Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Wednesday, 20 June 2012
Monday, 14 May 2012
Train Company Starts Laughing In Passengers’ Faces
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| That'll look nice rammed up his arse |
Human cattle will be openly mocked with scornful taunts, such as:
“You’re going to spend the next hour and a half with your face in some sweaty fat bastard’s armpit, shortarse”;
“See that smug wanker with the iPod? He’s screwing your wife on Friday afternoons”;
“While we’re parked here at West Ruislip just to annoy you, perhaps you’d like to pass the time by wondering whether you’d arrive on time if you had the balls to leg it over to platform 1 and board the tube train that’s been sitting there for the last ten minutes”;
“If you think London’s a shithole now, wait until the Olympics kick off!”
“We have a cunning plan, my lord,” chortled Chiltern’s comedy manager Chad Collins unhilariously, clutching his heaving sides as guffawing lackeys crammed another hapless sufferer onto the 0655 at Birmingham Moor Street.
Thursday, 17 November 2011
More Spacker Jokes Please, Golden Globes Organisers Beg Gervais
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| What the beautiful people can look forward to |
“Gervais – who all comedians are now contractually obliged to pray to at the start of every gig – is the perfect host for this glamorous ceremony in front of Tinseltown’s beautiful people,” said a spokesman for the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. “And you can bet your sweet ass, buddy, none of them are mongs.”
Broadcaster NBC, which will be televising Gervais’ string of hilarious crip-based insults, later confirmed that the funniest man in the world will be bringing along his little stumpy prop Warwick Davis, tossing him into the crowd and inviting the assembled glitterati to join in what it promises will be a deeply moving tribute to raise public awareness of the issues faced by the disabled community.
When invited to comment on the Golden Globes, Mr Gervais pulled one of his side-splitting mong faces, went, “Awwwmmmpff ” and charged the Nev Filter £200,000.
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Lib Dems Desperate To Book Russell Howard Or Tim Vine For Next Conference
Although hopes remain high that Nick Clegg’s closing promises will have delegates falling off their seats with mirth, this year there have been few belly laughs at what is traditionally the most hilarious gig of the party conference season.
After children’s minister Sarah Teeth failed dismally to crack so much as a smile with her ill-advised effort at stand-up comedy at the Liberal Democrats’ sombre conference in Birmingham today, party officials assured hatchet-faced delegates that they would take whatever steps were necessary to guarantee a fun-packed roster of jocular ministers for next year’s headline event.
“Ideally we’d kick one of our time-expired westcountry MPs upstairs and parachute Eddie Izzard into a safe Cornish seat,” said a red-faced conference booking agent. “But he defected to New Labour in disgust years ago and anyway, we lost half our safe Cornish seats at the last election. I think we’re just going to have to take a leaf out of David Cameron’s book by elevating people we like to the House of Lords, then giving them ministerial portfolios.”
“George Osborne line dancing… hell’s teeth,” he sobbed as he shuffled away.
Comedians with any sort of interest in politics have been remarkably swift to claim an extraordinary number of international tours which happen to coincide with next year’s conference dates, however.
Already the field of potential LibDem lords has narrowed to a mere handful of apolitical comics, led by veteran pun factory Tim Vine, whose public profile could do with a boost, or possibly chirpy little Bristolian optimist Russell Howard, 12, as long as party whips can convince his mummy he will be safely tucked up in bed by nine every night.
“God help us, the way Britain’s stand-ups are all desperately claiming Las Vegas bookings on the same weekend next September, we could end up with the doomsday scenario of Michael McIntyre,” wept one loyal grass-roots activist. “Please, shoot me now.”
After children’s minister Sarah Teeth failed dismally to crack so much as a smile with her ill-advised effort at stand-up comedy at the Liberal Democrats’ sombre conference in Birmingham today, party officials assured hatchet-faced delegates that they would take whatever steps were necessary to guarantee a fun-packed roster of jocular ministers for next year’s headline event.
“Ideally we’d kick one of our time-expired westcountry MPs upstairs and parachute Eddie Izzard into a safe Cornish seat,” said a red-faced conference booking agent. “But he defected to New Labour in disgust years ago and anyway, we lost half our safe Cornish seats at the last election. I think we’re just going to have to take a leaf out of David Cameron’s book by elevating people we like to the House of Lords, then giving them ministerial portfolios.”
