There were angry scenes at a branch of Waterstones today, as a member of the public punched X-Factor winner Leona Lewis so feebly that she didn't even fall off her chair.
The grinning, talentless clothes-horse was clutching a crayon and laboriously signing copies of the autobiography somebody else wrote for her, when a man suddenly stepped out of the queue at the bookseller's Piccadilly branch and delivered a pathetic girly punch to the side of her big empty head.
Police officers were called to the scene and swiftly placed the man under arrest, while Lewis left the premises in search of a doctor - possibly because the silly cow thought she might die from a thick ear.
"We think the assailant may be some sort of soppy romance writer to have hit her as softly as that," said DCI Savage of the Metropolitan Police. "If he was half a man, he'd have belted her so bloody hard she'd have spun round and round like a top as the chair hurtled into the dictionary section where a selection of massive hardbacks would undoubtedly have tumbled down upon her, one by one, until little tweety birds circled round her head."
"If he'd really meant to give her the walloping she deserves, a flying drop-kick to the jaw would have sent her crashing in slow motion backwards through the sponsors' advertising boards, accompanied by the unmistakeable sound of sheet metal being struck, leaving a Leona Lewis-shaped hole behind her and teeth all over the floor," he added knowledgeably. "If Ms Lewis would care to come round to the station once she's ascertained that she's still breathing, me and the lads from the reading club would be delighted to demonstrate just how bad this assault could have been."
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
MPs To Celebrate Eradication of Cigarettes With Massive Drinking Binge
The government has finally succeeded in wishing cigarettes out of existence, after nodding through a series of anti-smoking measures on their third reading without going through all that tiresome rigmarole of voting. MPs - who welcomed the measure as a way of kicking the public back, after finding out how much of their expenses they were being forced to repay - were said to be celebrating their victory this lunchtime by raiding the House of Commons cellars and drinking to the health of the nation, with rows of tequila slammers lined up in the Members' Bars.
Under the proposals, newsagents will only be allowed to sell cigarettes if they can conjure them out of a hat placed discreetly under the counter, in the unlikely event that anyone should want a packet and name a brand correctly. The wall behind the counter presently covered with cancer sticks will, by 2013, be filled instead with Mr Richard Desmond's educational anti-discrimination magazines extolling the virtues of Asian Babes and the Over 40s.
Any diehard smokers foolish enough to persist in their vile perversion will be forced at all times to wear a sandwich board proclaiming "I AM A TWAT" on the front, with an exhortation on the back to "KICK ME", and to ring a handbell warning decent people that they are at large. Meanwhile, their homes will be marked out with a white cross in chalk on the front door and they will be forbidden from receiving visitors, while their names and addresses will be made available by the police in the hope that intolerant vigilantes will hack them to death with machetes.
Backbench Labour MP Ian McCartney, who tabled the amendment to the Health Bill, told MPs that tobacco was "the only product in Britain that can be sold legally, which routinely kills and injures its bastard customers."
"Alcohol, private vehicles, kitchen cutlery, garden equipment, DIY tools, baths, stairs, food and high-strength prescription medication are, of course, completely safe in all circumstances," he cautioned as he slid to the floor, adding: "Hic."
Under the proposals, newsagents will only be allowed to sell cigarettes if they can conjure them out of a hat placed discreetly under the counter, in the unlikely event that anyone should want a packet and name a brand correctly. The wall behind the counter presently covered with cancer sticks will, by 2013, be filled instead with Mr Richard Desmond's educational anti-discrimination magazines extolling the virtues of Asian Babes and the Over 40s.
Any diehard smokers foolish enough to persist in their vile perversion will be forced at all times to wear a sandwich board proclaiming "I AM A TWAT" on the front, with an exhortation on the back to "KICK ME", and to ring a handbell warning decent people that they are at large. Meanwhile, their homes will be marked out with a white cross in chalk on the front door and they will be forbidden from receiving visitors, while their names and addresses will be made available by the police in the hope that intolerant vigilantes will hack them to death with machetes.
