Everyone In Britain Too Busy Raping Children To Heed Deputy Children’s Commissioner’s Warning

Every girl in Britain has been repeatedly gang-raped by the age of 11, deputy children’s commissioner Sue Chickenowitz-Littlowitz shrieked at a shocked Commons Affairs Committee today.

“As one police officer who was the lead in a very big investigation in a very lovely, leafy, rural part of the country said to me: ‘There isn't a town, village or hamlet in which children are not being sexually exploited.’ Well, what he actually said when I put it to him was “Er, I wouldn’t know about that exactly, missus’ - but that’s not a denial, is it???” the wide-eyed chicken screeched in horror. "We should start from the assumption that all the children in Britain are being sexually exploited right the way across the country!!! By everybody!!! All the time!!! Even as we speak!!!”

Ban this evil thing now

The frantic Ms Chickenowitz-Littlowitz painted a grim picture of innocence lost, in which the wicked internet monster slyly lures sweet little girls into the nearest park with false promises of sugar, spice and all things nice, whereupon hundreds of local boys – all of them transformed into sex-crazed maniacs by a dangerous cocktail of slugs, snails and puppy-dogs’ tails – cruelly force them to perform something horrid on their tiny winkies for two hours each.

"I wish I could say to you that such things are uncommon,” she screeched, “But I'm afraid they are quite common!!! And parental blocks on the internet won’t help, because it’s the parents who are encouraging it, I tell you!!! Arrest them all immediately!!!"

When the astonished committee cautiously thanked the wild-eyed Ms Chickenowitz-Littlowitz for her valuable time and told her they would take her “most interesting” statement under advisement, she launched herself across the desk, clawing at their trousers and demanding to know where they had hidden their underage sex slaves.

ITV Launches ‘Celebrity Knocking Shop’

The Saturday evening ratings war today entered a frightening new ‘shock and awe’ phase, with ITV bosses hoping to smash BBC1’s The Arse with Simon Cowell’s ultra-raunchy, no-holes-barred Celebrity Knocking Shop.

“The idea first came to me in 2007, as I was surreptitiously working my hand up Dannii Minogue in front of ten million viewers while Leon Jackson got her in the mood,” explained TV’s leading starfucker. “I thought to myself, ‘Crikey, we could get a fantastic climax if the desk suddenly fell away.’ I’m sure Dannii would have been up for it, although I never actually spoke to her about it.”

Mr Cowell and a fearsome-looking sex toy

“I never spoke to her at all, actually,” he added. “Her irritating yap would only have distracted me from coating her hair, her sexy clothes and her rubber tits with ‘Simon’s wonder drops’.”

Cowell later researched the potential of his new ratings magnet, he revealed proudly, by wearing Cheryl Cole as a cocksleeve in front of Natalie Imbruglia and handing her a questionnaire.

Deluded members of the public will be invited to sing, dance and play piano on Celebrity Knocking Shop in order to inflate Mr Cowell’s sack to bursting point, whilst he bangs his way through the celebrity C-list.

A defiant BBC spokesman later commented that Tom Jones was definitely up for tugging furiously at ‘Little Tom’ whilst imagining naked showbiz novices gyrating lasciviously behind him.

“In fact, he’s been doing it for weeks already,” he elaborated.

Researchers ‘Don’t Need Research Skills,’ Say Lapdancers

Researchers no longer need research skills because vice-chancellors prefer academics who are better at ‘hustling’ their university’s name into the tabloids, rather than expanding the frontiers of human understanding, a study has suggested.

University administrators have compensated for falling profits in the academic downturn by demanding more media-friendly sensation from their performers, according to leading frottage specialists Jade and Nikki from Leeds’ prestigious Red Leopard Club. They told the British Sociological Association's annual conference that universities had relaxed standards and increased the fees students pay to dodge the Jobcentre for three years, in order to remain buoyant.

The University of Leeds' peer-review process is well underway

The expert cock-rubbers said: "It was unnecessary to have any intellectual skills whatsoever, let alone the ability to do mathematic tricks with a poll. The core skill necessary shifted from analysis to hustling for column inches."

One PhD student complained about what she said was a fall in standards. She told the lapdancers: "You'd see some girl who wasn't very bright, couldn't study, had a crap degree, making a lot more headlines than you because she was there to hang around ass-pits, not to advance the frontiers of knowledge and be intelligent."

