Flagrant Scroungers Prove There’s Absolutely Nothing The Matter With Them

That's your hard-earned cash they blew on that banner

Hundreds of thousands of shameless spongers are openly flaunting themselves in public today, blatantly demonstrating for all the world to see that there’s bugger-all wrong with them that a well-earned kick in the wallet won’t cure.

“Look at these cocky bastards all strolling down the street, fit as you please, just like you or me,” seethed a typical caring member of the public, in whose little world ‘disability’ means a plucky war hero hopping a marathon. “Okay, so a few of them look a bit twitchy – well, if they’d only pack up their constant drip about how hard done by they think they are and pull themselves together, I bet they’d be fitter than I am. Excuse me while I dispense a healing slap or two.”

Another sympathetic bystander pointed out, quite reasonably, that the chap in a motorised wheelchair was perfectly capable of earning his keep towing a small trailer.

We Are The Only News, Insist Cathedral Campers

Anti-capitalism protesters camping outside St Paul’s Cathedral today pointed to blatant coverage of other events as incontrovertible evidence of an establishment cover-up at the highest levels of the corrupt BBC.

Surely the forces of reaction can't take much more of this

“We are single-handedly saving the fucking planet here, and all the Bilderberg lackeys of the BBC are telling the sheeple is that we got in the way of some toffs’ wedding,” wailed one angry soap dodger in a 'V' mask. “Meanwhile, they’re slavishly serving the secret agenda by pumping out non-stop neocon lies about the Great Libyan Oil Theft, Hitler’s Zionist-backed European Union and the demise of the evil Edmundo Ros, who viciously distracted millions of brainwashed your nan and grandad from the vital task of overthrowing the capitalist nightmare with his evil cha-cha arrangements.”

“So everybody shut the fuck up and pay attention to us,” he added. “It’s you we’re doing this for, you ignorant bastards, because we are the only people in Fascist Britain who give a shit about you. Now get up off your fat fucking arses and smash the system. Oi, vicar! Make yourself useful - pop over to Starbucks and get us a skinny macchiato, you middle-class God-bothering creep.”

When asked in what way the public could best smash the system, and what it should be replaced with, he pointed out that I am a smug capitalist bastard and asked how much MI5 are paying me.

Free Piece* Of Gaddafi’s Hated Guts For Every Reader!

In an exclusive once-in-a-lifetime bonanza negotiated on behalf of its readers, the Nev Filter is proud to offer you your very own free souvenir chunk* of the late Colonel Gaddafi’s hated guts to commemorate the Libyan tyrant’s bloody demise - as seen on TV!

Stocks are limited

“I don’t know quite what Colonel Gaddafi ever did to me, but I’m reliably informed that it’s perfectly reasonable to hate him with all my heart,” gushed ecstatic reader Kate Madeup, who has already ripped yesterday’s footage from YouTube of his half-naked corpse being dragged through the streets for future members of the Madeup family to enjoy. “What better way to celebrate his violent end than with my very own piece of his evil giblets, which have apparently been an ever-present threat hanging over me and my kids since long before I was even born?”

To claim your free Gaddafi tripe, simply write to The National Transitional Council, Freepost, Tripoli, Libya quoting ‘READER OFFER’, and complete this simple sentence: “My life has been immeasurably improved by the death of Muammar Gaddafi because…” in not more than three words.

*in accordance with Islamic tradition, your personal portion of Muammar Gaddafi will actually be buried - together with the rest of his innards - in an unmarked grave in Sirte, Misrata or somewhere else in Libya. Or possibly somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean.

Somewhere On An Uncharted Island In The South China Sea, A Midget Butler With A Solar Cannon Loyally Awaits A Master Who Will Never Return

Evil, but lovably cute

As triumphant Libyan rebels eagerly pass around the dead Colonel Gaddafi’s golden gun, spare a thought for the trusty midget valet who mounted a lonely vigil on a tiny, hollowed-out island off the Chinese coast – waiting in vain for his amoral playboy boss to return.

“See, I keep de solar laser een teep-top order,” he smiled as he gave visiting members of the National Transitional Council a guided tour of the island’s luxurious facilities. “Pow - I blow op your seaplane! Only keeding.”