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| It's like Mr Potato Head reproduced, only not as funny |
Comedians with any sort of interest in politics have been remarkably swift to claim an extraordinary number of international tours which happen to coincide with next year’s conference dates, however.
Already the field of potential LibDem lords has narrowed to a mere handful of apolitical comics, led by veteran pun factory Tim Vine, whose public profile could do with a boost, or possibly chirpy little Bristolian optimist Russell Howard, 12, as long as party whips can convince his mummy he will be safely tucked up in bed by nine every night.
“God help us, the way Britain’s stand-ups are all desperately claiming Las Vegas bookings on the same weekend next September, we could end up with the doomsday scenario of Michael McIntyre,” wept one loyal grass-roots activist. “Please, shoot me now.”
Friday, 18 March 2011
BBC Finally Drags Moyles Out Of Barricaded Studio
Radio 1 DJ Chris Moyles was finally dragged, kicking and screaming and talking shite, away from a microphone this morning after desperate BBC producers gave up trying to get through his barricaded door and knocked down a wall adjoining his studio, finally bringing to a merciful end 52 harrowing hours of pig-headed ignorance and muzak.
The nation’s ordeal began on Wednesday, when Moyles and his underling, Tragedy Dave, dragged several large filing cabinets full of pies into his padded studio, wedged them firmly against the heavy steel door and welded it shut.
The airwaves of Britain were then jammed on all frequencies as Moyles launched into a marathon of spectacularly ill-informed ranting about everything from the Alternative Vote System - of which he knows nothing - to the deliberations of the UN Security Council - of which he knows nothing - via a broad spectrum of current affairs, celebrity trivia and music – of which he knows nothing.
“We tried removing the door with cutting torches, but Moyles had welded all the filing cabinets together, making it impossible to pull clear,” said a sweating Andy Parfitt, the controller of Radio 1. “In the end, we had to coax light entertainers out of the BBC canteen and assemble them into teams, taking turns swinging sledgehammers at the adjoining wall. Poor old Stephen Fry may never recover from having to do a proper day's work for the first time in his life.”
After many tiring hours of hammering, a large enough hole had been made for little Jimmy Carr to squeeze through. However, Moyles swiftly stunned the well-spoken comic with a mighty stinking belch he had been fuelling with dozens of mince pies for such an eventuality, tied him to a chair and tortured him with a battery of monumentally banal twatticisms.
Several hours later, as the last remnants of the wall were knocked out, a massed charge led by Jeremy Paxman managed to overpower the 35-stone ignoramus and his drooling henchman in desperate hand-to-hand fighting, and the barrage of offensive inanity was finally brought to a close.
As a solemn mark of the ordeal which Britain has endured, tonight’s BBC Comic Relief event will be renamed BBC – What A Relief.
“After what it’s just been through, the nation could do with a bloody good belly-laugh,” said director general Mark Thompson. “Unfortunately, the best we could dig up is the rotting corpse of Alan Partridge, a valium addict waving a teddy bear in front of a camcorder and the worst episode of Doctor Who ever filmed.”
“I’d suggest you all sink about twelve pints before switching the telly on this evening,” he warned. “Christ knows, you’re going to need it.”
The nation’s ordeal began on Wednesday, when Moyles and his underling, Tragedy Dave, dragged several large filing cabinets full of pies into his padded studio, wedged them firmly against the heavy steel door and welded it shut.
The airwaves of Britain were then jammed on all frequencies as Moyles launched into a marathon of spectacularly ill-informed ranting about everything from the Alternative Vote System - of which he knows nothing - to the deliberations of the UN Security Council - of which he knows nothing - via a broad spectrum of current affairs, celebrity trivia and music – of which he knows nothing.
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| Jimmy Carr will need years of expensive trauma counselling |
After many tiring hours of hammering, a large enough hole had been made for little Jimmy Carr to squeeze through. However, Moyles swiftly stunned the well-spoken comic with a mighty stinking belch he had been fuelling with dozens of mince pies for such an eventuality, tied him to a chair and tortured him with a battery of monumentally banal twatticisms.
Several hours later, as the last remnants of the wall were knocked out, a massed charge led by Jeremy Paxman managed to overpower the 35-stone ignoramus and his drooling henchman in desperate hand-to-hand fighting, and the barrage of offensive inanity was finally brought to a close.
As a solemn mark of the ordeal which Britain has endured, tonight’s BBC Comic Relief event will be renamed BBC – What A Relief.
