Killer Used To Be Three-Year-Old Child

The nation was shocked to the core this morning, when several newspapers sensationally published incontrovertible proof that killer-on-the-run Raoul Moat was once a child aged three.

The startling claim was backed up by terrifying photographs of Britain’s most wanted criminal as a small child, with a face several sizes too small for his head. In one foreboding snap, a pre-school Moat stares with cold, hating eyes into the far distance, as if searching for the then-unborn love rival he would one day gun down without remorse.

Moat’s mother, Josephine Grendel, delivered a heartwarming appeal to her estranged thugling in the pages of the Daily Telegraph. “Come home soon – er – Raoul,” she implored, checking his name on a ‘wanted’ poster. “Preferably in a bag.”

Speaking on the doorstep of her inky tarn, she told a reporter from the Mirror who was next in the queue that her evil son once threatened to blow her head off with his deadly pointing fingers.

“Wait, I’ve got a better one,” she added, producing a satisfyingly grim photo of a slightly older Moat scowling directly at the photographer - utterly unmoved by the good news that, by this point in his life, his face had managed to reach more or less the right size. “Remember, that’s copyright. We can sort out the details later, when I’m not so upset.”

Meanwhile, police in Northumberland are concerned that Moat may be hiding in dense woodland undergrowth near Rothbury, possibly disguised as a badger and surviving on acorns which his accomplices may have stockpiled in advance.

“You know on ‘Police, Camera, Action!’ where they use a helicopter with thermal imaging cameras to locate fugitives by their body heat?” said Detective Chief Superintendant Neil Adamson, who is leading the manhunt. “Well, we haven’t got one of those. On the plus side, though, I did manage to requisition an old army flamethrower. It’s only a matter of time.”

He cautioned the terrified residents of Rothbury to avoid going into the woods for their own protection, unless of course they happened to be covered from head to toe in asbestos and wearing an oxygen mask.

Metal Detector Finds Britain’s Lost Money

Wiltshire metal-detectorist Dave Crisp revealed today that he stumbled upon the location of all the money Britain lost when the economy collapsed two years ago.

“I were surrchin, this ‘ere field near Frome, where ‘um tauks funny, when I ‘eared this ‘beep beep’ noise in moy ears,” grunted a beaming Mr Crisp. “Wossat, I fort, then it dorned on oi. ‘Yew daffy ole worzel, Dave,’ oi sed tur meselve, ‘Yew’m wurrin’ they fancy ‘edphones, r’memburr?’ Zo oi digged an’ oi digged, an bugger me if I din’ fine thiz ‘ere ole pot. Look, ‘ee be stamped ‘Property of Royal Bank Of Scotland’ roight ‘ere unner the rim.”

The pot is thought by experts to date back as far as 2008, and its contents have been valued by self-loving orange prick David Dickinson at “possibly a hundred million billion trillion pounds, if you’re lucky enough to find a collector.”

The Queen has already sent a message of congratulation to Mr Crisp from Macy’s in New York, which was personally delivered by a detachment of heavily-armed Household Cavalry. She also mentioned that all treasure trove that is dug out of Britain’s soil legally belongs to the Crown.

Her Majesty was last seen heading for Washington, DC, where President Barack Obama is reported to be preparing to grant her asylum in return for half of it.

Lord Ashcroft Admits To Living In Britain

Hours before a midnight deadline by which non-domiciled Lords had to either give up their preferential tax status or give up their right to sit in Britain’s second chamber, Tory party owner Lord Ashcroft has finally admitted that he lives in Britain – bringing to a close a decade of ducking questions on his tax avoidance.

Five fellow Lords, including world meccano expert Lord Foster, have chosen to keep dodging tax by abandoning their flimsy pretence of living here, and will be allowed to keep their titles for impressing-Americans-at-dinner-party purposes.

Lord Ashcroft – who has given over £4m to the Tories in recent years - is thought to have had plenty of time to spirit his fortune away so he can cheerfully inform the taxman that his total income from UK sources miraculously falls below the minimum threshold for taxation. Conservative insiders are now beginning to wonder how their deputy chairman - who is now, on paper, some sort of tramp with cufflinks - will continue to bankroll their party’s extravagant spending, given that political parties are now no longer allowed to accept money from overseas.

Sources close to Lord Ashcroft, however, suggest that the peer is already owed enough favours, on the strength of past donations, to get pretty much anything he wants from the government.

