Shamed Financiers Vow To Be Lovely To Each And Every One Of Us From Now On

As protesters movingly took to the streets of the world’s leading financial centres today, hordes of sobbing money men have been emerging from their corporate towers of glass and steel - begging on their knees for forgiveness, and a chance to put right all of the harm they have selfishly caused to the human race and our suffering planet.

“Mother Gaia, have mercy on my tormented soul,” wailed the head of an international investment bank, tearing off his designer shirt and beating his breast in anguish and remorse. “No more shall the tentacles of my evil global empire subjugate the tribes of the earth. This hippy occupation of the City has truly opened my eyes, and from now on I shall devote my life to distributing its ill-gotten wealth among sustainable local tie-dying operations. Now I beg the joyful face-painting druids of Glastonbury Tor to come forth from this sea of inspirational placards, and paint me humble.”

Job done, chaps - you can all go home now

“I have laid my last disfiguring oil pipeline across the ravaged face of our beautiful planet,” vowed the contrite CEO of a multinational energy exploiter. “Even as I speak, my reformed underlings are dismantling the hated machinery of distribution. From now on, resources will benefit only those in whose sacred ground they are to be found.”

“Pretty soon, I can tell you, there are going to be an awful lot of Eskimos racing round the Alaskan tundra in Range Rovers,” he wept joyfully, as a fellow convert sent word to his Kenyan subsidiary that, from now on, its African workforce would be permitted to gorge themselves every day on coffee beans. “Now, is there a groovy chick here who would like to barter me some henna in exchange for my pointless gold cufflinks? I’ve always harboured a secret yearning for a magnificent mane of bright red dreadlocks.”

Meanwhile, all over the world’s oceans, the crews of tankers, bulk carriers and containers ships were taking to the lifeboats, as instructed by their reformed shipowners, and learning to fish for only their own immediate needs after opening the sea cocks on the hated vessels which have senselessly squandered the world’s dwindling oil supplies hauling goods needlessly from continent to continent.

“Of course, without international trade there will be a billion or so deaths over the course of the next few months,” smiled Bank of England governor Mervyn King, sporting a splendid new set of tribal tattoos on his eyelids as he danced ecstatically around a bonfire of now-obsolete futures and share certificates. “But I know they will pass into the next world happy in the knowledge that the good earth will be fertilised by their cast-off mortal shells, ensuring a fantastic crop of turnips for the survivors to venerate.”

Ex-Defence Secretary Left In Park Litter Bin

Eagle-eyed reporters who saw Cabinet Office minister Oliver Letwit leaving Downing Street this morning dragging a heavy sack followed him to St James’ Park, where they observed him brazenly dumping ex-defence secretary Dr Liam Fox in a rubbish bin.

“This is a clear breach of Westminster guidelines governing the disposal of sensitive waste,” argued shadow Cabinet Office spokesman Michael Dugher, on seeing photographs of Dr Fox’s legs plainly sticking out of the bin in full public view. “For all we know, Liam Fox could still conceivably contain vital information concerning matters of national security.”

Fox hunting - back on the agenda?

Apologising for his lax behaviour, however, a sheepish Mr Letwit firmly maintained that the old defence secretary could only be of passing interest to students of history, as all important military data had previously been excised by his unofficial advisor before disposal.

“As I was leaving Downing Street I nearly tripped over Liam, who was lying in a sack outside the prime minister’s office, clearly stamped ‘EXPIRED: PLEASE DESTROY’,” he said. “As I was heading for St James’ Park as usual to empty my constituency in-tray, I thought I might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

“I was under the distinct impression that Dr Fox had already been comprehensively shredded,” added Mr Letwit. “It’s just as well he’s no use to anyone.”

Government Tells You To Look At The State Of You, Fatty

You should cut down on your pork life, mate

The Department of Health today unveiled the latest scientific arguments in favour of a balanced diet, urging fat bastards to look at the fucking state of themselves, for Christ’s sake.

Leaning out of the passenger window of a Vauxhall Astra as he was driven past today’s press conference, Health Secretary Angela Lansbury shouted “you fat fucking CUNT” at reporters, who responded by questioning him closely on what the fuck it was to him, the wanker.

However, flab-cheeked TV has-been Jamie Oliver slammed the government’s latest obesity strategy, calling it “regurgitated, patronising rubbish” and urging Britain’s fatties to rush out and buy his latest book of regurgitated, patronising rubbish instead.

The Thoughts Of A Plastic Bag

A creature whose entire sordid career is founded on carrying an improbable set of plastic breasts and telling her PA to ring the papers every time she opens her legs today called for the immediate dismantling of the welfare state.