"Overall,” concluded leading tug job authority Nikki, 36D, “There was a consensus that the cost to human knowledge of working in a university was increasing, in order to cover its overheads – such as all those shiny, soon-to-be-redundant PFI halls of residence they’ve scattered across campus on the never-never - and ensure their establishment makes a profit even when its academic reputation is non-existent."

“I can show you an unforgettable in-depth explanation in my private study area round the back of the library if you like, big boy,” she added.

Tulisa Sex Tape Gives Cowell Worst Idea Yet

Ahem

The sex tape of X-Factor judge Tulisa Cuntostavlos which, by the damnedest coincidence, happened to surface on the internet just in time for the launch of her debut solo single is disappointingly shonky, but nevertheless a bloody good reason to keep her on the panel, says TV overlord Satan Cowell - adding that it has inspired him to develop an entirely new format which will further hasten his carefully-planned apocalypse.

“I urge every bird who is fit as fuck, at least in her own little mind, to send me her sex tape,” leered the unholy multi-millionaire who has somehow gained complete mastery of the world’s tellies. “The most disgusting – and I do mean that in every possible sense of the word – will result in an invitation to debase yourself live on stage in my latest masterpiece of broadcasting, The XXX Factor.”

The Cowell thing is already recruiting a judging panel of drooling Z-list has-beens whose careers have reached the point at which they will actually be glad of the opportunity to pollute themselves into a communal bucket for the amusement of idiots.

“Noel Edmonds is quite keen,” he smirked. “Half a pint keen so far, in fact, and he hasn't even seen any tapes yet.”

A spokesman for Ofcom, the body which is nominally responsible for maintaining some sort of standards on TV, said: “On the one hand this is the worst kind of cynical exploitation of human folly, the merest channel-hopping glimpse of which will surely degrade and corrupt viewers into a state of permanent imbecility. On the other hand our demon lord has decreed it. So it’ll be on ITV, seven o’clock tomorrow evening. Don’t miss it.”

Sea Trek: The Degeneration

Ref: US Navy Captain Owen Honors loses post over lewd videos 

SCENE I: INT. The female ratings’ showers of the U.S.S. ENTERPRISE. Two women are gasping ecstatically as they soap each other.

VOICE-OVER: CAPTAIN JAMES T. JERK (for it is he)

Sex – the final frontier. These are the voyages of the soft pornstarship Enterprise. Its six-month mission: to speak out lewd words; crude generalisations; to bodily go where no DV-cam has gone before!

(Grams: Funky wah-wah guitar intro.)

SCENE II. INT: The ENTERPRISE bridge. YEOMAN RANDY, who appears to have forgotten her underwear, is pointing a camcorder at CAPTAIN JERK, while a clearly-aroused MR SCOCK focuses his attention on a What-The-Butler-Saw viewer. LIEUTENANT EBONY is at the communications console, with a strange silvery object in the usual orifice. ENSIGN JAKOV is having a fiddle at the controls, while LIEUTENANT SMELU is grinning like a wanking Jap, because that’s what he is. Outside, scantily-clad female sailors are doing unmentionable things in the rigging.

JERK

Pornstardate 2007, Tuesday. The uh, Enterprise is on deployment, patrolling the borders uh, of the erogenous zone. The crew are uh, looking forward to a spot of well-earned R&R uh, involving a lot of FFM, maybe a little uh, CFNM and uh, possibly a spot of simulated S&M.

(SFX. Doors open with a sigh of pleasure. DR. ‘MOANS’ MUCKY steps out of the pornolift.)

JERK

Moans uh, what brings you to the bridge? No uh, action in dickbay?

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing)

MUCKY

It’s all this skirtin’ aroun’ th’ erogenous zone, Jim. Ah doan’ lahk it. Who knows what those dirty Iraqulan women are up to out there, hidden from saht under a veil of darkness? It keeps me awake at nights jes’ thinkin’ about it.

JERK

I know how you feel, Moans - and uh, a lot of the crew feel the same uh, way. It uh, seems there’s a whole lot of feeling going on uh, aboard the Enterprise! 

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing)

Something’s wrong - I just can’t quite put my finger on it.

SMELU

Ooh, I can help you with that, Captain!

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing)

JERK

Thank you, Mr Smelu, but I uh, don’t think that will be necessary. Get a uh, grip on yourself.

SMELU

I already have!

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing)

JERK

I uh, need to take this in hand. I’ll uh, be in my uh, quarters with Yeoman Randy.