“Of course I’m happy to confirm that I live in Britain,” beamed Lord Ashcroft, standing outside his luxury mansion, which by pure coincidence becomes the new UK-registered office of the Bank of Belize at 11.59pm. “Why shouldn’t I? After all, I own it.”

Teachers Looking Forward To Conducting Full Body Searches

Teachers across the country are said to be eagerly trying on latex gloves in preparation for the implementation of the government’s plan to improve discipline in the classroom by allowing them to search pupils for alcohol, drugs, fags, porn, fireworks, mobile phones, MP3 players, cameras, exploding suicide belts, asthma inhalers, crisps and pencil cases.

“Cody-Lee Scowser!” announced headmaster Brian Hemlock at a specially-called assembly at Liverpool’s Sir Gilbert Toxteth Academy, in a scene repeated all over Britain. “Do you remember spraying ‘Mr Hemlock is so gay’ on the school minibus last term, and the worst punishment I could give you was a week in Miss Toynbee’s anger management class when a place becomes available? Well, we’ll see who’s so gay next term, won’t we, when you become my very special glove puppet?”

“Oh - and you might want to make a note of this, because I have no intention of repeating myself,” he added with a wide grin, “Bring your own Vaseline.”

Ranting Killer Offered Place On Jeremy Kyle Show

After the Sun thoughtfully published gunman Raoul Moat’s rambling, self-contradictory letter today, holier-than-thou ITV chav-baiter Jeremy Kyle today issued a promise that the killer could have an entire show to himself in order to talk through his personal issues.

“Raoul Moat is clearly the dream guest for my show,” explained Kyle in a televised appeal. “His absolute refusal to take a shred of responsibility for his actions, coupled with his irrational diatribe against his ex-girlfriend, the police, doctors and anybody who has ever said ‘no’ to him, qualifies him perfectly as a target for the anger and ridicule of people sitting at home on their fat arses when they should be out earning a proper living.”

“According to his tedious 49-page rant, Raoul seems to have got it into his stupid, working-class head that the police deliberately set Samantha Stobbart up with a new boyfriend just to piss him off,” said Kyle’s wishy-washy sidekick, Graham. “That should be good for a sustained round of laughter from the studio audience. And the fact that he shot both of them at point-blank range should raise a satisfyingly loud ‘boo’ lasting several seconds.”

Mr Kyle is reported to be heading for Northumberland with a contract for Moat to sign, under the terms of which the at-bay killer will surrender himself into Kyle’s custody and allow the opinionated non-celebrity to taunt him with scornful cries of “I’m talking, now shut up and listen!” “Oh, my heart bleeds – now stop whining and get a job” and “Whose name is on that wall? Mine”, in return for several weeks of sitting down with a nodding man who has a degree in sociology.

A police spokesman said that the ideal outcome would involve Moat being shot to ribbons by trained marksmen, but if he wanted to blow Mr Kyle’s head off first they’d be happy to hold off for a day or two and let him get on with it.

Public Demands Axe For Council Job Titles Containing More Than Three Syllables

Following public consultations, communities secretary Eric Pickles announced that he would be putting pressure on local authorities to eliminate all jobs whose function is not blindingly obvious from the title to a two-year-old.

“What the hell is an Inclusivity Monitor when it’s at home?” demanded the no-nonsense Tory gutbucket as he tucked into a bucket of sausages and mash. “Or a Building Control Enforcement Officer, I ask you? Or a Programme Coordinator, or a Frontline Advisor, for the love of God? It’s time to kick these sponging bastards out on their ear.”

“Councils are absolutely swarming with useless wasters,” he belched. “What you’re all telling me is that you want to cut the crap and see your town halls streamlined, just like in the good old days when there was just a town clerk and a couple of typists.”

When asked by the Nev Filter exactly what a ‘communities secretary’ was for, Mr Pickles terminated the press conference by choking on a sausage.

Queen Only Stuck You For 62p Last Year

Queen Elizabeth II is now officially less of a sponger than that wide-eyed stoner who constantly pesters you for the price of a cup of tea every time you go into town, according to figures released by Buckingham Palace.

Palace officials revealed that the Queen only hit on you for 62p last year to keep her in a variety of cylindrical outfits that may look like they came from Oxfam, but which you know deep down probably cost thousands of pounds each.

