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.

Public Should Stop Being Shallow, Judgemental Fuckwits, Say No MPs

This is what a healthy child should look like

The British public should grow up and stop judging everyone according to their waistlines, according to a controversial report which exists only in the minds of the MPs on the All-Party Parliamentary Group on Body Image, none of whom wants to commit political suicide by telling Britain a few home truths.

Instead, they have opted to blame the media as usual, dump the problem on overworked teachers and expect them to sort it all out, said hamster-cheeked chairwoman Jo Swinson MP.

“Tragic social afflictions ranging from low self-esteem to fatal eating disorders should definitely be laid solely at the door of the fashion industry,” blubbered the double-chinned chubster. “It’s really not about your NHS-funded GP telling you ‘Lose the flab or die, you disgusting fat fuck’ every time you go in for your travel jabs. And it certainly has nothing to do with the average voter being a petty-minded fucktard whose corrosive spite ultimately harms them and their own loved ones as much as everyone else on whom they pass their spectacularly ignorant snap judgements.”

The committee will now pretend to focus its attention on dreaming up a new, inoffensive way to tell you how disgusting you all look.

“It seems that ‘fat’, ‘obese’, ‘overweight’ and ‘Christ, look at the state of you’ have somehow acquired negative connotations,” snapped a pinch-faced GP, in whose mind everyone can and should look like Kate Moss and all smokers are equivalent to the Moors Murderers. “I’m already looking forward to reducing ‘cuddly’ to a gratuitous term of abuse hurled from the windows of passing Astras.”

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.

Smokers And Drinkers Tell Eaters: ‘We Warned You This Would Happen’

Only these are safe to eat, until we tell you they aren't

Pinch-faced, goose-stepping health obsessives have finally got round to focusing their anger on the disgusting, weak-willed eaters of food, it emerged today – exactly as smokers and drinkers said was bound to happen, sooner or later.

“The instantly-addictive biohazard, sugar, is destined to kill every living thing on the planet unless we stigmatize the slack-jawed morons who selfishly consume it,” seethed professors Robert Himmler, Laura Goebbels and Claire Hitler of the University of California’s Department of Health Fascism. “Criminalize the scum who recklessly inflict secondary sugar on innocent bystanders as they indulge their filthy habit in public. Kill off the cynical cartoon character, Mr Cube, in favour of full-pack color photos of autopsies. Make it a capital offense to sell candy to kids. Tax it till it farts.”

Heroic members of the smoking and drinking resistance, meanwhile, solemnly went on to explain that the first concentration camps for forcibly converting everyone who still enjoys anything into biofuel are now scheduled to come online in 2020 - five years earlier than planned.

‘I Can Pack Up Drinking Whenever I Want’ Insists Britain, Slumped Against Newfoundland

Britain wants to know what you're looking at

Britain – currently leaning against the coast of Canada, “just to get its second wind” - has reacted furiously to the suggestion from a committee of MPs that perhaps it might like to try a day or two off the sauce for a change, just to remind itself what the world looks like without the beer goggles.

“Get your thieving hands off my fucking glass,” was the nation’s immediate response to the Commons science and technology committee’s concerns about the misery and physical consequences of alcoholism. It swiftly followed up by lashing out with Scotland, which fell off.

“I can give up any fucking time I like, see? Only I’ll do it when I feel like it, not when some jumped-up little Hitler tells me,” Britain earnestly told Canada, which it insists is its best friend in the world, ever. “Oh look, footy. Fucking sorted. Pass us another Special Brew there, mate.”

Five minutes later, however, a bloodied and soiled Britain was lying in the middle of the Atlantic, after unwisely convincing itself that Canada had nicked its pint.

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.

Prince Philip Still Not Dead

The Duke of Edinburgh's spiritual mentor

A grateful Britain is receiving half-hourly updates on the continuing earthly existence of Prince Philip, as he gains inspiration from Holiday On The Buses whilst recovering from routine keyhole surgery at the world’s leading heart hospital.

Meanwhile, at Sandringham, according to the Duke’s wishes the rest of the royal family are dutifully blasting every bird they clap their eyes on to kingdom come, hoping to convince God to spare the ailing patriarch by offering up the largest one-day avian sacrifice in history.

“Have you come far?” the Queen asked a rare pectoral sandpiper blown across the Atlantic by hurricane-force winds, as she rammed her gold-plated 12-bore into its beak and let fly with both barrels.

Royal Consort Recovering As Well As Unimaginable Privilege Will Allow

The Queen thinks this is what ambulances look like

After being airlifted by the RAF to Papworth General’s world-leading heart surgery unit hospital for a routine stent fitting which your nan might well die waiting for, Prince Philip is reported by surgeons to be about as comfortable as you would expect Britain’s most pampered man to be.

The Queen has visited her husband in hospital this morning, where he is said by Palace officials to be sitting up and entertaining African nurses and the Portuguese ancillary staff alike with urbane witticisms concerning their physical characteristics and cultural backgrounds.