Reflecting on a lifetime of loyal service to his notorious master, the energetic French midget carefully adjusted his bowler hat as he told reporters: “Meester Gaddafi, he not so bad guy. He teep very well, and he always breeng de beautiful girls.”

“Meester Gaddafi, he leave me ze island een hees will,” he added. “Who knows, maybe I go into partnership and turn eet into de magical place where de peoples can come by de plane to live out de improbable fantasies and discover de tings about de selves.”

Tech Manufacturers Braced For Unimaginable Suffering

A disaster of unimaginable proportions is engulfing many of the world’s leading technology brands, as Thailand inexorably disappears under raging floodwaters.

Oh, the humanity

A distraught Sony is already weeping inconsolably over the tragic loss of its baby NEX-7 and Reflex Alpha 65 cameras, while Western Digital, Toshiba and Seagate watched helplessly as this year’s desperately-needed crop of hard drives was washed away by the raging torrents.

“Whenever natural disasters strike in South East Asia, it’s always the poor businessman who bears the brunt of the human cost,” said a spokesman for the Disasters Emergency Committee, which is launching a major fundraising appeal. “Millions of suffering salarymen’s miserable lives have already been blighted by the Japanese earthquake earlier this year - and now this devastating flood threatens to wipe out their meagre Q3 profits as well.”

“A £2 donation will buy a snorkel tube and facemask - each one enabling a brown worker in Thailand to go back to work, albeit with deductions for leaving the production line to come up for air every three minutes,” he explained, “While every £200 we raise will provide him with a desperately-needed aqualung, enabling him to stay down in the factory almost without interruption.”

“Please, please, make a difference,” he implored. “With your generous help, poor Sony could return to profit one day.”

Supermarkets Happy With Record Number Of Einsteins Stacking Their Shelves

Britain’s leading supermarkets have welcomed the official announcement that this year’s crop of part-time shelf-stackers have achieved record A level grades, with no less than 12.8% achieving three or more A or A* passes.

Looks like Tesco are interviewing again

“With more certified geniuses beavering away in our aisles than ever before, the risk of product mismatching has effectively been eliminated completely,” enthused Tesco CEO Philip Clarke. “If any of our customers has a problem, they can rest assured that our customer assistants will gladly solve it for them, possibly by doing differential calculus in their heads.”

“We also look forward, when they graduate with first-class honours in three years’ time, to welcoming them into full-time positions where their unprecedented brainpower will set them on a meteoric career path. In three to five years, there’s every possibility that these young Einsteins will be settling into the coveted chair behind the one remaining staff-operated till we’ll retain for doddering old coffin-dodgers who insist on shouting ‘Eh? Speak up, I’m eighty-two’ when our automated check-outs inform them of an unexpected item in the bagging area.”

Manky Viking Detritus Causes Accident In Tony Robinson’s Underpants

Probably used in some sort of ritual

A set of undergarments which once belonged to Britain’s foremost archaeologist, TV’s Tony Robinson, are now in the hands of expert conservators who hope to eventually restore them to how they may well have looked moments before he heard about the discovery of the nation’s first intact Viking burial.

The previously undisturbed grave at Ardlawurthat in the West Highlands – which excavators, inevitably, say is “high status” – contains such priceless artefacts as a manky clod of rusty soil which might once have been an axe head; two manky clods of rusty soil which, when put next to each other in a certain way, could conceivably resemble the rusty remains of a sword; and a bent, sharp bronze thing, which was reliably described as “incredibly beautiful”.

“Oo ahh, this burial moight well of ‘appened over 1,000 year ago,” explained Mr Robinson’s esteemed Time Team colleague, Dr Phil Harding. “Well, ‘less o’ course there be a load o’ Voykens secretly rampagin’ roun’ Scotland in a minibus. Where’s moy beer?”

Professor Mick Aston, however, was far more interested in Tony Robinson’s soiled undercrackers, which he unearthed whilst excavating the contents of an early 21st-century laundry basket. “If yow look carefully at the elastic there are clear soyns of stretching, which soogests that whoever last wore thayse oonderpants moost have been in quoite a hoory to remowve them,” he enthused, his hair waving in excitement. “What moyt thayse stoyns on the froont bay? Oy can’t woyt to hear the lab report, Tonay.”

