Not enough is being done in Britain for adults with autism, warned Edward Leigh MP, the chairman of the Public Accounts Committee today.
"These unfortunate sufferers do not bear any physical signs of their terrible disability, which leads many ignorant people to accuse them of being workshy scroungers who should get a job and get a life," he sighed. "But autism is a real affliction, and its effects should be more widely recognised by the community at large."
"The autistic person lives in their own little bubble," he explained. "They have real difficulty in understanding anybody else's point of view but their own. This is compounded by problems with communication. They tend to have a simplistic, literal view of the things people say. For example, when people vote for them, they automatically assume that everyone agrees 100% with everything they say in their manifesto, which soon leads to disappointment and frustration."
"Autistic people often appear insensitive to how others are feeling, especially over little everyday things like expenses claims," Mr Leigh continued. "They shy away from social contact with the general population, shutting themselves away quite happily in their second homes which are their first homes for tax purposes until flipped - and they have real difficulty in expressing emotional concepts which neurotypicals take for granted, such as shame, dignity or honour. And they just can't look ahead to what might happen in the future as a consequence of their actions."
The committee's report went on to point out that the autistic have many good qualities, which people - and especially employers - should be made aware of.
"Autistic people can be extremely creative," said Mr Leigh. "Especially when it comes to accounting, as they tend to be rather handy at juggling big numbers in their heads. They also tend to get very enthusiastic and knowledgeable about their own particular interests - such as tax regulations, or mortgage relief."
Although the prominent backbench MP acknowledged that more time spent with their families would probably enhance the victims' social skills, he urged employers to offer more job opportunities - preferably at a boardroom level - to the autistic.
"As time goes on, more and more adults with autism are likely to find themselves wandering the streets - an environment for which, sadly, their condition leaves them ill-prepared," he warned. "Please help these unfortunates to keep helping themselves."
Thursday, 15 October 2009
BNP Agrees To Change Name To British Nigger-Loving Party
Faced with the threat of potentially bankrupting legal action from the Equality and Human Rights Commission, British National Party führer Nick Angriff announced that he is seeking to change the racist party's constitution so that non-whites who are tired of living can choose to join its ranks.
"As a mark of good faith, I have already used my executive powers to rename the BNP the British Nigger-Loving Party," smiled Mr Angriff, hugging a cute little Asian baby for the cameras before dropping it in the trash compactor. "I have drafted a new constitution, in which wogs, chinks and nig-nogs will be granted membership of the party, where we look forward to standing round and cheering as they beat the living shit out of each other with crowbars for the entertainment of the superior white race."
The regulations concerning the party uniform of England t-shirt and cropped hair will also be relaxed to cater for ethnic sensibilities, said Mr Angriff.
"Wogs will be strenuously encouraged to wear loincloths and turbans as they serve char and operate the air-conditioning at party headquarters," he explained in conciliatory tones. "Darky members will be sporting denim dungarees with a straw hat and leg-irons, while our inscrutable contingent can dress like real human beings as long as they top off the ensemble with a conical hat and three-foot whiskers. You see, the white masters can be quite accommodating."
The new measures are being put before the party's rank-and-file members, who are said to be studying them intently in the hope that the funny black squiggly lines will mean something if they stare at them long enough.
The BNP's website has already been inundated with application enquiries from every member of every ethnic minority in Britain, who have worked out that eight million of them joining the BNP could make life quite interesting for the party's 10,000 current members.
"As a mark of good faith, I have already used my executive powers to rename the BNP the British Nigger-Loving Party," smiled Mr Angriff, hugging a cute little Asian baby for the cameras before dropping it in the trash compactor. "I have drafted a new constitution, in which wogs, chinks and nig-nogs will be granted membership of the party, where we look forward to standing round and cheering as they beat the living shit out of each other with crowbars for the entertainment of the superior white race."
The regulations concerning the party uniform of England t-shirt and cropped hair will also be relaxed to cater for ethnic sensibilities, said Mr Angriff.
"Wogs will be strenuously encouraged to wear loincloths and turbans as they serve char and operate the air-conditioning at party headquarters," he explained in conciliatory tones. "Darky members will be sporting denim dungarees with a straw hat and leg-irons, while our inscrutable contingent can dress like real human beings as long as they top off the ensemble with a conical hat and three-foot whiskers. You see, the white masters can be quite accommodating."
The new measures are being put before the party's rank-and-file members, who are said to be studying them intently in the hope that the funny black squiggly lines will mean something if they stare at them long enough.
The BNP's website has already been inundated with application enquiries from every member of every ethnic minority in Britain, who have worked out that eight million of them joining the BNP could make life quite interesting for the party's 10,000 current members.
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
'I Am Bloody Useless', Admits Tesco Boss
Speaking through his arse, Tesco chief executive Sir Terry Leahy admitted today that, while he may be very good at sitting back with his feet up on his executive desk as he watches profits piling up as a result of gradually raising the price of essential foodstuffs, when it comes to his other job of advising the government on education issues he is about as much use as a triangular wheel on a unicycle.
The unexpectedly frank confession occurred about halfway through a speech to the Institute of Grocery Distribution. As Sir Terry was enthusiastically berating the illiterate, grunting dullards he employs for being thicker than fossilised dinosaur excrement, it suddenly dawned on him that, as a senior advisor to the Labour government on education policy, the poor standard of school leavers might in some way reflect badly on him.
Up until the moment of realisation, the captain of industry had been cheerfully outlining the "woefully low" standards in schools, which he blamed squarely on the government's policy of allowing too many agencies and bodies to interfere in the day-to-day running of schools.
"What kind of blithering fuckwit could possibly commend such a monumental balls-up of an education system to ministers?" he demanded, before pausing and turning red in the face.
"Bollocks," said the sheepish Sir Terry, as delegates coughed diplomatically to cover the embarrassing silence. "I wish I'd thought of this yesterday, while I was writing this little rant."
"Crikey," he concluded, after another pause for reflection. "If I wasn't wearing this expensive Ralph Lauren suit, you might be forgiven for thinking that I look like some kind of brainless twat."
The unexpectedly frank confession occurred about halfway through a speech to the Institute of Grocery Distribution. As Sir Terry was enthusiastically berating the illiterate, grunting dullards he employs for being thicker than fossilised dinosaur excrement, it suddenly dawned on him that, as a senior advisor to the Labour government on education policy, the poor standard of school leavers might in some way reflect badly on him.
Up until the moment of realisation, the captain of industry had been cheerfully outlining the "woefully low" standards in schools, which he blamed squarely on the government's policy of allowing too many agencies and bodies to interfere in the day-to-day running of schools.
"What kind of blithering fuckwit could possibly commend such a monumental balls-up of an education system to ministers?" he demanded, before pausing and turning red in the face.
"Bollocks," said the sheepish Sir Terry, as delegates coughed diplomatically to cover the embarrassing silence. "I wish I'd thought of this yesterday, while I was writing this little rant."
"Crikey," he concluded, after another pause for reflection. "If I wasn't wearing this expensive Ralph Lauren suit, you might be forgiven for thinking that I look like some kind of brainless twat."
Man Arrested For Not Punching Leona Lewis Nearly Hard Enough
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."
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."
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)