Meanwhile, sound editors at the BBC have spent a sleepless night creating a backup version of the Queen’s Speech, just in case, in which the word ‘late’ is dubbed in every time Her Majesty utters her famous catchphrase, “my husband and I” in between the meaningless platitudes which she fondly imagines will cast from her subjects’ minds any thoughts of the ever-widening disparity between her lifestyle and the one they can look forward to after the credit card statements land on their doormats.

Christmas The Perfect Time To Tell A Loved One ‘You Fat Bastard’, Say Hollow-Cheeked Miseries

Dad, you fat bastard

Shrew-faced health experts today urged you to save the lives of any family members who actually enjoy food, by calling them bloated, waddling gutbuckets as they gorge themselves on Christmas turkey.

“Nothing is more distressing than the morbid slobbering of fat fucks at Christmas,” hissed Dave Hashole, chairman of the National Obesity Forum. “It’s enough to put you off your sprout.”

Concerned family members are urged to prevent an imminent death in the family by tutting loudly every time the family fatty shovels another mouthful in, prodding them repeatedly in the flab and pointedly asking their partners how they can possibly engage in sexual activity with that repellent mound of quivering blubber.

“Remember, cautioned Mr Hashole, pedalling furiously on his exercise bike in the forlorn hope of living forever, “Nothing gives a dear but porky relative more Christmas cheer than ‘Jesus Christ! Can’t you just stop eating for five minutes, you disgusting fat fucker?’”

Cancer Caused By Living Your Life, Moan Doctors

Stop that right now

Most cancers develop as the direct and entirely avoidable result of you enjoying your life, warned frowning doctors today in the British Journal Of Stop That At Once.

“Eating, drinking, watching TV, driving when you should be running to work in all weathers,” barked lead researcher Dr James Kiljoy, “That sort of hedonistic nonsense.”

“And you bloody smokers, I’m warning you - if you ever come near my hospital coughing up a lung, I’ll bloody sue your ass off for spreading airborne cancer,” he shouted.

A purple-faced Dr Kiljoy went on, at some length, to explain that the only way you will avoid dying a protracted and agonising death is by renouncing the world, restricting your diet to a lettuce leaf and a glass of water a day and running practice marathons - until the happy day when you eventually succumb to a mercifully swift heart attack.

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.

Doctors Still Unconcerned About Toxic Fumes Belching Out Of Their Chelsea Tractors

The sweet scented air of your GP's freedom to drive a fucking tank

As they urged the government to stop you doing whatever the fuck you like with a cigarette, on your own, in your own sodding car, doctors continued to have no opinion whatsoever about the poisonous fumes your car – and, to a greater extent, theirs – belches out of its exhaust pipe into the air nobody has any choice about breathing.

“So the government keeps stalling and stalling over our failure to comply with EU air quality standards, which is just about the worst in Europe mainly because I drive a fucking tank a quarter of a mile just to make a house call on the granny farm down the road. So what? I pay my taxes,” said an angry doctor, still frowning at the idea of ignoramuses like you driving around in your prole tins, blatantly minding your own business whilst openly doing something you enjoy.

“Unless I can claim it back as a legitimate business expense, naturally,” he mused. “Yes, of course I need a Porsche Cayenne for my job. One day I might be called to a medical emergency on the top of Mount fucking Snowdon. Now piss off, scum, and stop doing things you enjoy. Whatever it is, it’s bad for you. Idiot.”

“I hate you,” he added.

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.

Medical Profession Strangely Reluctant To Demand Immediate Ban On Cars

Lug this little lot onto a bus full of peasants? Not bloody likely

There have been no calls from the usual medically-qualified killjoys for the government to outlaw cars, following the publication in the British Medical Journal of yet more irrefutable proof that the poisons belched out by their hideously inefficient internal combustion engines are going to kill you.

“This large-scale study shows conclusively that your risk of having a heart attack goes up temporarily, for around six hours, after breathing in higher levels of vehicle exhaust,” warned Prof Malcolm Strangelove of the British Heart Attack Foundation. “We know that vehicle exhaust fumes can have a major effect on your heart health, possibly because it can 'thicken' the blood to make it more likely to clot, putting you at higher risk of a heart attack.”

“On the other hand, old boy, I think you’ll find a Porsche Cayenne is absolutely essential when it comes to flinging a caddy full of golf clubs in the back and tearing off to the links for an agreeable afternoon with my colleagues,” he explained.

"According to my spreadsheet, being exposed to a spell of medium-level rather than low-level pollution would raise heart attack risk by 5%. It looks like it brings heart attack forward by a few hours. These are cardiac events that probably would have happened anyway," co-author Dr Markus Fremdliebe added, leaning on his slightly muddy BMW X5 after a heroic effort to improve his handicap. “Let’s face it, anyone who lives right next to a busy road is probably just some waddling 40-a-day council-estate gutbucket who richly deserves all that’s coming to them.”

Seeing A Cigarette Gives You Cancer, Scowl Experts

Sir John Mills spent his life trying to murder your kids

The merest sight of a cigarette in a movie is all it takes to give teenagers horrid cancery death, according to new research imagined by professional scolds at Bristol University.