Backbench Labour MP Ian McCartney, who tabled the amendment to the Health Bill, told MPs that tobacco was "the only product in Britain that can be sold legally, which routinely kills and injures its bastard customers."
"Alcohol, private vehicles, kitchen cutlery, garden equipment, DIY tools, baths, stairs, food and high-strength prescription medication are, of course, completely safe in all circumstances," he cautioned as he slid to the floor, adding: "Hic."
Chronic Masturbators Inundate Manchester Airport With Speculative Job Applications
The Human Resources staff at Manchester Airport are inundated with emailed CVs and oddly-stained letters of application for the unadvertised post of X-Ray Scanner Operator, after the airport began trials of a revolutionary new device which allows security staff to look through passengers' clothes and check them for genitals.
"There is no way that images of naked people could possibly be considered pornographic," sniffed Sarah Barrett, the airport's head of customer humiliation. "The very suggestion disgusts me to the core. Anyway, it is a matter of public record that every single individual who works in the security sector is an unimpeachable paragon of virtue, and a churchwarden to boot. And of course, like all public-sector IT systems, the computer attached to the X-ray device is utterly secure. There is no way that anyone could, for example, simply plug in a USB stick and upload thousands of nude photos onto the internet."
"I seriously doubt that anyone in the world could be remotely interested in polluting their immortal soul by looking at the human body in all its revolting, shameful detail," she continued. "And besides, I know for a fact that the internet is rigorously policed by elderly spinsters who delete anything that offends their sensibilities as soon as it's posted. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go for a shower before the water heats up to room temperature."
At Terminal 2, where the system has recently been introduced, passengers can choose to have their intimate privacy violated by the device - which displays an image of their wallets, piercings, breast implants and privates - or, if they prefer, strip off completely and board their flights buck naked.
"Dear God, somebody help me tear my eyes out," begged a scanner operative, as another coachload of well-fed retirees waddled in for their winter flight to Spain.
"There is no way that images of naked people could possibly be considered pornographic," sniffed Sarah Barrett, the airport's head of customer humiliation. "The very suggestion disgusts me to the core. Anyway, it is a matter of public record that every single individual who works in the security sector is an unimpeachable paragon of virtue, and a churchwarden to boot. And of course, like all public-sector IT systems, the computer attached to the X-ray device is utterly secure. There is no way that anyone could, for example, simply plug in a USB stick and upload thousands of nude photos onto the internet."
"I seriously doubt that anyone in the world could be remotely interested in polluting their immortal soul by looking at the human body in all its revolting, shameful detail," she continued. "And besides, I know for a fact that the internet is rigorously policed by elderly spinsters who delete anything that offends their sensibilities as soon as it's posted. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go for a shower before the water heats up to room temperature."
At Terminal 2, where the system has recently been introduced, passengers can choose to have their intimate privacy violated by the device - which displays an image of their wallets, piercings, breast implants and privates - or, if they prefer, strip off completely and board their flights buck naked.
"Dear God, somebody help me tear my eyes out," begged a scanner operative, as another coachload of well-fed retirees waddled in for their winter flight to Spain.
Monday, 12 October 2009
Brown Puts UK On eBay
Gordon Brown has today taken the unprecedented step of putting the entire UK up for sale of eBay, it was announced today.
Separate listings cover the Army, Royal Navy and Royal Air Force, all of which have been given a starting bid of £0.01. Similarly enticing start prices have been set for the NHS, the nation's police forces, the Palace of Westminster (complete with a full set of decorative MPs and lords), the National Air Traffic Control Service and the motorway network.
The Royal Family, meanwhile, has been given a Buy It Now price of £10m. However, Mr Brown has indicated that he will accept a best offer, as long as it is higher than the reserve price - which Downing Street insiders suggest may not be unadjacent to £1000. The royal palaces are also for sale, along with the National Trust, for various attractive prices.