“After what it’s just been through, the nation could do with a bloody good belly-laugh,” said director general Mark Thompson. “Unfortunately, the best we could dig up is the rotting corpse of Alan Partridge, a valium addict waving a teddy bear in front of a camcorder and the worst episode of Doctor Who ever filmed.”
“I’d suggest you all sink about twelve pints before switching the telly on this evening,” he warned. “Christ knows, you’re going to need it.”
Thursday, 23 December 2010
Channel 4 Keen To Prove Its Existence With Footage Of Frankie Boyle Crapping Satirically Into Ethnic Child’s Wheelchair
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| And tonight he's going to fuck your mum in the name of comedy |
The long-forgotten Channel 4 is mounting an increasingly desperate campaign to remind viewers that it still exists, by threatening to air live footage of unwanted ginger child Frankie Boyle stamping around the streets of London in an attempt to outrage everybody he meets.
“Believe it or not, Channel 4 is still here, still broadcasting away merrily to itself and still hacking away at the cutting edge of television,” ranted some cokehead nobody with a very expensive pair of glasses, who insisted he was its Head of Comedy. “But you probably fucking missed last night’s fantastic airing of Frankie’s satire masterpiece, ‘Rohypnol Nights’ - in which he hilariously told a little piccaninny with leukaemia to fuck off and kicked some blind wog bint under a passing bus – because you were watching some boring old toss like the Goodies, you provincial brain-dead cunts.”
“If you have the rudimentary intelligence to find us on your digital boxes, don’t miss Jimmy Carr pissing into a quadraplegic ex-serviceman’s eyes on Christmas Day,” he added. “It’s funny in an incredibly sophisticated way, even if you’re all too bloody repressed to appreciate it. And please, please help to spread the word that we’re still here by visiting our website, typing your name into the Outraged Viewer letter and clicking the ‘email to every Tory MP’ link. We need the publicity.”
“Shitty Christmas, everybody, and we wish you all AIDS in the New Year!” he added waggishly.
Tuesday, 14 December 2010
Michael McIntyre Seeks Last Few People Not Yet Irritated By Patronising Smugness
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| Why is there never a bus around when you need one? |
“Michael McIntyre has a rare talent for inspiring undying hatred in everyone who has ever endured his snobbish, patronising travesty of a stand-up performance,” his agent, Satan, told reporters. “There isn’t one panel show that hasn’t been permanently blighted by his smarmy hamster face with its huge, permanently-arched eyebrows and his arrogant, condescending attempts at wit.”
“Anyone with an ounce of self-respect already loathes Michael’s supercilious aura of supreme self-satisfaction,” he added, “Which is why, in order to complete the challenge I set him and complete his own franchised branch of hell on earth, his last remaining task is a judging spot on my favourite son Simon Cowell’s God-forsaken idiot parade.”
In his wholly unnecessary career spanning eleven long years, only the Daily Mail now rivals Mr MacIntyre for uniting the British people in a collective desire to see the Home Counties smitten forever from the face of the earth by pestilence, flood or nuclear disaster.
“As a precaution, prior to each show Amanda Holden will be subjected to a full body search for concealed hammers, frying pans and wellies before she is allowed to sit within striking distance of him,” added Satan. “I’m pretty sure her soul is mine now, but there’s no need to take any chances.”
Monday, 29 November 2010
Obituary: Comic’s Death Inspires Tragic Comments
The death of actor Leslie Nielsen has been marked by a vast outpouring of tragic repetitions of the name Shirley, by which he was not known.
Nielsen - who passed on yesterday, confounding fellow players who were convinced he was going to twist – was born young, in the backwoods of Canada. His family later moved to the middlewoods; but, before he could reach the frontwoods he longed for, he was caught up in the Second World War - an eye-watering experience, which women can never fully understand.
Nielsen joined the Royal Canadian Air Force despite being legally deaf – fortuitously, as he later learned that volunteers whose deafness was deemed illegal faced up to six years in a military jail. Serving as a tail gunner, Nielsen soon won recognition in the pilots’ mess for his smooth pouring of drinks from inside a hydraulic turret. As an aerial gunner, he was decorated for shooting the radar aerials off enemy night fighters; the citation refers to the coolness of his pastel wallpaper, and his dedicated Feng Shui advisor.