(He gets up and leaves. SFX: Doors sigh.)

SCOCK

I have been reviewing the security footage of the female crewmembers’ quarters, Doctor. I find it quite fascinating.

MUCKY

Why, you green-blooded…

(SFX: Blue alert.)

JAKOV

Unidentified wessel approaching, Mr Scock!

SCOCK

Raise trousers, Mr Jakov. Lt. Ebony, open hailing frequencies.

JAKOV

Trousers raised, serr!

EBONY

No response, Mr Scock. I don’t usually have that trouble.

(SFX: doors sigh. JERK stumbles onto the bridge, quickly tucking his shirt into his trousers, which appear to be on back to front.)

SCOCK

Status report, Mr Smelu?

SMELU

It appears to be a Federation shuttlecraft, Mr Scock. It’s not responding to Lt. Ebony at all. This could be my lucky day!

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing)

EBONY

Incoming emission, Captain!

JERK

Uh, on screen.

JAKOV

But ve are just getting to the best bit, serr!

JERK

Contain yourself, Mr Jakov.

JAKOV

(disappointed)

Too late, serr.

EBONY

Sir, it’s Admiral Obama. He wants to come aboard.

JERK

Don’t we all?

(To screen)

Cancel blue alert. Uh, Admiral - this is an uh, unexpected uh, pleasure.

OBAMA

Sorry, Jim, but Seafleet Command has had reports of unusual activity in this sector and I’m here to make a snap inspection of the Enterprise. I trust there’ll be no hard feelings.

JAKOV

(under his breath)

Not any more!

JERK

Mr Scock - Dr Mucky - meet me in the Transporner Room in five minutes. Uh, full dress uniforms for the Admiral.

SCENE III: INT. TRANSPORNER ROOM. LT CMDR HOTT is at the console, looking rather flushed.

(SFX: Doors sigh. Enter JERK and MR SCOCK in formal uniform.)

JERK

I hope you’ve got uh, a steady hand today, Hottie. We don’t want any uh, little accidents.

HOTTIE

Och, a’ haed a wee one earlier, Cap’n. A’ve jis’ done wipin’ the console doon. Where’s Dr Mucky?

(SFX: Doors sigh. Enter DR MUCKY, dressed as a Japanese schoolgirl.)

MUCKY

Oh. You meant those dress uniforms.

HOTTIE

The Admiral willnae want tae be kep' waitin', Cap’n.

JERK

Too late, Moans. Hottie, uh - enerjizz!

(SFX: cheesy 70s Hammond organ music. VFX: ADMIRAL OBAMA materialises.)

JERK

Welcome aboard, sir.

OBAMA

No need for the formalities, Jim. This must be Mr Scock - but who’s this pretty little thing?

JERK

Uh, this is my chief medical offender, Dr Mucky, sir.

(MUCKY curtsies.)

SCOCK

I believe the good doctor is conducting research into making uniforms more comfortable, Admiral.

OBAMA

Excellent, excellent – you must send me a copy of the report, Mucky.

MUCKY

I’ll make sure it’s exceptionally well illustrated, Admiral.

OBAMA

I’m sure it’ll be a pleasure. Now, the Bridge please, gentlemen.

SCOCK

If I may say so, Admiral, I’m not sure that would be entirely wise.

(But ADMIRAL OBAMA is already at the door, which opens with a particularly ecastatic SFX gasp.)

OBAMA

Er… is that usual, Jim?

JERK

I’m afraid we’re, uh, running a bit low on oil, Admiral.

(SFX: door moans "Oil!" with pleasure.)

SCENE IV: INT. The BRIDGE.

(SFX: Doors pant open.)

Enter JERK, OBAMA, MR SCOCK and DR MUCKY.

SMELU

Ooh-ooh-ooh! Admiral on the bridge! Hello, sailor!

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing)

OBAMA

As you were. Gentlemen - I just want you to carry on as normal.

SMELU

Ooh, get him with his “carry on”! I Sorry, sailor boy, but I don’t do anything normal!

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing)

SCOCK

Dr Mucky, I believe Lieutenant Smelu is due for his annual physical in Dickbay.

MUCKY

Why, you pointy-eared hobgoblin… er, will y’ excuse us, Admiral?

(ADMIRAL OBAMA nods curtly.)

SMELU

Come on, big boy! I hope you’ve got warm hands! Who‘s your dressmaker?