“We asked millions of teens in the Bristol area if they had ever seen some evil, twisted bastard like Sir John Mills, Lord Attenborough or Cary Grant blatantly smoking on film, and they went into spluttering convulsions - which can only indicate the final, agonising stages of horrid cancery death,” frowned lead harridan Dr Mildred Strangelove. “Apart, that is, from one healthy young lady whose parents belong to an obscurely medieval religious sect which forbids all forms of entertainment. She asked Jesus to have mercy on our corrupt souls before her Godfearing father locked her in the cellar for a month for the sin of speaking to the damned. But she’ll live to a hundred, thanks to her family’s admirable moral strictures.”

“The government must immediately put an 18 rating on any film found to contain gratuitous smoking,” she hissed. “And the same goes for any so-called ‘entertainment’ involving fat people or visually-fatal foods, i.e. everything except salad or bran.”

Neurotics Glad To Have Something Real To Worry About For Once

Britain’s many neurotics are delighted by the news that saboteurs may have switched their magic pills for the powerful anti-psychotic drug Seroquel XL, finally giving them a genuine cause for the intolerable headaches they claim to suffer on every day with a U in its name.

Spreadsheet hell ahoy

“Apparently Seroquel’s side effects are horrendous, including fatigue, dizziness, weight gain, agitation, weakness, constipation, vomiting, lethargy, tremors, stomach and back pain, irritability, confusion and suicidal thoughts,” average hypochondriac Liz Winters shrieked at a cowering pharmacist in Superdrug. “Well, I already get plenty of that from a typical stressed-out morning at the office, thank you very much. Now give me some bloody Nurofen and for God’s sake get it right - all this shouting has given me another blinding headache and it’s all your fault, you silly little foreign person.”

Meanwhile, Britain’s schizophrenics are reporting that all is, for once, peace and tranquility inside their heads.

“If your Nurofen packet has a batch number in the 13JJ, 49JJ or 57JJ range, please return it immediately,” warned the Medicines and Healthcare products Regulatory Agency. “Alternatively, perhaps you could bother to read the words printed on the blister pack instead of simply fumbling for a magic pill to fling down your gullet every time your poor little brain is actually forced to think about anything.”

Labour Still Under Misapprehension That Better-Off Would Actually Set Foot Inside NHS Hospitals

Not if my bloody life depended on it, say Tory voters

Despite decades of private healthcare take-up by everyone who has the wherewithal to put a price on their health, the Labour Party today angrily accused the government of transferring funds to NHS trusts in Tory-supporting parts of the country - at the expense of its own voters in the provincial urban warzones.

"A responsible government, which cared about health and equalities, that cared about the health of the poor, would not be taking money away from inner-city areas full of uncritical lifelong Labour supporters,” said shadow health minister Diane Abbott, adding: “This isn’t about politics.”

“What on earth makes you think we’re spending more on the NHS in Conservative strongholds, you silly woman?” retorted health secretary Angela Lansbury. “That would be like the Queen taking the burnt-out shell of car out of a scrapyard, giving it a quick coat of whitewash and setting it up on bricks in front of Buckingham Palace, wouldn’t it?”

Voters in the Tory heartlands were equally dismissive of the Labour claims.

“I’d welcome the government putting more cash into the Royal Surrey,” commented futures trader Rob Blind of Guildford, as he booked himself in for mole removal at the private Nuffield cosmetic surgery clinic on the same site as the NHS county hospital. “As long as they spend it on screening the bloody thing with poplars, so I don’t have to look at hordes of diseased paupers wheeling their drips around as they hunt for somewhere to have a fag.”

Leave Crips On Railway Lines, Says Mail, We’ll Soon See If They Can Walk

One way or another, one of these should cure the bastards

The Daily Mail has responded to the Work & Pensions Select Committee’s comments about negative reporting about the sick and disabled by urging its readers to push the first wheelchair-bound shirker they come across onto a busy railway track, preferably not more than five minutes before an intercity train is due to pass through at 100mph.

“The healing power of the right motivation cannot be underestimated,” said Middle England’s favourite newspaper. “You’ve all seen Little Britain, haven’t you? So you know these so-called paraplegics are just greedy parasites who have deliberately chosen to become too damned lazy even to wipe their own arses, cynically milking the honest sympathy of decent, hardworking taxpayers. Put them in front of a few hundred tons of speeding metal, and if you don’t enjoy the enlightening sight of them leaping, staggering or crawling for their parasitic lives we’ll refund you the cost of today’s Daily Mail.”

“Of course, we accept that we may lose a pound or two from our sales figures,” continued the front-page diatribe with undisguised glee. “But for every payment we make, we’ll take heart from the knowledge that we’ve saved the economy thousands of pounds a year in the cost of feeding another useless mouth. Heil Dacre.”

Determined not to be outdone by its rival, today’s Daily Express led with a suggestion that the mentally ill be used for cosmetic testing.

“Fucktards have eyes, don’t they?” screamed it’s front page. “It is an affront to civilisation that lovable flopsy bunnies are subjected to caustic chemicals and hacked to pieces in a dubious quest for arbitrary notions of beauty when there are mentals roaming free who, for all we know, might even enjoy having shampoo poured in their eyes. Who knows what goes on inside their sick, twisted minds? Or cares?”