On leaving the RCAF from a great height, Neilson initially went into radio – sets were bigger in those days, he once reminisced – playing records live on air in New York. Moving into television (“Ah, room to stretch out”) and cinema (“Hey, let’s throw a party!”), Nielsen swiftly realised that playing records had suddenly become a lot harder to pull off, unless you happened to be black, flat and circular, so he opted to play people roles instead.
After making over a hundred television appearances, the aspiring Leslie Nielsen was forced to give up his conjuring act when one accidentally fell out of his jacket. He then went to Hollywood to make a film – a lucky choice, as it turned out that legendary director Michael Curtiz had also gone there with the exact same idea. Curtiz offered to do the film-making, if Nielsen would walk about in front of the camera making yap and waving his arms around.
The result was an MGM contract – a surprise to Nielsen, who was expecting several cans of film – which saw him catapulted to stardom in ‘Forbidden Planet’ as the captain of a spaceship driven by a powerful catapult. The daily rigours of being hurled across Los Angeles in the name of entertainment, some believe, are the reason his hair turned prematurely white, although Nielsen always insisted that he hadn’t pencilled in a specific date for it.
The lean years of television that followed sent a variety of nondescript roles Nielsen’s way, all of which he dutifully ate in the required leaning position. However, a fight in a print shop saw him cast against type and, as the deadpan doctor in comedy hit movie Airplane!, Nielsen became a legend by delivering The Funniest Line Ever Spoken In The Entire History Of Comedy According To People With An Atrophied Sense Of Humour as he bravely struggled to bring a pan back to life.
Although Police Squad! flopped on television, it was successfully cleaned off with a damp sponge - and, in three hit Naked Gun movies, Nielsen again reduced many comedy fans to tears by picking up the part of plain-clothes detective Frank Drebin, putting it away and zipping it up too fast. An eye-watering experience, which women can never fully understand.
Leslie Nielsen, comic actor (1926-2010)
Nielsen - who passed on yesterday, confounding fellow players who were convinced he was going to twist – was born young, in the backwoods of Canada. His family later moved to the middlewoods; but, before he could reach the frontwoods he longed for, he was caught up in the Second World War - an eye-watering experience, which women can never fully understand.
Nielsen joined the Royal Canadian Air Force despite being legally deaf – fortuitously, as he later learned that volunteers whose deafness was deemed illegal faced up to six years in a military jail. Serving as a tail gunner, Nielsen soon won recognition in the pilots’ mess for his smooth pouring of drinks from inside a hydraulic turret. As an aerial gunner, he was decorated for shooting the radar aerials off enemy night fighters; the citation refers to the coolness of his pastel wallpaper, and his dedicated Feng Shui advisor.
On leaving the RCAF from a great height, Neilson initially went into radio – sets were bigger in those days, he once reminisced – playing records live on air in New York. Moving into television (“Ah, room to stretch out”) and cinema (“Hey, let’s throw a party!”), Nielsen swiftly realised that playing records had suddenly become a lot harder to pull off, unless you happened to be black, flat and circular, so he opted to play people roles instead.
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| It's going to be an interesting funeral |
The result was an MGM contract – a surprise to Nielsen, who was expecting several cans of film – which saw him catapulted to stardom in ‘Forbidden Planet’ as the captain of a spaceship driven by a powerful catapult. The daily rigours of being hurled across Los Angeles in the name of entertainment, some believe, are the reason his hair turned prematurely white, although Nielsen always insisted that he hadn’t pencilled in a specific date for it.
The lean years of television that followed sent a variety of nondescript roles Nielsen’s way, all of which he dutifully ate in the required leaning position. However, a fight in a print shop saw him cast against type and, as the deadpan doctor in comedy hit movie Airplane!, Nielsen became a legend by delivering The Funniest Line Ever Spoken In The Entire History Of Comedy According To People With An Atrophied Sense Of Humour as he bravely struggled to bring a pan back to life.
Although Police Squad! flopped on television, it was successfully cleaned off with a damp sponge - and, in three hit Naked Gun movies, Nielsen again reduced many comedy fans to tears by picking up the part of plain-clothes detective Frank Drebin, putting it away and zipping it up too fast. An eye-watering experience, which women can never fully understand.
Leslie Nielsen, comic actor (1926-2010)
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Whine About This, Holmes, You Sexless Empty-Headed Jowly Cry-Baby
Talentless, simpering, dough-faced TV gutbucket Eamonn Holmes is probably in tears as he reads this unnecessarily spiteful and deeply personal attack, said the Nev Filter today.