So far, Mr Brown's everything-must-go fire sale of the nation's few remaining assets has attracted little interest. Buyers are likely to be deterred by the prime minister's low feedback score, as he has no reputation as a seller and has only bought one item - the Labour Party. His refusal to deliver has also attracted criticism, as has his miserly decision to charge the buyers £7 per item for the privilege of coming to collect their purchases.
A potential cloud on Mr Brown's horizon is the risk of a complaint to eBay from the United States government, which may claim that it already owns the United Kingdom. Old Washington hands say that President Obama has got the White House staff hunting high and low for the receipt, which appears to have been mislaid by the previous incumbent.
Separate listings cover the Army, Royal Navy and Royal Air Force, all of which have been given a starting bid of £0.01. Similarly enticing start prices have been set for the NHS, the nation's police forces, the Palace of Westminster (complete with a full set of decorative MPs and lords), the National Air Traffic Control Service and the motorway network.
The Royal Family, meanwhile, has been given a Buy It Now price of £10m. However, Mr Brown has indicated that he will accept a best offer, as long as it is higher than the reserve price - which Downing Street insiders suggest may not be unadjacent to £1000. The royal palaces are also for sale, along with the National Trust, for various attractive prices.
So far, Mr Brown's everything-must-go fire sale of the nation's few remaining assets has attracted little interest. Buyers are likely to be deterred by the prime minister's low feedback score, as he has no reputation as a seller and has only bought one item - the Labour Party. His refusal to deliver has also attracted criticism, as has his miserly decision to charge the buyers £7 per item for the privilege of coming to collect their purchases.
A potential cloud on Mr Brown's horizon is the risk of a complaint to eBay from the United States government, which may claim that it already owns the United Kingdom. Old Washington hands say that President Obama has got the White House staff hunting high and low for the receipt, which appears to have been mislaid by the previous incumbent.
Glastonbury Line-Up To Include Any Old Shit
Doddering fifties relic Andy Williams has confirmed that he will be playing the Glastonbury Festival next summer, if he lives that long.
The announcement of yet more godawful shite tottering across the Glastonbury stages comes as no surprise to music fans, who have been staying away from the muddy fields of Somerset for years now.
"I remember when Glasto was all about alternative music," said Starchild Moonflower, who has been driving her flowery, patchouli oil-fuelled VW camper van around Europe's festivals for the last seven years, funding her travels by selling recycled dreamcatchers to anyone more stoned than herself. "Now all the crappy, third-rate acts to ever disgrace a PA system get given the brown carpet treatment by the Eavis Corporation, and the middle-class fuckwits who turn up in their brand new Millets tents are too tone-deaf to give a shit. Well, they're welcome to it. I'm off to the Trans-Carpatho-Ruthene Festival to see acts which are so cutting-edge they haven't even been formed yet."
"Next year's Glastonbury Festival will be the most exciting, eclectic, boring, profitable Glastonbury Festival ever," promised a Jersey heifer, which was already preparing the site by liberally covering the fields with cowpats. "In addition to the bland, middle-of-the-road warblings of Andy Williams, fans will be easily pleased by such unforgettable acts as Dame Vera Lynn, Sailor, Kenny, Emerson Lake and Palmer (who are none the worse for not retaining any of the original members), Clive Dunn singing 'Grandad', all of Belgium's surviving Eurovision entries, Amy Winehouse's nan's next-door neighbour, the festering corpse of Rudy Vallee, and of course every pub band in the entire country."
And of course, my enormous flatulent arse will be headlining on the Acoustic Stage," added the cow proudly. "Hang on, I feel another hit coming. Stand clear."
Tickets for Glastonbury sold out the moment they went on sale last week, making the booking of anyone with any shred of talent completely redundant.
The announcement of yet more godawful shite tottering across the Glastonbury stages comes as no surprise to music fans, who have been staying away from the muddy fields of Somerset for years now.