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing again.) SMELU and a muttering DR MUCKY exit.

(SFX: Doors leer suggestively.)

JERK sits in his chair, which begins to vibrate loudly – he hastily presses a button to stop it.

OBAMA

What’s that up there on the screen, Captain Jerk? There seem to be strange, amorphous blobs out there, just hanging in space.

JAKOV

I’m terribly sorry, Keptin. Ve got a leetle carried away.

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing. A panel explodes, messily. JAKOV takes out a heavily-soiled handkerchief and goes forward to wipe the screen. ADMIRAL OBAMA moves over to the science station and peers into the What-The-Butler-Saw viewer.)

OBAMA

What on earth…? Those women are out of uniform!

SCOCK

Er… As a Vulcan I am interested in all aspects of human behaviour, Admiral. My current field of study requires me to observe non-procreative mating rituals, particularly among human females.

OBAMA

That may be, Mr Scock, but Seafleet has strict regulations regarding the improper use of photon torpedoes!

(Cue: crew fall out of chairs laughing)

JERK

Uh, with all due respect, Admiral, it’s been a while since you last had any hands-on experience of uh, running a ship.

EBONY

(removing top)

You can get your hands on these babies any time you like, Admiral!

(SFX: Alarms go off everywhere, panels explode, doors fly open screaming “Yes! Yes!” Cue: crew roll on floor laughing.)

OBAMA

Jerk! This is the slackest crew I’ve ever seen!

SMELU

(appearing naked and proud in doorway)

Chance would be a fine thing!

OBAMA

Captain Jerk, I’m relieving you with immediate effect!

SMELU

You lucky bitch! I’ve been dreaming about that for years! Mind if I watch?

(SFX: Blue alerts, panels explode all over the bridge. Crew roll on floor helplessly. JAKOV and EBONY dive under a console and start throwing items of clothing in the air.

JERK

(forlornly)

Beam me up, Hottie.

(Grams: more cheesy wakka-wakka guitars. Roll end credits.)

Mick Hucknall Apologises To Millions Of Imaginary Women He Slept With

Who wouldn't?

Ginger potato man Mick Hucknall today issued a heartfelt apology to the millions of imaginary women he insists he pleasured in the 80s.

“Between 1985 and 1987, I would - you know - do it with about three ladies a day, every day,” the Simply Red singer told a heroically straight-faced Guardian reporter. “Not at the same time, obviously, because that’s a bit naughty.”

“A red-headed man is not generally considered to be a sexual icon,” he admitted, “But the sight of my carroty pubes and little pink willy drove them wild, I tell you. They’d show me their lady parts and everything, and after I cried and and told them I was an unwanted ginger child they’d eventually take pity on me and let me put it up them.”

“They know who they are,” he replied defensively, when his struggling interviewer finally let out a snigger and asked if he could maybe recall the name of one of his mystery legion of blind, philanthropic nymphomaniacs.

Elderly Lady Launches Scathing Attack On The State Of Things Nowadays

The morality of the times is today withering under a hail of blistering criticism from a little old lady who is telling everybody she meets that “it’s all sex, sex, sex.”

Doughty Mrs Joan Bakewell suddenly launched her tirade at a surprised care assistant who had just brought her breakfast tray, saying that everything “started going wrong in the sixties, when all those drug-crazed hippies started calling for free love, with their long hair and what have you.” She added that she was “seventy-seven!” before adding, “Seventy-seven!”

Warming to her theme, Mrs Bakewell harangued her dozing fellow-residents of the Sunset Home For Retired Broadcasters with a devastating critique of the pill, the legalisation of abortion, bra-burning lesbian suffragettes and the horrors of the Woodstock Festival.

“Them and their sexual revolution!” she raged, drowning out the familiar drone of Breakfast Television X in the residents’ lounge. “They even said sex was pleasurable and wholesome, when we all know perfectly well that it’s dirty and wicked and only to be tolerated when the husband instructs his lady wife that he’s very much afraid to say the time has come to create an heir to carry on the family name.”

“Now it’s sex, sex, sex everywhere you look,” she thundered, spilling tea everywhere. “We tried to tell them that women are pretty little fools who couldn’t make a sensible decision if our lives depended on it, but would they listen? Oh no! So now we’re in a pretty pass where single mums, without the reassuring authority of a man in the household, dress their poor little bastards – and I’m sorry, but that’s the only proper word - dress their little bastards in push-up bras and crotchless nappies before cheerfully delivering them into the clutches of perverts in raincoats outside the school gates!”