The satirical website made its unwarranted slurs in response to the insipid suit-bursting nobody’s complaint to the BBC about a sketch on Jon Culshaw’s The Impressions Show, in which the boring breakfast TV and Sky News parasite was depicted eating a sofa, a jockey and a vase of flowers.
Inviting the nonsensically egotistic lardarse to do his worst, the Nev Filter expresses the opinion that it is sadly typical of the spineless drones who now infest BBC management suites to roll over and apologise for the cardinal sin of making a joke in a comedy programme.
“Come on, fatboy, do your worst - because I’m not retracting a single word,” Nev is quoted as saying. “Everybody knows the only reason you’re taking up sofa space on our screens is because your wife Ruth Langsford - whom producers mistakenly believe has some sort of MILF appeal – doesn’t dare leave you alone for five minutes in a house with a freezer full of bacon and oven chips.”
Media commentators agree that cannibal piggy Holmes will have to take his place in a long line of outraged self-important nonentities with a grievance against the Nev Filter.
“To give just one tragic example, national treasure Stephen Fry hasn’t stopped sobbing his lovably baggy eyes out after being taken to task for caring more about his collection of Apple toys than Chinese workers’ rights by some fat beardy internet troll in Plymouth,” says a BBC spokesman. “Shit.”
“On behalf of the BBC, I hereby offer an unequivocal grovelling apology to Nev for the outrageous and unjustified slur I’ve just made,” he adds.
The satirical website made its unwarranted slurs in response to the insipid suit-bursting nobody’s complaint to the BBC about a sketch on Jon Culshaw’s The Impressions Show, in which the boring breakfast TV and Sky News parasite was depicted eating a sofa, a jockey and a vase of flowers.
Inviting the nonsensically egotistic lardarse to do his worst, the Nev Filter expresses the opinion that it is sadly typical of the spineless drones who now infest BBC management suites to roll over and apologise for the cardinal sin of making a joke in a comedy programme.
“Come on, fatboy, do your worst - because I’m not retracting a single word,” Nev is quoted as saying. “Everybody knows the only reason you’re taking up sofa space on our screens is because your wife Ruth Langsford - whom producers mistakenly believe has some sort of MILF appeal – doesn’t dare leave you alone for five minutes in a house with a freezer full of bacon and oven chips.”
Media commentators agree that cannibal piggy Holmes will have to take his place in a long line of outraged self-important nonentities with a grievance against the Nev Filter.
“To give just one tragic example, national treasure Stephen Fry hasn’t stopped sobbing his lovably baggy eyes out after being taken to task for caring more about his collection of Apple toys than Chinese workers’ rights by some fat beardy internet troll in Plymouth,” says a BBC spokesman. “Shit.”
“On behalf of the BBC, I hereby offer an unequivocal grovelling apology to Nev for the outrageous and unjustified slur I’ve just made,” he adds.
Sunday, 3 January 2010
Twitter In Meltdown As Stephen Fry Signs Off
Popular social yammering site Twitter is teetering on the edge of economic collapse today, after people's polymath Stephen Fry issued a shock statement that he would be refraining from twatting for the next few months. Investors promptly reacted to the loss of Twitter's main user by dumping millions of now-worthless shares.
The legendary actor, wit, writer, comedian, genius, explorer, philosopher, historian, Mac user, occasional Jew, quantum physicist, botty connoisseur, patroniser of Alan Davies and acceptable face of bipolar disorder announced to a shocked world that he was withdrawing from all social activity for the next few months, in order to concentrate all of his vast mental powers on a cheque from his publishers - who have been wondering lately whether he might possibly pull his erudite finger out of his Wildean arse and finally get round to capitalising on the runaway success of Moab Is My Washpot, the first volume of his autobiography.
"Gosh crikey, doesn't time fly, like an innocent young caterpillar masticating furiously - oh come come come come now, shame on you all - on the shiny purple cap of a magnificent cock-shaped rocket on Bonfire Night?" burbled Britain's venerable queen on the brainfart-sharing website. "Yet here am I, frivolously dispensing my bon mots amongst you, my adulatory Twat- academy, free gratis and for - as it seems the vulgar saying goes - absolutely bugger all, when my editor points out - quite correctly, under the circumstances - that he is paying me £7.50 per mot and - as he phrases it with admirably earthy forthrightness - he 'hasn't seen a single frigging word in twelve long sodding years' and expresses his fervent desire to - as he so pithily puts it - 'pack the bastard off to the printers' before he finally succumbs to the leering advances of lecherous old age."