The shortfall in the cost of frowzy coats and hideous hats was made up by dipping into the surplus money your parents stumped up back in the glory days when even Princess Michael of Kent was on the blag, said Sir Alan Reid, Keeper Of The Privy Purse, speaking from the Royal Privy where the purse is kept hidden in a big grip-top bag in the cistern.

“The Queen is acutely aware of the current economic climate, but would like to point out that, if she keeps on dipping into the Civil List reserves like this, she’ll be skint by 2012,” he added. “Think about that. Do you really want to see Britain represented at the Olympics by a threadbare bag-lady with her arse hanging out of a pair of cheap trackies from Tesco?”

Hard-pressed Britons responded by suggesting that some of the fusty old royal treasures could be auctioned off on eBay, starting with Prince Philip.

Radio Station Nobody Listens To Will Continue Broadcasting To Thin Air

Millions of people who never listen to the radio but, if they did, might very well tune into Radio 6 Music out of mild curiosity, cheered this morning as the BBC Trust announced that the digital station would not now be facing the axe after all.

“We appreciate that, in this playlist-dominated age, nobody in control of their own bowels actually listens to a radio any more,” said BBC boss Mark Thompson. “Nevertheless, we also recognise that an awful lot of people who don’t even own a digital radio get very vexed at the thought of closing down a radio station that actually plays the sort of wilfully-obscure twaddle they like to tell people they’re really into, when in fact they just listen obsessively to their maudlin old Levellers CDs on repeat play morning, noon and night.”

“Fortunately, all those people who like to think of themselves as right-on didn’t bother to join a Save Asian Network group on Facebook,” he added, “So it’s still ‘goodbye and stick that sitar up your arse on the way out’ to all that jangly-waily crap.”

DJ Lauren Laverne, who presents a show on 6 Music, immediately Twatted her delight at continuing to be paid for playing any old shit.

Shortly afterwards, a new Facebook group of horrified Save Radio 6 Music members called for the immediate closure of Radio 6 Music, reaching 100,000 members within an hour of its formation.

“I didn’t realise that godawful Geordie bum-trumpet was on it,” said one typical commenter. “This changes everything.”

Lib Dems Running About Starkers

Police were combing Britain today for streakers, after prime minister David Cameron whipped away the Lib Dems’ remaining fig leaf by announcing that he – and therefore all the other Tory MPs - would be voting against democratic reforms when the bill came up in the House of Commons.

Shortly after the announcement, a bollock-naked Deputy PM Nick Clegg was booted out of 10 Downing Street, clutching his goolies as he shuffled away.

Police switchboards in Lib Dem constituencies swiftly became jammed, as outraged members of the public phoned in sightings of their MPs disporting themselves in the altogether, without a stitch of credibility.

“These Lib Dem flashers cavorted brazenly as their policies were whipped off, one by one, by the leering Conservatives,” said a shocked onlooker. “And Vince Cable in the buff is not a sight for the faint-hearted, I can tell you.”

“Although we were a bit bashful at first, after one or two of our policies were removed we soon took to it, because the feeling of power was quite sexy,” admitted one Lib Dem nudist, under cover of anonymity (except to anyone who might recognise the mole on his scrotum). “And after a while we got quite accustomed to the liberating feeling of fresh air blowing through the empty covers of our manifesto. But we caught a bit of a chill in our privates when Mr Cameron asked every department to outline 40% cuts – and now that he’s ensured that our dreams of proportional representation will come to nothing, we’re left standing here with our limp dicks on display for all to see. It’s embarrassing, frankly, and I feel dirty and used.”

Mr Cameron was unrepentant, however, telling reporters that the Lib Dems would come crawling back for one public shafting after another “because they love it really.”

Government Invites British Public To Nominate 40% Of British Public For Cuts

The government unveiled its latest ‘Bog Society’ measures today, by asking the British public which 40% of the British public it would like to see cut.

“Of course, we wouldn’t dream of actually implementing such swingeing cuts,” smiled chancellor George Osborne, as he signed a purchase order for 100,000 litres of nerve gas. “It’s all just harmless pretend, like imagining the world’s best supergroup or an all-time dream football team.”

Answers so far given range from “let’s get shot of all those ghastly poor council-estate scum once and for all” from a Mrs.The Hon.S.G.Cameron to “I don’t give a shit, as long as it’s not me” from a Mr.J.Public.