“And I’ll tell you another thing,” she fumed. “Every week in Smith’s I have to fumble through yards of the vilest pornography imaginable to find a copy of the People’s Friend. Where will it all end?”

Eventually Mrs Bakewell’s shrieks woke veteran newshorse Richard Baker from his daydreams, causing him to mumble that back in the sixties the most prominent campaigner for sexual liberation was, in fact, her.

With barely a pause for breath, Mrs Bakewell described Mr Baker’s recollections as the senile ramblings of a silly old twit, maintaining stoutly that “that Mrs Whitehouse had the right idea” and adding that she was seventy-seven before the duty manager finally managed to convince her to take her tablets.

Sad Loners Yet To Be Convinced About Desirability of Conversationally-Demanding Sex Doll

Middle-aged singletons have reacted with screams of horror to the unveiling of a sex doll which forces its emotionally-stunted owners to engage in tiresome conversation as they wash out its soiled orifices.

Raven-haired Roxxxy - whose dead-eyed rubber face also bears an unnecessary resemblance to Catherine Tate - was unleashed on the world at the AVN wankfest in Las Vegas by deeply-misguided developers TrueCompanion.

"She's a companion. She has a personality. She hears you. She listens to you. She speaks. She feels your touch. She goes to sleep. She costs 7000 bucks," said tragically wrong-headed company president Douglas Hines.

"Sex only goes so far," added the balding middle-aged nerd, bursting with misplaced pride. "Then you want to be able to talk to the person."

"No I don't," sobbed a spokesman from the sexual frustration community. "If I wanted to fuck a Furby, I'd have bought one."

Women's Mags: 'G-Spot Certainly Does Exist - We've Been Using It For Years'

The existence of the elusive G-spot - which was called into question today by a research team from King's College London, who claim it is nothing but a figment of the imagination promoted by women's magazines and sex therapists - has been angrily asserted by women's magazines and sex therapists.

"Girls! How dare these men - and they must be men, 'cos they're from King's College - deny you your lovely G-spot?" demanded Cosmopolitan's chief frigologist, Barbarella X. Tatic. "We've been stimulating women's G-spots for decades. Just listen to yourselves moaning with orgasmic pleasure at the very mention of the things that drive us wild - words like 'size 0', 'anti-ageing', 'shoes', 'cosmetic', 'bargain' and 'chocolatier'."

"Excuse me for a minute, I've come over all funny," she added. "See? See?"

Marie-Claire's top sextician Roxanne Summers also insisted that the G-spot was real.

"The existence of a part of the body which sends women into paroxysms of ecstasy has long been known to the advertising industry," she pointed out. "Look at ads from the dark ages of 1930s - the only things women were thought to be find remotely pleasurable were regular bowel movements and a squeaky-clean toilet. But that all changed when ad-agency scientists discovered the existence of gullibility."

"Look, we all know that even the most expensive anti-wrinkle miracle products are nothing more than cheap aqueous cream and a bit of scent," she went on. "But what you have to remember is that women really don't want to get any older. It's the same with their other obsessions. Women want to eat cream pastries and chocolate all day long, yet they also crave the figure of a praying mantis. Hence they'll jump at any new diet fad, no matter how daft, as long as it doesn't tell them to eat less and exercise more."

"Fifty years of extensive market research has proved the existence of the gullibility spot beyond question," she laughed. "It's that spongy thing between the ears. No doubt about it."

"Next they'll be saying that, deep down, macho men who act like complete bastards are really just covering up a caring, sensitive nature," commented King's College researcher Dr Martha Strangelove drily. "So the G-spot exists, does it? My aunt Fanny."

Couples Urged To Sleep Apart By Seriously Optimistic, Balding Academic

Couples should consider sleeping apart for the good of their health, according to an expert from the University of Surrey.

"It's not actually natural for couples to share the same bed," said Dr Neil Stanley, who set up one of Britain's leading sleep laboratories. "Take my wife, for example. She snores like a jet fighter being fired from a steam catapult with the afterburners on full blast, her malodorous farts set burglar alarms off down the street, and her unreasonable demands for fulfilling, multi-orgasmic sex - in spite of her increasing resemblance to a vast pink hippo - left me an inadequate, sobbing wreck. I was heading for a nervous breakdown, but we both agree that things have improved greatly since we started sleeping in separate rooms. Now she sleeps in the master bedroom in our Farnham house, and I sleep on a sofa bed in my state-of-the-art sleep laboratory, right here in my office in Guildford."