"I remember when Glasto was all about alternative music," said Starchild Moonflower, who has been driving her flowery, patchouli oil-fuelled VW camper van around Europe's festivals for the last seven years, funding her travels by selling recycled dreamcatchers to anyone more stoned than herself. "Now all the crappy, third-rate acts to ever disgrace a PA system get given the brown carpet treatment by the Eavis Corporation, and the middle-class fuckwits who turn up in their brand new Millets tents are too tone-deaf to give a shit. Well, they're welcome to it. I'm off to the Trans-Carpatho-Ruthene Festival to see acts which are so cutting-edge they haven't even been formed yet."
"Next year's Glastonbury Festival will be the most exciting, eclectic, boring, profitable Glastonbury Festival ever," promised a Jersey heifer, which was already preparing the site by liberally covering the fields with cowpats. "In addition to the bland, middle-of-the-road warblings of Andy Williams, fans will be easily pleased by such unforgettable acts as Dame Vera Lynn, Sailor, Kenny, Emerson Lake and Palmer (who are none the worse for not retaining any of the original members), Clive Dunn singing 'Grandad', all of Belgium's surviving Eurovision entries, Amy Winehouse's nan's next-door neighbour, the festering corpse of Rudy Vallee, and of course every pub band in the entire country."
And of course, my enormous flatulent arse will be headlining on the Acoustic Stage," added the cow proudly. "Hang on, I feel another hit coming. Stand clear."
Tickets for Glastonbury sold out the moment they went on sale last week, making the booking of anyone with any shred of talent completely redundant.
Sunday, 11 October 2009
Pop World In Shock Over Untimely Death of Antares Autotune
Pop svengali Louis Walsh has pulled out of meaningless TV charade The X Factor, following the untimely death of singing software sensation Antares Autotune on his Macbook.
"Autotune was, to a large extent, responsible for the successful sound of Boyzone," said a grief-stricken Walsh. "Not to mention Westlife, Six and all the other vacuous drips I manage. Without Autotune's inspired real-time correction of their bum notes, they all sound like a beach full of elephant-seal bulls on heat."
Autotune was discovered to be dead this morning, when Walsh fired up his Macbook. Tragically, despite searching high and low, he has so far been unable to discover the install CD and fears it may have been thrown out after being used as a rather ineffective emergency beermat.
Walsh discovered Autotune in the nineties, when he was faced with the seemingly-intractable problem of having signed a group of pretty young boys who were sadly incapable of pitching a single note. Early attempts to stand them in line, according to the ringing notes their heads emitted when struck with mallets, failed to set even the most cloth-eared audiences alight. However, on the way back from a visit to Argos to buy a Casio backing band for his protégés, Walsh's eye happened to fall on a small ad in Future Music magazine and, in a moment of inspiration, the music supremo plucked the unknown software package from obscurity to achieve worldwide popularity.
The music world at large has lined up to pay fulsome tribute to the dead program, with many checking their own computers in case its tragic demise affects them personally.
“If it wunt for bladdy Antares Autochoon like, right, I’d ‘ave a voice like a fackin’ corncrake innit,” said the legendary Troubled Singer Amy Whinehouse.
Easily-pleased fans of pretty dancers have been left wondering if the world of disposable, machine-generated shite can ever be the same without the smooth corrective tones of Autotune.
Meanwhile, the small number of people who still actually listen to music are looking forward to a new golden age of hits performed by people who can actually sing - at least, until either Antares issue a patch to fix the problem, or Walsh remembers he misfiled the install disk in the same case as the CD full of downloaded MIDI files of old-time pop classics.
"Autotune was, to a large extent, responsible for the successful sound of Boyzone," said a grief-stricken Walsh. "Not to mention Westlife, Six and all the other vacuous drips I manage. Without Autotune's inspired real-time correction of their bum notes, they all sound like a beach full of elephant-seal bulls on heat."