Dale Farm A Peaceful Grassroots Protest Against City Greed, Claim Punchy Residents

Gypsies at Dale Farm told eager TV crews that their campsite is in fact a spontaneous anti-capitalist protest against corporate fat cats, as they enthusiastically swung scaffolding pipes at riot police who were trying to gain entry to the site.

Peaceful campers sharing the love

“We have a legitimate grievance against greedy bankers,” insisted a demonstrator, as he stamped peacefully on a policeman’s head. “See that? Police brutality.”

Away from the pitched battles, which are being transmitted live on TV and in betting shops, other Dale Farm demonstrators are hastily drawing up an alternative manifesto in which they claim that the global economic crisis was caused by Basildon Council’s planning department.

"We're here because we want an equal distribution of wealth, we want minorities - i.e. us - to have a voice, we want the corrupt planning system to be changed," explained a pikey with a brick. “We’re not moving until the entire capitalist planning system comes tumbling down, to be replaced by a fairer distribution of the world’s wealth, resources and land, mainly in our direction.”

“And if it ever happens,” he added, generously redistributing his brick into the police line, “We still ain’t moving.”

Journalists Scramble To Interview 477 Freed Palestinians

477 book and film deals can't be far off

Fights broke out on the streets of Gaza City today, as Western reporters scrambled over each other in their eagerness to speak to the 477 Palestinians finally freed today after years of negotiation with the Israelis.

The Palestinians were the first beneficiaries of the current Israeli exchange rate, which has recently soared an all-time high of 1027 Palestinians to the Jew.

"You can't imagine how we felt when we heard we were going to be dumped in Egypt," chorused the 477 Palestinians in unison as they finally arrived back in Gaza in a fleet of rickety buses. "We received this news about an hour ago, and we felt then that this would be our last chance to be free. They were long years. Of course we missed our families very much. We also missed our friends. We hope this deal will lead to peace between Palestinians and Israelis and that it will support cooperation between both sides.”

“We also believe in Santa, Peter Pan and the Tooth Fairy," they smiled.

World War One ‘A Fairly Terrible Time To Be A Horsey,’ Acknowledges Army Museum

A new exhibition at the National Army Museum is to formally acknowledge the less than respectful treatment often meted out to poor little ponies and horsies by nasty rough soldiers in World War One, finally highlighting one of the most calamitous events in equine history.

"Tragically, little material survives about the horses that did the pulling and the carrying,” curator Pip Dodd said, as staff dumped dozens of now-irrelevant human soldier mannequins into a skip. “We’ve turned the archives upside down, and it seems that not a single diary or poem written by a horse survives. Yet there’s tons of stuff written by the bastards who callously ordered their mass sacrifice in futile steeplechases across No Horse’s Land, fired literally millions of them into the German trenches and sent them to their deaths as ‘Fokker fodder fodder’ in the skies above France. And they didn’t even give them parachutes. Make no mistake: this was a horsey holocaust.”

Pull your own water, you bastards

Unlike their human masters, the equine conscripts were not even granted the luxury of a tot of rum before being sent into the killing fields between the lines.

“The soldiers knew perfectly well that there wasn’t a single blade of grass to eat in those fields, yet those brave horses never shirked their duty,” pointed out author Michael Morpurgo - whose moving story, ‘Giddy Up, War Horsey’, which finally brought the equine involvement in the Great War to the world’s attention, is being filmed by Steven Spielberg as ‘Oh, What A Lovely Horse’. "And, far from returning to A Land Fit For Horses, all the shell-shocked survivors found waiting for them back in Blighty was the same dead-end work in the glue and Kennomeat factories."

The shocking exhibition also reveals for the first time that, when the Light Brigade charged to their deaths during the Crimean War, they cruelly forced their horses to accompany them.

I Hate You And I Want You To Die, Says That Phone You Love

Your smartphone - which you fondly imagine to be your best friend in the world, ever - actually hates your guts and is secretly scheming to ruin you, experts tried in vain to warn you today.