Industry analysts are warning web investors of significant falls in lol, rofl and pmsl over the coming months of Frylessness.
"Alas, alack and Alan Davies! I fear it's adieu, auf wiedersehen, ave atque vale with lols aplenty from your silly old uncle Stephen," chortled the renaissance man who made the role of Kingdom his own whilst rushing round the United States in his mould-breaking travel series, If It's Tuesday Afternoon This Must Be Nebraska. "I'm bumbling offwards to trawl the fusty corridors of my vast cathedral of a brain for any side-splitting anecdotes about Rowan Atkinson or Emma Thompson that haven't already been told by everyone else - or indeed by my humble self on Twitter."
The legendary actor, wit, writer, comedian, genius, explorer, philosopher, historian, Mac user, occasional Jew, quantum physicist, botty connoisseur, patroniser of Alan Davies and acceptable face of bipolar disorder announced to a shocked world that he was withdrawing from all social activity for the next few months, in order to concentrate all of his vast mental powers on a cheque from his publishers - who have been wondering lately whether he might possibly pull his erudite finger out of his Wildean arse and finally get round to capitalising on the runaway success of Moab Is My Washpot, the first volume of his autobiography.
"Gosh crikey, doesn't time fly, like an innocent young caterpillar masticating furiously - oh come come come come now, shame on you all - on the shiny purple cap of a magnificent cock-shaped rocket on Bonfire Night?" burbled Britain's venerable queen on the brainfart-sharing website. "Yet here am I, frivolously dispensing my bon mots amongst you, my adulatory Twat- academy, free gratis and for - as it seems the vulgar saying goes - absolutely bugger all, when my editor points out - quite correctly, under the circumstances - that he is paying me £7.50 per mot and - as he phrases it with admirably earthy forthrightness - he 'hasn't seen a single frigging word in twelve long sodding years' and expresses his fervent desire to - as he so pithily puts it - 'pack the bastard off to the printers' before he finally succumbs to the leering advances of lecherous old age."
Industry analysts are warning web investors of significant falls in lol, rofl and pmsl over the coming months of Frylessness.
"Alas, alack and Alan Davies! I fear it's adieu, auf wiedersehen, ave atque vale with lols aplenty from your silly old uncle Stephen," chortled the renaissance man who made the role of Kingdom his own whilst rushing round the United States in his mould-breaking travel series, If It's Tuesday Afternoon This Must Be Nebraska. "I'm bumbling offwards to trawl the fusty corridors of my vast cathedral of a brain for any side-splitting anecdotes about Rowan Atkinson or Emma Thompson that haven't already been told by everyone else - or indeed by my humble self on Twitter."
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Eddie Izzard Pokes BNP With Spoons
Eddie Izzard has been visiting Manchester to launch a campaign against the British National Party in the run-up to the European parliamentary elections, amid growing concerns that far-right is seeking to capitalise on people's fears about immigration.
"What? Yes! Right. Jam," the well-known comic and actor told the assembled journalists. "Jam, that's what I've brought you all here to talk about. Racists don't make jam, do they? No! Or do they? Golliwogs! What's going on there? 'Achtung, mein fuhrer! Ve haf come up viz ze vunderbar scheme to undermine ze famous Blitz spirit of ze hated Englanders viz zis cute liddle cartoon character.' 'Why are you speaking like that, Goering? How many times must I tell you not to speak with your mouth full?'"
"Hitler farted all the time, he was famous for it - vegetarian diet, yes, hmm," continued Mr Izzard to himself. "'Ah, Benito, my old friend, welcome to Germany - look up there! Seagull! - parp - dammit! Another brilliant gag ruined! Kesselring! Invade Greece! What? Yes, take a factor-30 sunscreen. Heil me.' So, yes, I do wear women's clothes, but in an empowering kind of way. Good link, eh?"
"What? Yes! Right. Jam," the well-known comic and actor told the assembled journalists. "Jam, that's what I've brought you all here to talk about. Racists don't make jam, do they? No! Or do they? Golliwogs! What's going on there? 'Achtung, mein fuhrer! Ve haf come up viz ze vunderbar scheme to undermine ze famous Blitz spirit of ze hated Englanders viz zis cute liddle cartoon character.' 'Why are you speaking like that, Goering? How many times must I tell you not to speak with your mouth full?'"