The intellectual powerhouse of neoliberal philosophy

“I come from a fammly wot’s had to work to earn a living innit,” the Katie Price told a hushed Oxford Union, deploying her entire vocabulary in a rhetorical tour de force. “It don't matter if you're like a single mum or you have y’know, financial stuff or woteva, I bleeve that if you rilly like want to do something and put your wotsit to it, it's freezable, but you sort uv have to be realistic, like wot my tits are. That's how I've kind uv lived my life yeah? The more peepo are like, 'You can't do that', the more I’m like, ‘Well like watch me innit y’bastuds,’ and I pay someone to do it faw me jenotameen?”

“Just when you thought it was probably beyond the bounds of possibility to loathe the Katie Price any more than you do already,” commented one stunned Oxford student who had turned up to the ‘Watch A Pleb Trying To Think’ debate, “Hey presto, she opens her cake hole and you discover that she is, in fact, the bastard love child of Norman Tebbit.”

“Thank God I have financial stuff,” he added with a sigh of relief. “Or money, as I believe it’s known to everyone but this orange plastic bint.”

Defence Secretary Farce To Transfer To West End

The farcical embarrassment of defence secretary Dr Liam Rix is set for a long run on the West End stage as soon as its Westminster run comes to an end, according to Conservative Party promoters.

The defence secretary hails a taxi

“Every time Liam tries to protest his innocence, his trousers fall down!” guffawed fan David Cameron, with tears in his eyes. “The scene where the chief of staff - Sir Jock Strap, ho ho - catches him on his knees, trousers at half mast, desperately trying to push a sheepdog into an MoD stationery cupboard brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.”

“How I chuckled at Liam’s reddening cheeks, as he struggled to give a straight-laced hotel manager in Dubai a perfectly innocent explanation of why his ‘best man’ was fumbling around in his government-issue y-fronts with a rubber truncheon!” giggled the prime minister at the tribulations of his hapless neo-conservative defence secretary. “And when the police came round to investigate a burglary at his flat, while his long-suffering wife was away, only to discover a naked bloke hiding in a wardrobe - well, I nearly fell out of my chair!”

Ribald critics, however, are suggesting that the farce’s popular run in the papers will undoubtedly end very soon - possibly before the end of the week – to make room for more traditional bedroom hilarity from the acknowledged master of the genre, Boris Johnson.

Blackberry Outages Forcing Chavs To Think

The second Blackberry network failure in as many days has left many chav owners of the once-exclusive smartphones in real danger of having to actually think about something whilst they are cruelly denied the means of pumping a constant stream of mindless nonsense into their peers.

These chavs might soon start thinking about the world they live in

Fortunately, ailing manufacturer RIM’s inability to run its own network is not bringing chaos to the City’s vitally-important financial institutions, as London’s movers and shakers switched en masse to iPhones when they noticed their office cleaners using Blackberries.

On buses all over the country, however, shell-shocked chavs have twice been reduced to muttering “fuck” for five minutes before exhausting their powers of self-expression and gaping vacantly out of the window for the remainder of their journeys. Bus drivers claim that glimmers of mental activity have been detected in some of them, indicating that the wider world - beyond their limited horizon, which consists of which members of their small circle are currently engaging in sexual activity with each other - may at last be registering in their vacant minds.

Older bus users have even noticed one or two yap-deprived chavs surreptitiously trying to decipher the black marks on other passengers’ newspapers, leading to fears in Westminster of a possible rise in political awareness which - if RIM does not sort out its act soon - could even bring about a calamitous increase in voting.

Chilling Report Warns That You Will Soon Be Joining Horrible Proles

Book your place now, it's about to get rather crowded

Middle-class sphincters clutched spasmodically today, as the Institute for Fiscal Studies solemnly warned that nice people like you will soon be utterly indistinguishable from the lowlife human molluscs who cluster around the entrance of the local Jobcentre.

“With median incomes likely to fall 7% in the next two years, this would be the largest three-year fall in median income since 1974-77,” noted report co-author Robert Spreadsheet. "Face it, Middle England, you’re about to become what you hate and fear: ghastly poor people.”

Already enterprising members of the underclass are offering courses to the downwardly-mobile, covering such vital topics as acceptable levels of aggression in Jobcentres, post-nuclear family management and riot-based looting.

“Well, if I really must join the scum, I might as well hit the ground running,” shrugged a typical doomed Surrey housewife, as her personal trainer showed her the correct way to hide her face under a hood.

World Mental Health Day: More Mentally-Scarred Soldiers To Be Hidden From Public View

To mark World Mental Health Day, the government has urged more soldiers whose minds have been shattered by the trauma of conflict to come forward so they can be shunted off to specialist treatment centres sited well away from public view.