Dr Stanley's ground-breaking researches have led him to suggest that couples should not only sleep in separate towns if they want to get the most out of their relationships, but live completely separate lives wherever possible.

"In fact, it would be best if couples never actually met in the first place," he suggested. "I am convinced that my chances of sleeping with a nubile grad student or two will be greatly improved, now that Mrs Stanley is no longer squatting next to me with a Catherine Cookson novel, taking up space, hogging the duvet and demanding a divorce."

British Women's Appalling Ignorance of Contraception Points To Horrifying Possibility

Scientists are beginning to suspect that Britain's women may have been supplanted by some hitherto-unknown lower species with a natural talent for mimicry, after a survey revealed that their idea of contraception involves stuffing a granary loaf up their aunt Mary.

Other commonly held - but woefully inept - notions of family planning include clingfilm, crisps, Coca-Cola and kebabs.

"Jesus H Christ," sobbed a crestfallen biologist. "Five hundred generations of humanity's greatest thinkers sweated blood to broaden the horizons of knowledge and understanding, and this is the end result? It makes you think. Or rather, it doesn't."

It is now feared that some kind of mindless creature with a natural talent for mimicry - like that fly that looks a bit like a wasp, or a very big virus - may, through a chance mutation, have evolved some rudimentary feature which made it more attractive to human males.

"Imagine, if you will, a virus suddenly appears sporting a magnificent pair of baps, or a fly with a nicely rounded arse," suggested Britain's leading biologist, Richard Dawkins. "That would attract a certain number of desperate, sperm-laden males to deposit their genetic material in its rudimentary front bottom. The resulting spawn would cannibalise that human DNA, perhaps developing an irresistible orange tint. In remarkably few generations, you'd have something that would resemble a human female quite closely, especially after ten pints. But in fact it would be a hideous, mindless thing with only one overriding purpose - to replicate itself endlessly. It would have a deep-seated, instinctive aversion to any form of effective contraception - hence it adopts these absurd tactics."

"Fortunately, this awful creature - if it does exist - appears to be confined in range solely to the British Isles," explained Professor Dawkins, "And only a very shallow and limited intellect would be fooled by such a mutant monstrosity."

"Bzzz," agreed his rather attractive wife, former Dr Who assistant Lalla Ward, as she repeatedly bumped her head against a window.

Bermussoconi Preoccupied With Women Hotter Than Me, Claims Droopy Wife

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Bermussoconi's milf, Veronica, is filing for divorce - according to La Stampa Collector's Weekly, the only media source in Italy not owned by Mr Bermussoconi.

Mrs Bermussoconi, 52, is apparently furious that her billionaire husband personally selected his People of Freedom Party's all-female list of Euro-election candidates from the ranks of television presenters and former actresses, largely on the basis of cup size - a selection process that Veronica, a former actress, describes as "shamelessly trashy."

This is not the first time the crooked-tycoon-turned-crooked-politician's domestic arguments have spilled over into the public arena. Mrs Bermussoconi wrote a stinging letter to a newspaper two years ago, accusing her husband of flirting with starlets at a party - for which he later made a grovelling public apology, after pulling up his trousers.

Mrs Bermussoconi is also said to be upset that her 72-year-old husband attended the 18th birthday of a political ally's well-stacked daughter, yet failed to turn up to his own children's coming-of-age parties, presumably in deference to Italy's incest laws.

Meanwhile, an editorial in Il Giornale - owned, coincidentally, by Mr Bermussoconi's brother - accused the philandering Prime Minister's estranged milf of harming not only him, but the entire government of Italy with her sagging breasts, crow's feet and fake hair colouring.

'Wankergate' Brings Down Government

In a dramatic resignation speech on behalf of the entire government, Prime Minister Gordon Brown has conceded that the Labour Party is finished as a political force, as a result of the Home Secretary's scandalous misuse of £10 of taxpayers' money to subsidise husband - and parliamentary aide - Richard Timney's keen interest in pornography.

The last 24 hours have seen ugly scenes in cities, towns and villages all over the country, as the British public finally rose up in popular revolt against what is widely seen as the worst excess in decades of ministerial sleaze.