Autotune was discovered to be dead this morning, when Walsh fired up his Macbook. Tragically, despite searching high and low, he has so far been unable to discover the install CD and fears it may have been thrown out after being used as a rather ineffective emergency beermat.
Walsh discovered Autotune in the nineties, when he was faced with the seemingly-intractable problem of having signed a group of pretty young boys who were sadly incapable of pitching a single note. Early attempts to stand them in line, according to the ringing notes their heads emitted when struck with mallets, failed to set even the most cloth-eared audiences alight. However, on the way back from a visit to Argos to buy a Casio backing band for his protégés, Walsh's eye happened to fall on a small ad in Future Music magazine and, in a moment of inspiration, the music supremo plucked the unknown software package from obscurity to achieve worldwide popularity.
The music world at large has lined up to pay fulsome tribute to the dead program, with many checking their own computers in case its tragic demise affects them personally.
“If it wunt for bladdy Antares Autochoon like, right, I’d ‘ave a voice like a fackin’ corncrake innit,” said the legendary Troubled Singer Amy Whinehouse.
Easily-pleased fans of pretty dancers have been left wondering if the world of disposable, machine-generated shite can ever be the same without the smooth corrective tones of Autotune.
Meanwhile, the small number of people who still actually listen to music are looking forward to a new golden age of hits performed by people who can actually sing - at least, until either Antares issue a patch to fix the problem, or Walsh remembers he misfiled the install disk in the same case as the CD full of downloaded MIDI files of old-time pop classics.
Prince Philip Techno-Rant Offers Mercifully Rare Glimpse of Sexual Antics In Royal Household
The Duke of Edinburgh has provided the nation with a fascinating - if somewhat revolting - insight into everyday sexual practices in the House of Windsor, telling anyone who fails to notice him approaching that he achieves orgasm with the aid of a television.
“Nn-this new-fangled rubbish, nnit’s all just bloody appalling, isn’t it?” rants the 88-year-old consort. “Nn-to work out how to operate a TV set you have to practically make love to the thing. I mean, look at this bloody ghastly remote control Can you decipher it? No you can't, because it’s all covered in spunk.”
“Can you imagine me rolling around naked on the floor with a torch, a magnifying glass and an instruction manual? Bloody Freeview,” he berates his red-faced victims, whom protocol requires to nod sympathetically thirty times before an equerry can rescue them by luring the prince away with a bottle of port.
Prince Philip also routinely assaults the ears of embarrassed palace guests with frequent tirades against modern industrial design, claiming that “nn-these new tellies are so damned thin that one can’t even give them a bloody good thump when Babestation freezes up, usually just as the bint is finally about to whip out her charlies” and “one simply cannot find an honest-to-God British telly for love or money nowadays - we bought a Bush set from Currys and, would you credit it, even that turns out to be made by evil little slitty-eyed buggers in Ying-Tong Land!”
The prince usually wanders off eventually, apologised a royal spokesman, once he discovers that all the guests have huddled tightly together, pretending to be deep in discussion about the merits of republicanism or how strongly they support the hunting ban.
However, he refused to confirm or deny reports that the duke leaves the room shouting for a valet to slide the palace copy of 40 Plus under the door of the WC.
“Nn-this new-fangled rubbish, nnit’s all just bloody appalling, isn’t it?” rants the 88-year-old consort. “Nn-to work out how to operate a TV set you have to practically make love to the thing. I mean, look at this bloody ghastly remote control Can you decipher it? No you can't, because it’s all covered in spunk.”
“Can you imagine me rolling around naked on the floor with a torch, a magnifying glass and an instruction manual? Bloody Freeview,” he berates his red-faced victims, whom protocol requires to nod sympathetically thirty times before an equerry can rescue them by luring the prince away with a bottle of port.