A salubrious place to bury a PR problem

“Nobody likes to see a strapping squaddie shambling about in tears,” said a Ministry of Defence spokesman. “It’s bloody inconsiderate of them. It makes the public feel deeply uncomfortable. People have no problem at all with the odd leg blown off here and there, especially if the resulting monopods go on to hop a half-marathon. But the sight of an apparently fit and healthy man twitching uncontrollably every time somebody slams a window shut puts all sorts of inappropriate ideas into their heads, like maybe a tour of duty in Afghanistan isn’t quite the adrenaline-pumping adventure holiday that they see on the telly.”

5,000 troops have already been specially trained to sensitively shout: “Perkins! You’re fucking mental” at fellow soldiers at the first signs of instability, so they can be transferred to secluded barrack blocks conveniently hidden behind towering walls instead of trying to bottle up their traumas until they return to civvy street and upset the general public with their unmanly behavioural problems.

“I’m s-so g-g-grateful to the army for sh-showing me some helpful p-p-p-Powerpoint slides,” shuddered former combat stress victim Rifleman Barry Snopes. “Now I c-c-can offer p-prospective employers a history of m-m-mental illness, as well as th-thirty d-d-different ways to k-k-kill a towelhead.”

Nation Of Alleged Optimists Ask Scientists: ‘Did You Mention The Economy?’

A typical British optimist thinking of the bright future

As leading neuroscientists published research claiming that the majority of the public are blissfully optimistic, the majority of the public found itself wondering if the researchers actually asked anybody what they thought about the economic future of Britain.

“I accept that I may well be underestimating the likelihood that my marriage will end in a bitter and painful divorce, and I’m almost certainly kidding myself about my 20-a-day smoking habit,” said typical self-deluder Bob Mitchell. “But when I think about the chances of my kids ever earning enough money to buy a house, it seems to me that they’re utterly fucked for the rest of their lives. Doesn’t everybody?”

Head researcher Dr Margaret Strangelove, however, insisted that Mr Mitchell was nevertheless displaying unmistakeable signs of blind optimism about the future.

“Never mind his children,” she pointed out, “He seems to have steered well clear of thinking about the rapidly-decreasing likelihood of ever paying off his own mortgage.”

Survey Sticks Two Fingers Up To Perceptions Of Rudeness

A survey conducted by The Young Foundation has “pissed all over” the notion that standards of politeness in the UK are in a state of decline - claiming that the youth of today are, in fact, “far less fucking rude than the miserable old cunts who disrespect them.”

“I was absolutely fucked sideways by how central it was to lives,” snarled Will Norman, one of the report’s authors. “Civility is underpinned by reciprocity, or 'tit for twat'. Bastards treating other bastards how they would like to be fucking treated. Respect and kindness are fucking contagious.”

A farrago of sickening filth from beginning to end

According to Mr Norman’s report, the idea of a ‘golden age’ of politeness when people said ‘if you please’, ‘would you mind?’ and ‘thank you so much’ is “an outright fucking lie” spread by “pissy old farts who haven’t had a memorable fuck in their entire shitty lives.” Previous generations, he argues, were actually far more toilet-mouthed than the little angels of the 21st century.

“Jesus H Christ on a fucking unicycle, you should hear the shit the censors hacked out of ‘Brief Encounter’,” insisted Mr Norman. “David Lean’s original cut is four shocking hours of unremitting obscenity, in which Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson constantly brag about how they’d like to fuck each other bandy with a stupefying assortment of sex toys.”

“Piss flaps,” he concluded.

Loyal Fans Vow To Ruin Jackson Children’s Lives With Adulation

Dance! Sing! My pretties

Fans of kiddy-bedding plastic corpse Wackson Jackson vowed yesterday to ruin the lives of his children with the same sort of uncritical, psychologically-damaging adulation they showered upon their deeply flawed hero when he was young and impressionable.

50,000 Jackson addicts cheered wildly as poor King Wacko (14), Plaster (11) and Pillow a/k/a King Wacko Mk.II (9) were pushed onstage at the Cardiff tribute performance, creepily dressed in the stage clothes their late father was made to wear whilst being ruthlessly exploited.

“I am utterly impervious to any criticism of the great Wackson Jackson, and if he were to rise from the dead to invite my grandchildren into his bed I’d instruct them not to come back without his autograph - ow!” enthused outwardly-sensible fan Mark Peters, 49, pathetically clutching his shrunken testicles in some kind of tribute.

His wife Shelley agreed vigorously: “Wackson was just a tragic, innocent victim of cynical child exploitation by his own family. And I’d like to thank his family for sharing his children with us.”