"Hitler farted all the time, he was famous for it - vegetarian diet, yes, hmm," continued Mr Izzard to himself. "'Ah, Benito, my old friend, welcome to Germany - look up there! Seagull! - parp - dammit! Another brilliant gag ruined! Kesselring! Invade Greece! What? Yes, take a factor-30 sunscreen. Heil me.' So, yes, I do wear women's clothes, but in an empowering kind of way. Good link, eh?"
Friday, 5 December 2008
Lord Wogan Abdicates Eurovision Throne
The BBC has ended months of speculation by announcing that, after 35 years in the role, the revered Lord Wogan has decided to end his reign as silly-commentator for the Eurovision Song Contest. His place (and sherry) will be taken by Graham Norton, another irritating Irishman well past his sell-by date.
“According to a little-known rule of the European Broadcasting Union, the UK’s commentator must come from Ireland,” said a BBC spokesman. “Sadly, that puts Nick Griffin of the BNP out of the running. Don’t be too upset, though - the same rules mean that eleven other countries must have British commentators moaning about the entries, the hosts, the sets, and the voting system. For example, the considered opinions of art critic Brian Sewell have the Russians crying with laughter, while Germany ponders the uproarious wit of Basil Brush, Serbia respects the brutal authority of glaring slaphead Ross Kemp and Israel is just plain baffled by Mark Lawrenson. Meanwhile, the French get Jeremy Paxman, and serve them right.”
Vulgar camp stereotype Norton had to beat off stiff competition from other Irish funny-men to grab the proud post, however.
“Dylan Moran was ruled out at an early stage, as his brand of nihilistic despair might lead particularly grief-stricken viewers to commit suicide,” explained the spokesman, "And while Dara O’Briain’s whimsical sarcasm might fit well, many of our older viewers tend to confuse him with Uncle Fester from the Addams Family. Conversely, thanks to his starring role in My Hero, Ardal O’Hanlon is a firm favourite with that age group - but millions of Father Ted fans would like to kill him, for the same reason. And anyway, he’s already been hired by Lithuania.”
Easily-pleased, cloth-eared Eurovision addicts are already bouncing up and down with glee in anticipation of next year’s contest, leading to record advance sales of tranquilisers in the residential care sector.
Meanwhile, Lord Wogan issued a statement calling for “a bloody good war“.
“According to a little-known rule of the European Broadcasting Union, the UK’s commentator must come from Ireland,” said a BBC spokesman. “Sadly, that puts Nick Griffin of the BNP out of the running. Don’t be too upset, though - the same rules mean that eleven other countries must have British commentators moaning about the entries, the hosts, the sets, and the voting system. For example, the considered opinions of art critic Brian Sewell have the Russians crying with laughter, while Germany ponders the uproarious wit of Basil Brush, Serbia respects the brutal authority of glaring slaphead Ross Kemp and Israel is just plain baffled by Mark Lawrenson. Meanwhile, the French get Jeremy Paxman, and serve them right.”
Vulgar camp stereotype Norton had to beat off stiff competition from other Irish funny-men to grab the proud post, however.
“Dylan Moran was ruled out at an early stage, as his brand of nihilistic despair might lead particularly grief-stricken viewers to commit suicide,” explained the spokesman, "And while Dara O’Briain’s whimsical sarcasm might fit well, many of our older viewers tend to confuse him with Uncle Fester from the Addams Family. Conversely, thanks to his starring role in My Hero, Ardal O’Hanlon is a firm favourite with that age group - but millions of Father Ted fans would like to kill him, for the same reason. And anyway, he’s already been hired by Lithuania.”
Easily-pleased, cloth-eared Eurovision addicts are already bouncing up and down with glee in anticipation of next year’s contest, leading to record advance sales of tranquilisers in the residential care sector.
Meanwhile, Lord Wogan issued a statement calling for “a bloody good war“.
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Straw Bans Laughter in Jail
The Secretary of State for Justice, Jack Straw, has axed a comedy workshop held in Whitemoor Prison, Cambridgeshire, after it emerged that some prisoners taking the course may have cracked a smile or two when they were meant to be suffering the unceasing torments demanded by the righteous vengeance of society.
“Prisons should be places of punishment and reform, and providing educational, training and constructive pursuits is an essential part of this,” he said. “But the types of courses available, and the manner in which they are delivered, must be appropriate in every prison.”