Prince Philip also routinely assaults the ears of embarrassed palace guests with frequent tirades against modern industrial design, claiming that “nn-these new tellies are so damned thin that one can’t even give them a bloody good thump when Babestation freezes up, usually just as the bint is finally about to whip out her charlies” and “one simply cannot find an honest-to-God British telly for love or money nowadays - we bought a Bush set from Currys and, would you credit it, even that turns out to be made by evil little slitty-eyed buggers in Ying-Tong Land!”
The prince usually wanders off eventually, apologised a royal spokesman, once he discovers that all the guests have huddled tightly together, pretending to be deep in discussion about the merits of republicanism or how strongly they support the hunting ban.
However, he refused to confirm or deny reports that the duke leaves the room shouting for a valet to slide the palace copy of 40 Plus under the door of the WC.
Friday, 9 October 2009
Obama First To Win Two Nobel Peace Prizes In One Day
US President Barack Obama made history today, by receiving two Nobel Peace Prizes within 24 hours of each other.
The Nobel Committee honoured the "deeply humbled" president for achieving everlasting peace on earth thanks to his tireless efforts to deliver a string of vaguely aspirational speeches about talking to other nations about nuclear weapons.
"Previous leaders of the free world have always got bogged down in the detail of actually having talks," said a spokesman for the committee. "As soon as you sit down around the table, somebody wants something in return, and somebody else says they'll only do this if everybody else does that, it all breaks down in arguments and you're right back to square one. Obama's genius lies in realising that it is possible to take the short cut to world peace by not actually having those pointless talks at all. Only by not doing anything can you change the world. Brilliant."
"And, of course, he's not George W Bush," he added. "That's almost worth a prize in itself."
Meanwhile, hippies around the world expressed their shock and outrage at rampant US imperialism as NASA unexpectedly declared war on the moon by bombing it in an unprovoked sneak attack.
"Zoicks! They totally like blew the moon to pieces, man," said Shaggy, an organic mystery machine operator with self-inflicted dreads, who claimed he didn't speak for any particular group because everyone's opinion was like as valid as everyone else's yeah except some people's were shit. "It's like they fired a fucking Tranny van at the fucking moon at two million miles an hour. No shit, man, the Yanks blew a fuck-off great hole in the moon's karma, you know what I'm saying? It'll be your garden next, man, I tell you. Fuuuck."
"Rooby wooby woo," agreed his dog, speaking from the end of a piece of string.
The spent rocket stage which was actually crashed into the moon was followed by a probe seeking to detect the presence of ice particles in the cloud of dust hurled miles into the moon's virtually non-existent atmosphere by the impact, unhindered by any significant gravity field.
"It's like worse than Hiroshima yeah," screamed Moonchild Starflower, an anarcho-folkist aura decorator who sincerely believes she is powered by crystals. "The sick murdering bastards. Have some holistic cider, man, this stuff's well wicked."
When the rising tide of cannabis-addled protest reached the White House, President Obama wasted no time in declaring a worldwide war on anarchy and free-thinking radicalism, mobilising the remaining bits of the US Army not currently engaged in fighting abstract concepts in Iraq and Afghanistan and putting them on standby as soon as intelligence experts in the Pentagon had pinpointed the rogue state of mind responsible for the increasing outbreaks of twaddle that threatened world security.
He was immediately awarded a second Nobel Peace Prize for promising to rid the world of the fear of soap forever.
"I love the smell of Palmolive in the morning," said a peace-loving general.
The Nobel Committee honoured the "deeply humbled" president for achieving everlasting peace on earth thanks to his tireless efforts to deliver a string of vaguely aspirational speeches about talking to other nations about nuclear weapons.
"Previous leaders of the free world have always got bogged down in the detail of actually having talks," said a spokesman for the committee. "As soon as you sit down around the table, somebody wants something in return, and somebody else says they'll only do this if everybody else does that, it all breaks down in arguments and you're right back to square one. Obama's genius lies in realising that it is possible to take the short cut to world peace by not actually having those pointless talks at all. Only by not doing anything can you change the world. Brilliant."
