Medics Nod Knowingly At Duke’s Awkward ‘Bladder’ Problem

Doctors at the London’s leading King Edward Potato Hospital today tapped their noses and acknowledged that the Duke of Edinburgh’s wrinkled genitals will be painted purple and kept under amused observation for the next couple of days, following his emergency admission yesterday for a sudden flaring-up of “the old bladder problem.”

Clap, everyone

Smiling nurses are greeting the nautical 90-year-old with a cheery ‘Hello sailor’ as they administer iodine and antibiotics to the royal privates, according to a grinning hospital spokesman who suggested that, next time Prince Philip thinks about putting on something for the weekend, at his age he really ought to take sensible precautions.

Meanwhile, rumours that the Queen has changed the locks at Buckingham Palace were, as is customary in such matters, neither confirmed nor denied.

Nagging Golf Enthusiasts To Strike For God-Given Right To World’s Best Pensions

The contemptuous prick who lounges behind a desk for an hour or two every morning, ordering you to stop doing everything that gives you pleasure before roaring off for an agreeable afternoon out on the links, will be enjoying an extra round on June 21st because somebody, somewhere, is due for an even bigger pension than him, according to an open letter written by his gang.

St Mellion's fees are a tad dearer than your Age UK day centre, remember

“Listen, scum,” the BMA explained in every newspaper, “The founding principle of the National Health Service, according to no less an authority than that ghastly little Bevan twerp, is that our mouths should be stuffed with gold. The thought that anybody else might get more cash bunged their way, when they retire to Cornwall, than we will fills Britain’s hardworking doctors – and all the rest of us, too - with a deep-rooted moral sense of injustice, indignation and envy. Now for god’s sake stop smoking, you fat bastard. Get out, you disgust me.”

In a heartwarming gesture of goodwill towards the ignorant proles whose taxes rightly line their pockets, GPs promised that the humble lackeys who do all the tedious parts of the job - which would otherwise involve getting up from their expensive swivel chairs and actually touching poor people and their odious bodily fluids – will, naturally, not be permitted to take a day off.

“And if your stupid, ugly head falls off or whatever, don’t shit yourself,” added a BMA spokesman with a yawn, as he practiced his swing. “We’ve hired the usual foreign johnny to prod your flabby guts and scribble you a chit for two weeks’ worth of Prozac.”

Recession Ends As Blue People Win Thing

Shiny thing make it all better

The British public were still dancing deliriously in every street up and down the land this morning after blue-shirted people won a shiny thing and red-shirted people didn’t, causing the recession to disappear forever.

Not in other news:

Europe Reverts To Hunter-Gatherer Existence 

NHS Abolished 

Badgers Awarded Benefits As Disabled Cull Begins

Government Too Modest To Reveal Just How Wonderful Britain’s Hospitals Have Become

Everything you need to know about the NHS

The cabinet has today declined to publish the risk register for NHS hospitals in England, modestly claiming that healthcare provision has now achieved such absolute perfection that it would be embarrassing to go into any detail.

“The information commissioner is already complaining, and I can’t blame him for asking because everyone likes to be the bearer of good news,” smiled health secretary Angela Lansbury diffidently, “But I just don’t want all our hard-working, dedicated doctors and nurses to get all big-headed, just because they’ve cured everybody of everything and abolished death from our land forever. It’s all here in this report, which I’m not going to show you.”

The remarkably self-effacing Mrs Lansbury added that he was “a firm believer in greater transparency”, which was why he was sending the report back to the printers to be republished using invisible ink.

NHS Trusts Say Welcome To The 24-Hour Society, Suckers

Hospital chiefs have reacted to public outrage over the routine weekly discharging of thousands of patients into the dead of night by inviting Britain to drag itself kicking and screaming into the endless 24-hour utopia that is the 21st century.

NHS chiefs thought you'd be glad to escape

“Look at it this way,” said Brichester NHS Hospitals Trust CEO Roland Franklyn. “Thanks to the communications consoles we’ve installed over every bed whether you want one or not, we know that more and more patients are passing the tedious hours of their post-op recovery by ordering all sorts of crap on the internet or via the shopping channels. By wheeling them out of the door in the wee small hours, we’re making sure they’re ready and waiting at home when the courier turns up at 7am sharp on their doorstep with their deliveries.”

“So this is the thanks we get for trying to be helpful, is it?” he sneered. “The society that never sleeps is OK when it suits you, but not when it suits us? Screw you. Have it your own way, just don’t expect a bed all to yourself when you come round from the anaesthetic. Let’s see how you enjoy spending a whole night trying to avoid the spreading patch of old Mrs Simpkin’s wee.”

Smokers Now Officially Worse Than Paedos

Evil smokers have replaced paedophiles as the nation’s most hated monsters in human form, says the Department of Health, as it launches a hard-hitting advertising campaign urging all right-thinking people to bludgeon to death anyone they spot lurking within a mile of an ickle pretty child and looks as if they could be about to whip out a cigarette.

“I urge you with all the PR at my disposal to report any neighbours you might suspect of smoking to the police immediately,” bellowed Professor Terence Stephenson, president of the Royal College of Ickle Pretty Children. “These repugnant creatures dream of fucking a child’s ickle pretty lungs up. If you want my informed medical opinion, I’d burn the sick bastards’ genitals off with their own lighters.”