"Time and again, the people of Britain have shown that they don't really give a stuff about ministers claiming tens of thousands in expenses for notional second homes, fictitious jobs for their relatives and misappropriating parliamentary funds for constituency business," said a contrite, sackcloth-draped prime minister, before setting off to Buckingham Palace on his hands and knees to inform the Queen of the immediate resignation of the entire government. "But Jacqui Smith has caused irreparable damage to the reputation of the Parliamentary Labour Party by demanding a fiver from the public purse every time her husband tugs his willy."

Mr Brown stressed that the Home Secretary was not at home when Mr Timney was polluting himself shamelessly.

"I must caution the public not to soil their minds by imagining the Home Secretary brazenly cavorting in a porn-crazed orgy of unspeakable perversions," he warned with a shudder. "That way lies madness."

Pope Rethinks Advice on Abstinence After Copping Eyeful of French President's Wife In The Buff

God's vicar on Earth, Pope Benedict XVI, is reported to have changed his mind about the benefits of sexual abstinence, after the French government sent President Nicolas Sarkozy's hot wife, Carla Bruni, on a mission to meet the 81-year-old pontiff in Africa and give him a practical demonstration of why he will never stop people fucking.

The French foreign ministry had previously joined a growing worldwide chorus of condemnation of the Pope's bizarre claim that using condoms could, in some unfathomable way understood only by him and his imaginary friend, God, make the continent's AIDS and HIV epidemic worse.

Instead, Pope Benedict insisted that the only way to avoid infection and a hideous, lingering death was for everyone to remain celibate until they married another Catholic virgin.

"Zut! France may be a predominantly Catholic country," said foreign ministry spokesman Eric Chevallier, "But we also have a reputation for fucking like rabbits, which is after all a basic and natural impulse. We therefore asked President Sarkozy if he wouldn't mind lending us his gorgeous, pouting wife for a couple of days - and he generously agreed, as he desperately needed to give his little fellow a bit of a rest."

Ms Bruni caught up with the Pope in Cameroon as he was being greeted at the airport by President Paul Biya, and promptly ripped open her flimsy dress to tempt the surprised Vicar of Christ with an eyeful of her legendary Charlies.

The embarrassed Pope Benedict tried in vain to cover the growing proturbance in his cassock, as the watching dignitaries nudged him encouragingly with their elbows. However, as the comely Ms Bruni lasciviously ground her pelvis against his thigh, he uttered a lust-fuelled moan of ecstasy, tore off his vestments and buried his wrinkly face in the welcoming depths of her cleavage.

To wild cheers of encouragement from the watching crowds, the sweating pontiff then proceeded to give France's first lady a papal poking, right there on the hot tarmac of the airport. Unfortunately, the overenthusiastic former Flak gunner shot his porridge over Ms Bruni after only a few seconds; but Mr Biya kindly allowed the couple to continue their sexual acrobatics in the back of the presidential limousine on the way to a huge open-air Mass.

Arriving at the stadium, a white-faced but grinning Pope staggered from the vehicle in his underpants and told his hushed followers: "I've been such a fool, my children, but I'm going to make up for all the tragic, wasted years of my hollow life by furiously shagging anything with a pulse that can't run away fast enough. Fuck all you want, my flock - just remember to wear a condom, that's all."

"Right," he added, removing his y-fronts to gasps of admiration from the faithful, "Who's first?"

Tender Teen Minds Ripped to Shreds By Obscure Glitter GCSE Footnote

Thousands of GCSE Music pupils traumatised senseless by the loathsome paedovore Gary Glitter have been shut in rooms with trained counsellors and urged to talk about their sense of sexual violation, after it was revealed that the AQA exam board had stupidly placed his 70s hit ‘I’m the Leader of the Gang (I Am)’  on a list of ‘related listening‘.

A sharp-eyed headmaster in Windsor fainted dead away when he saw the evil glam-perv’s name on an exam paper, and after a sharp tot of brandy contacted the exam board to demand the withdrawal of the paper. He was initially told it was too late to do anything, but after contacting the Sun and getting the story splashed all over the front page he later heard that AQA had somehow found the time after all and pulled the paper.

“Boys and girls of 15 or 16 who select this song will go straight to the internet to find Glitter’s music,” he shuddered. “I dread to think what they may find searching online for him. Who knows what disgusting predatory messages lie concealed in the warped lyrics of ‘Rock and Roll Part 2’?”

The Sun’s education correspondent, Kelli (18) and her fantastic 36D knockers commented: “Tits. Tits, tits, tits, tits, tits tits tits tits titstitstitstitstitstitstitstitsTITS.”