"And, of course, he's not George W Bush," he added. "That's almost worth a prize in itself."
Meanwhile, hippies around the world expressed their shock and outrage at rampant US imperialism as NASA unexpectedly declared war on the moon by bombing it in an unprovoked sneak attack.
"Zoicks! They totally like blew the moon to pieces, man," said Shaggy, an organic mystery machine operator with self-inflicted dreads, who claimed he didn't speak for any particular group because everyone's opinion was like as valid as everyone else's yeah except some people's were shit. "It's like they fired a fucking Tranny van at the fucking moon at two million miles an hour. No shit, man, the Yanks blew a fuck-off great hole in the moon's karma, you know what I'm saying? It'll be your garden next, man, I tell you. Fuuuck."
"Rooby wooby woo," agreed his dog, speaking from the end of a piece of string.
The spent rocket stage which was actually crashed into the moon was followed by a probe seeking to detect the presence of ice particles in the cloud of dust hurled miles into the moon's virtually non-existent atmosphere by the impact, unhindered by any significant gravity field.
"It's like worse than Hiroshima yeah," screamed Moonchild Starflower, an anarcho-folkist aura decorator who sincerely believes she is powered by crystals. "The sick murdering bastards. Have some holistic cider, man, this stuff's well wicked."
When the rising tide of cannabis-addled protest reached the White House, President Obama wasted no time in declaring a worldwide war on anarchy and free-thinking radicalism, mobilising the remaining bits of the US Army not currently engaged in fighting abstract concepts in Iraq and Afghanistan and putting them on standby as soon as intelligence experts in the Pentagon had pinpointed the rogue state of mind responsible for the increasing outbreaks of twaddle that threatened world security.
He was immediately awarded a second Nobel Peace Prize for promising to rid the world of the fear of soap forever.
"I love the smell of Palmolive in the morning," said a peace-loving general.
Murdoch Demands Annexation of News
Rupert Murdoch has warned internet search engine providers that the world supply of outrageously-slanted news will be cut off imminently, unless they give him all their money immediately.
"Words cannot describe the physical pain I experience when I think that, every second of every day, somebody somewhere in the world is finding something out which may significantly affect their life - and yet I'm not making a single cent out of it," stormed the media tycoon, whose personal wealth is estimated at $7.5bn. "I pay 44,000 flunkies worldwide to superimpose my personal bias onto the press releases we receive every day. I want my cut."
Competing new manipulators Associated Press were quick to echo Mr Murdoch's demands, saying: "Rupert Murdoch is nothing less than a rampaging, avaricious tyrant who personifies the corrosive abuse of power without responsibility. Governments stand or fall at his merciless whim. We condemn utterly his unabashed grab for the ownership of truth itself, and entirely endorse his laudable sentiments. This item: $2000. Payment due within 28 days of publication."
A spokesman for Google, one of the search engines which is cruelly depriving Mr Murdoch of a decent living, said that the company's board of directors would give due consideration to the megalomaniac tycoon's demands after they had stooped laughing and climbed back into their chairs.
"Gosh, if News Corporation and AP stop supplying us with their twisted rewrites of the press releases they get from politicians, government officials, corporate PR departments and marketing companies, I guess we'd have to just ask them all to add us to their cc lists and email the stuff direct to us," he said. "I don't know how the hell our software systems would cope with posting information to our news pages, if it came straight from the source without a coating of right-wing prejudice added by the lackeys of some profiteering middle-man. I guess people might just be forced to start figuring out a few things for themselves, if the likes of Rupert Murdoch were to carry out their threat to stop telling them what to think."
Mr Murdoch was unavailable for further comment, a spokesman saying he was busy in the kitchen baking a tasty pie full of words from his earlier speech.
"I'm sure he'll get back to you after he's eaten it," he added humbly.