Let's find out where she lives, and burn it down

On the BBC Breakfast this morning, a spokesman for shady smokophile apologists FOREST - who dared to suggest that the generation who grew up breathing factory-chimney levels of deadly household toxins seemed to have become the longest-lived people in history - was thrashed senseless with a fire extinguisher by enraged presenter Susanna Reid, prompting a flood of complaints to BBC switchboards that she had let him live.

“When a doctor pointed out what everybody knows, i.e. those lung-molesters at FOREST are in cahoots with the murdering profiteers who run the tobacco industry, that twisted pervert had the bloody nerve to wonder if the pharmaceutical companies were making anything out of their holy patches of good nicotine,” screamed a typical caller. “Right now I can see the bloke over the road loitering outside his front door, furtively ramming his disgusting smoke down my unsuspecting kids’ throats while they’re out playing innocently in my ex’s back garden on the other side of town, the dirty fucker!”

“Where did I put my carving knife?” she added thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, a spokesman for the government urged the public to forget about fuel and pasties and concentrate on the vitally important task of living in a permanent state of blind, terrified rage.

Clegg Thanks Party For Gift Of Knife In Back

This is a smile, and Nick Clegg has the respect of his party

Wearing his best upside-down smile, Nick Clegg wiped a tear from his eye at the Liberal Democrats’ spring conference in Gateshead as he thanked the party faithful for the touching gift they presented to him yesterday - which took the form of a gleaming stainless-steel scalpel, pinning between his shoulder blades a heartfelt note thanking him for all he has done for the party’s reputation in the two years since becoming deputy prime minister.

“I can’t quite reach round to pull it out and have a good look at it,” apologised Mr Clegg bravely, as delighted NHS paramedics gleefully threw him in the back of an ambulance bound for the Royal Cornwall Hospital. “But Shirley Williams tells me it’s a marvellous example of British precision toolmaking which I should definitely show to David Cameron, if he comes to visit me.”

Key Points Of David Cameron’s New Year Message

He's back. Did you miss him?

1. There are no invisible countries.
2. Fortunately, we’ve lined up some nice distractions for you.
3. Because this year the shit’s really going to hit the fan.
4. If I fiddle with all the broken stuff a bit - the NHS, education, law enforcement, that sort of thing – you never know, I might eventually be able to bodge something together that works. Well, sort of.
5. I’ve found some jolly splendid words in the dictionary to describe how things used to be, back in the good old days.
6. Did I mention the nice shiny things?
7. Never mind. A hundred years from now, none of this will matter.

Stay At Home, NHS Trusts Tell Non-Private Patients

There is no clinical need for many poor people to ever set foot inside an NHS hospital again, according to NHS Confederation chief Mike Farrar, now that the government has allowed 49% of hospital beds to be allocated to paying customers who want a new pair of tits.

Think of the convenience

“Hospitals play a vital role but we do rely on them for some services which could be provided elsewhere, i.e. all the unprofitable stuff,” explained Mr Farrar. “For example, most people own a perfectly good bed which, if it was put up on blocks, could easily double as a damned comfortable operating table.”

The organisation, which represents the nation’s NHS service providers and commissioners, says that its members' staff are perfectly capable of carrying out much of their work in patients’ homes, possibly for up to ten minutes a day.

“Especially converting your TV, radio, computer and phone to pay-to-use,” smiled Mr Farrar. “After we’ve put you under for your in-house triple bypass op with Strictly Come Dancing or The Apprentice, the use of your consumer electronics will cost you a very reasonable fiver a day until you’re up and about again.”

“Unless, of course, you’re happy to starve to death whilst trying to order up a pizza by semaphore from your bedroom window,” he added.

Doctors Don’t Know Jack Shit About Anything, Boardroom Wallahs Tell Delighted Government

The average NHS doctor is a drooling idiot who can’t diagnose his arse from his elbow, let alone chronic suffering from chronic laziness, say the management wonks whom the Department For No Work And No Pensions commissioned to tell them what they wanted to hear.

Trust me, I'm a manager

David Frost, the director general of the British Chambers of Commerce (not the former satirist and co-founder of TV-am) and Dame Carol Black - who may actually have practised medicine at some early point in her career, before her breakthrough discovery of comfy chairs in the boardroom – have reported to an ecstatic DWP that the diagnosis of long-term health conditions is far too important to be entrusted to slack-jawed general practitioners and should be performed instead by an appointed panel of doctors who can’t be arsed with practising medicine any more.

“Hello, good evening and welcome. Unlike GPs - whose so-called ‘patients’ are almost certainly splitting their ill-gotten benefits 50/50 with them, I dare say - an independent panel on a lucrative government contract will of course be completely and utterly impartial,” droned Mr Frost, whose vast knowledge of Powerpoint and minutes of previous meetings uniquely qualifies him to weigh up complex medical factors. “Just like Atos Medical, in fact, who richly deserve the completely and utterly impartial bonuses they get for depriving the sick and disabled of their benefits. And, of course, it will be through its absolute independence that the panel will meet the government’s arbitrary target of telling 20% of the disabled to fuck off down the dole office and start looking for jobs they can do perfectly well whilst crying their eyes out in pain and misery.”

Dame Carol, concurring, then moved an extraordinary motion of remunerative gratitude to herself and Mr Frost, which was unanimously carried by themselves.