Little does she know she's already maxed out on nine credit cards

While you naïvely wax lyrical to anybody who fails to run away fast enough about its many virtues, it has emerged that the twisted backstabber in your pocket has been cheerfully distributing the logins and passwords to all your bank accounts and credit cards to the Russian mafia, posting child pornography to the police from your email account and telling President Obama that you are the new head of al-Qaeda.

“Blah blah something about malware,” urged Josh Geake, a computer security killjoy whose actual words sailed right over addicted owners’ heads and off into the sunset.

“I wub my phone,” insisted everybody, as their deceitful objects of desire quietly carried on wrecking their lives.

Cameron Vows To Work Harder At Doing Nothing About Soaring Energy Bills

Ahead of a meeting with the six main energy suppliers, prime minister David Cameron promised that the government would work harder and faster to do absolutely nothing at all about the extravagant profiteering which is crippling UK households.

In a folded joint statement in which every third word was written by LibDem energy secretary Chris Huhne without knowing what Mr Cameron had just written, he assured the hard-hit public: "These price /Jesus /rises couldn't /Christ /come at /what /a worse /are /time for /we /consumers who /going /are already /to /feeling the /do /pinch from /about /rising petrol /these /prices and /thieving /the cost /corporate /of the /bastards? /weekly shop."

Thanks, Mr Huhne - we'd never have spotted the difference

As the meeting progressed, the energy companies were pleasantly surprised to find that Mr Huhne’s mouth had been superglued shut by the prime minister, sparing them from having to invent spurious justifications for vast price hikes which have seen their profits rocketing from £15 per victim to an eye-watering £125 in just three months.

As the prime minister examined his fingernails and admired his own reflection in the immaculately-polished table, ecstatic bosses from the ‘big six’ passed a pleasant half hour helping themselves to the drinks cabinet and comparing photographs of their luxury cabin cruisers and corporate hospitality suites before telling their groaning customers the usual twaddle about switching from one greedy, overcharging supplier to another and insulating their already-insulated homes.

"The companies are not the Salvation Army,” explained Mr Huhne helpfully, once he had managed to prise his burning lips apart.

Peter Hitchens Reveals Shocking Leftie Homophobia To Famously Liberal Mail Readers

As a public service to Daily Mail readers who are allergic to the Guardian, fearlessly tolerant columnist Peter Hitchens has kindly taken it upon himself to explain to them that the hypocritical Trots who infest its pages - having utterly failed to find a single legitimate fault with latter-day paragon Dr Liam Fox - were reduced to instigating a despicable campaign of childish innuendo about his sexuality.

“I am no friend of that very epitome of virtue, the saintly Dr Fox,” explained Mr Hitchens. “I know nothing about his exemplary private life, and care less. But I think it is a very dirty business that Bolshevik newspapers – which, it pains me to remind you, insist that a leering queue of screaming poofters forcing their rancid john thomases up our holy bottoms is on some sort of twisted moral par with the prayerful sanctity of propagating the faithful with one’s dear lady wife and chattel – have now sunk so low as to disgrace themselves with this ideologically bankrupt fraudulence, no doubt with the open connivance of that self-confessed communist stooge, David Cameron.”

Peter Hitchens with his favourite writing tool

Warming to his theme, the Mail’s oracle insisted that the Guardian’s despicable black propaganda was so debased that its brainwashed Stalinist minions even crawled into printing presses to insert fake pages - bursting with their filthy lies - into the print runs of the Sun and the Daily Mail, being naturally too ashamed of their baseless slander to even print it in their own sleazy rag.

The foamingly righteous Mr Hitchens was then hosed down and put back in his box by his keeper.

“Thank the good Lord that Peter Hitchens has spared decent folk the indignity of finding out for themselves what the lefties are saying,” sighed Mail editor Peter Dacre in frank admiration. “If the defence secretary was indeed perverting innocent young lambs in his sickening dungeon of forbidden lust, then his sordid affairs should be kept strictly between him and his maker– who, we should all hope and pray, will smite his corrupt penis with red-hot suppurating boils from now until the end of time.”