"Words cannot describe the physical pain I experience when I think that, every second of every day, somebody somewhere in the world is finding something out which may significantly affect their life - and yet I'm not making a single cent out of it," stormed the media tycoon, whose personal wealth is estimated at $7.5bn. "I pay 44,000 flunkies worldwide to superimpose my personal bias onto the press releases we receive every day. I want my cut."
Competing new manipulators Associated Press were quick to echo Mr Murdoch's demands, saying: "Rupert Murdoch is nothing less than a rampaging, avaricious tyrant who personifies the corrosive abuse of power without responsibility. Governments stand or fall at his merciless whim. We condemn utterly his unabashed grab for the ownership of truth itself, and entirely endorse his laudable sentiments. This item: $2000. Payment due within 28 days of publication."
A spokesman for Google, one of the search engines which is cruelly depriving Mr Murdoch of a decent living, said that the company's board of directors would give due consideration to the megalomaniac tycoon's demands after they had stooped laughing and climbed back into their chairs.
"Gosh, if News Corporation and AP stop supplying us with their twisted rewrites of the press releases they get from politicians, government officials, corporate PR departments and marketing companies, I guess we'd have to just ask them all to add us to their cc lists and email the stuff direct to us," he said. "I don't know how the hell our software systems would cope with posting information to our news pages, if it came straight from the source without a coating of right-wing prejudice added by the lackeys of some profiteering middle-man. I guess people might just be forced to start figuring out a few things for themselves, if the likes of Rupert Murdoch were to carry out their threat to stop telling them what to think."
Mr Murdoch was unavailable for further comment, a spokesman saying he was busy in the kitchen baking a tasty pie full of words from his earlier speech.
"I'm sure he'll get back to you after he's eaten it," he added humbly.
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Bag of Bones Discovered in Pile of Rubbish At Tory Conference
A bag of bones unearthed at the Tory Party conference has been identified as the mortal remains of Ivan Cameron, a child born with cerebral palsy who died aged 6. The bones were found in a pile of old rubbish spoken by David Cameron in his closing speech.
"What a tragic fate for poor Ivan," said one shocked observer. "Not only to be born into a family with a history of Conservatism tainting their genes, but for his bones to be uncovered by his callous father and shamelessly waved around in front of TV cameras, just days after he declared war on the disabled. It's sickening. I hope they do the decent thing and bury him soon."
Mr Cameron's rallying speech also drew fully on his background in the PR and marketing industry - urging voters not to dwell on the actual impoverished misery they face when they wake up in the morning, but to picture instead a rosy, aspirational picture of Britain after the recession, in which everyone will drive their convertible along desert roads and traffic-free streets to a detached dream home with a living room large enough to swallow several three-piece suites and not be completely dominated by a 50-inch TV, a vast, beautifully-manicured garden full of happy, laughing children, a tropical rainforest for a bathroom and a huge, spotless kitchen equipped with a puce-uniformed woman who can show them how to make stains vanish in seconds.
"What a tragic fate for poor Ivan," said one shocked observer. "Not only to be born into a family with a history of Conservatism tainting their genes, but for his bones to be uncovered by his callous father and shamelessly waved around in front of TV cameras, just days after he declared war on the disabled. It's sickening. I hope they do the decent thing and bury him soon."
Mr Cameron's rallying speech also drew fully on his background in the PR and marketing industry - urging voters not to dwell on the actual impoverished misery they face when they wake up in the morning, but to picture instead a rosy, aspirational picture of Britain after the recession, in which everyone will drive their convertible along desert roads and traffic-free streets to a detached dream home with a living room large enough to swallow several three-piece suites and not be completely dominated by a 50-inch TV, a vast, beautifully-manicured garden full of happy, laughing children, a tropical rainforest for a bathroom and a huge, spotless kitchen equipped with a puce-uniformed woman who can show them how to make stains vanish in seconds.
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