“Tits,” she added.

Catholic Church to Test Would-Be Priests With Tempting Images of Tender, Fresh Young Bottoms

Candidates for Catholic priesthood should be screened for homosexual tendencies, according to the latest guidelines from the Vatican.

The Catholic Church has been rocked in recent years by a series of embarrassing scandals in which it was found that most Catholic boys spend their entire childhood being rogered senseless every week by their local priest.

In the document, published on Thursday, the Vatican’s Congregation for Catholic Education suggests that the early detection of what it calls “sometimes pathological” defects before candidates enter the priesthood would help to avoid tragic experiences.

“The screening process is both simple and infallible,” said the Pope. “Each candidate will be stripped naked and thrust into a small cubicle, where he will be relentlessly bombarded with hundreds of lewd photographs of naked boys which we have confiscated from our clergy. A video camera will be trained on his shameful area, and the slightest twitch of arousal will result in the naked, engorged candidate being immediately hurled from the seminary into the streets, where irate tabloid readers will know exactly what to do with him.”

Gay rights groups have questioned the church’s apparent equation of disgusting child-molesting perverts with homosexuality, while non-Catholics who are destined to burn in hell forever have even suggested that the church’s policy of ordering perfectly normal men to spend their entire adult lives tormented by the strictly-enforced denial of every natural sexual urge could perhaps have something to do with so many of them turning out to be revolting sexual deviants who abuse their privileged position of trust by preying mercilessly on innocent children and then threatening them with sulphurous damnation for all eternity if they tell their parents.

“Our Blessed Lord Jesus Christ seems to have managed OK,” snapped the Pope, reaching for a thumbscrew. “I mean, if a supernatural earthly manifestation of the Lord God Almighty could keep His john thomas out of little boys‘ arses, how difficult can it possibly be?”

“Excuse me,” he added. “I have to go to the lavatory.”

Jesus, meanwhile, is reported to have wept.

Shagging For Boys

Scouts are to be given advice on safe sex, announced the Scouting Association today as it launched a new set of guidelines aimed at helping its members to understand relationships.

“A typical scoutmaster is a man who chooses to dress in shorts and spend his spare time surrounding himself with teenage boys,” said Chief Scout Peter Duncan, “And as such he bows to nobody when it comes to encyclopaedic knowledge and experience of human sexuality. We‘re keen to encourage young scouts to show their leaders the correct way of putting on a condom - and any upstanding members who can bring Akela to a screaming climax will qualify for our new Rogering Badge.”

“Knot-tying skills will probably come in useful,” he added.

With the police announcing at the weekend that they intend to turn a blind eye to public sex acts in future, the Scouting Association is hoping that the forthcoming Bob-a-Blowjob Week will be an event that the people of Britain will remember for years to come.

Beer and Sex Linked In Shocking Revelation

Research suggests that it is not only binge-addicted Britons who turn to drink and drugs to improve their sex lives. According to a survey published today, all over Europe young people are saying they drink to improve their chances of getting off.

Top of the munter-pulling league was Vienna, where nearly half of those questioned had drunk alcohol and had sex by the age of 16. In Palma the figure was 37%, closely followed by 36% of Venetians. Scousers seemed almost sensible in comparison, at 30% - but many felt they didn’t need to drink, as their native wit and charm would surely see them pulling a stunner every night of the week.

"Millions of young Europeans now take drugs and drink in ways which alter their sexual decisions and increase their chances of unsafe sex or sex,” said study leader Professor Mark Bellis of Liverpool John Moore's University. “Uurrp, pardon me - after I get through this bottle of vodka I’ll be heading for Cream to try my luck with the ladies. They can’t get enough of me."

What's It Like To Be Dumped, Sir?

Advice on emotions and relationships should be made a compulsory part of sex education classes, according to the NSPCC.

The charity says its Childline is receiving nearly 50 calls a day from children who feel pressurised to have sex and lack basic knowledge about relationships, pregnancy and puberty.

“Children are in the dark about the biological and emotional aspects of sex,” said Sue Minto from Childline.

Some have criticised sex education for concentrating on purely functional aspects of reproduction, claiming that leaving explanations to parents often fails, for the simple reason that if their parents understood anything at all about relationships, sex or pregnancy, most of the children would never have been born in the first place.

We spoke to some children online about sex. Our case comes up next Tuesday.