“There is a crucial test,” he continued. “Will the tabloids holler if they get wind of it? In this case the answer is undoubtedly ‘of course they fucking will’ - so, regardless of the fact that comedians working the circuit are not generally known for their heinous criminal activities, this course has been cancelled and will be replaced by a giant, useless treadmill, covered in grease, to which prisoners will be chained for sixteen hours a day. And horsewhipped. Happy now?”
The BBC, meanwhile, has apologised for the comedy series ‘Porridge’, which Mr Straw says gives the false impression that, on occasion, things may take place in the day-to-day activities within a prison which could give rise to an occasional wry smile on the face of a prisoner. DVDs of the series, starring the notorious criminal mastermind Ronnie Barker, have been pulled from retailers’ shelves and destroyed, along with the master tapes.
The BBC says it is working on a new series - provisionally called ‘Gang-Buggered Bastards of Belmarsh‘ - which it hopes will permanently de-glamorise life inside, in the eyes of the viewing public.
Monday, 27 October 2008
Brand Fears For Bummy-Wum After On-Air Actor Abuse Incident
Addled drug-bucket Russell Brand has made a half-hearted apology of sorts to the actor Andrew Sachs after leaving two sweary and abusive messages on the erstwhile Fawlty Towers actor’s answering machine.
The manky-haired, self-adoring comedian - together with obscene money-hoover Jonathan Ross, who was a guest on his Radio 2 show - thought it would be ’funny’ to hurl a farrago of filth down the telephone wires. Both now face fines or up to six months in prison if the police receive a formal complaint, with hardened criminals reportedly queuing up to add either or both celebrity bottoms to their tally sheets.
Brand was severely chastised later in the street by irate Torquay hotelier Basil Fawlty, who screamed incoherently while beating him mercilessly with a tree branch.
Ross, meanwhile, was unavailable for comment as he was busy stuffing his mouth with TV licence-payers’ hard-earned fivers.
The manky-haired, self-adoring comedian - together with obscene money-hoover Jonathan Ross, who was a guest on his Radio 2 show - thought it would be ’funny’ to hurl a farrago of filth down the telephone wires. Both now face fines or up to six months in prison if the police receive a formal complaint, with hardened criminals reportedly queuing up to add either or both celebrity bottoms to their tally sheets.
Brand was severely chastised later in the street by irate Torquay hotelier Basil Fawlty, who screamed incoherently while beating him mercilessly with a tree branch.
Ross, meanwhile, was unavailable for comment as he was busy stuffing his mouth with TV licence-payers’ hard-earned fivers.
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
You Sarkozy Git
Top French comedian and President, Nicholas Sarkastik’s first UK tour continues to win over audiences wherever he appears. So far the charismatic smooth-talker’s act has brought down the house three times – the House of Commons, the House of Lords and the House of Windsor.
“Without your Parliament,” the flannel-wearing stand-up said to a howling audience of peers and MPs, “Parliamentary democracy would never have existed in this shape anywhere in the world. And, indeed, it doesn’t exist in this shape anywhere else in the world. When your politicians wrote constitutions for half of Europe after the war, they gave us proportional representation - in fact they gave us so much, there wasn’t any left over for you!”
He went on to add that his country would never forget what Britain did to France in two world wars, saying that petty arguments were a French national pastime too, and the French Navy probably had too many ships anyway.
“It’s the way I tell ‘em,” he added.
Later, at a packed Windsor Palace gig, Mr Sarkastik told the Queen that “France and Britain have never been so close, if you know what I mean – whoops, keep your hands to yourself, Missus!”
“Without your Parliament,” the flannel-wearing stand-up said to a howling audience of peers and MPs, “Parliamentary democracy would never have existed in this shape anywhere in the world. And, indeed, it doesn’t exist in this shape anywhere else in the world. When your politicians wrote constitutions for half of Europe after the war, they gave us proportional representation - in fact they gave us so much, there wasn’t any left over for you!”
He went on to add that his country would never forget what Britain did to France in two world wars, saying that petty arguments were a French national pastime too, and the French Navy probably had too many ships anyway.
“It’s the way I tell ‘em,” he added.
Later, at a packed Windsor Palace gig, Mr Sarkastik told the Queen that “France and Britain have never been so close, if you know what I mean – whoops, keep your hands to yourself, Missus!”
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