breathing and sane from the terrible, terrible disasters we’ve faced in the last couple of years?” he shouted modestly.

“First we had a bit of a legal kerfuffle with a Mr. Tolkien’s estate, who seemed to think they owned the rights to my gloriously-imagined vision," boasted the world's most down-to-earth mogul. "Then MGM’s little cashflow blip left dear little Guillermo del Toro in tears, so I had to step in. After that, would you believe the actors actually wanted paying for the privilege of appearing in the greatest story ever told? To top it all, right at the very last minute poor old yours truly had an unscheduled spot of bother with the old guts! I hadn’t seen such a stinking torrent of shit since Meet The Feebles! But hello world! Here I am again!”

“These industrial estates are like rabbit warrens,” he mused aloud to the solitary freelance reporter who turned up at his studio to cover the most momentous day in the history of cinema for local free paper, the Wellingtonian. “I daresay all the world’s top journos must have got lost trying to find us.”

Meanwhile, war movie aficionados were delighted to hear that Jackson protégé Christian Rivers has just filmed his 1,000th frame of the long-awaited Dambusters remake.

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