The Usual Suspects

Hand me the keys of the Home Office you Cocksucker

Those Were the Days

The Greedy Hippo

There was once a herd of hippopotamuses who lived in a big muddy, gloopy pool. The hippos spent a lot of time eating water lillies and grass. And when not eating they spent their time swimming lots and generally cavorting in the water.

For many years the waters had been there.

The pool got a little smaller as the sun beat down in the summer but grew again as the rains came and the hippos looked through the rain pattering on the water and felt comfortable and generally at ease and munched another water lily.

But over the years the rains became less and less and the clouds in the sky became smaller and came less often. Slowly the pool began to shrink and there were fewer water lillies and as the pool got smaller year by year the hippos began to get tetchy and grumpy and spent a lot of time stumping around the edge of the pool looking to get into the water. not all the hippos could get into the pool now. But the hippos took their turn at standing and swimming in the water and occasionally when they found one, munching on a water lily.

As the pool got smaller and smaller the hippos began to notice that there was one hippo, a very big and very grumpy hippo, who never got out of the pool and lunged at any hippo who tried to get into the deep part of the pool. The hippos muttered about how selfish the fat hippo was and sometimes shouted hippo swear words at him like "You're a big greedy Croc head." Or "Zebra bottom."

As the pool got smaller and smaller the hippos spent more time wandering around in the sun that was beating down and eating grass. The fat, smug hippo stayed in the middle of the pool eating water lillies and not really bothered that the pool was getting smaller as the water was deep enough for him and he had water lillies enough, and that's all that mattered.

The sun kept beating down on the pool and the clouds eventually failed to come and the pool began to shrink so much that the fat smug hippo was the only hippo with enough water to swim in. the other hippos stood around looking at the other hippo trying to cover himself in mud and failing. The other hippos weren't happy. Some hadn't swum for years and used to listen to stories of the older hippos about frolicking and snorting in water with a yearning. Wondering about what it was like to have so much water that you could lie in it all day without being disturbed by any other hippos if you didn't want to be.

The fat smug hippo looked at the other hippos wandering around and thought why don't they find their own pool. Silly hippos they'd all gone red from standing in the sun so much. At first he'd heard them complaining about their sun burn. He'd had to chase a few away who tried to roll in his mud but now these hippos seemed to tolerate the sun and though not happy as a muddy hippo they were surviving.

The hippos looked at the smug fat hippo and he was barely covered by water, the pool had died. The fat smug hippo wallowed ever deeper but there wasn't enough water, mud or water lillies for him. The sun was hurting the fat smug hippo's back but there was no water to stop the burning. And he bellowed in pain and his back slowly began to crack.

With the pool finally dead the hippos had a big meeting, a wallow of hippos, and after much grunting and shouting they began to listen to some of the special hippos. the one who spent a lot time talking dreamily about their dreams and visions. Some had seen that there might be more water elsewhere, over the hill and through the woods but maybe many many days march from the dead pool. At last they decided, yes they would go over the hill and through the dark woods and maybe they would find another big pool into which they could jump and throw water lillies up into the air and catch them and swallow them down.

The fat smug hippo's back was hurting and it was cracking badly. He saw the other hippos standing around in a big circle for many days. He couldn't hear what they were saying but one morning he saw them follow one of the dignified older hippos and start trudging up the hill. Why? Nobody had ever gone over the hill. His back was hurting so much now. It felt as if the sun was sucking away at him. he tried to shout after the other hippos as they disappeared up the hill, "Help me, Help me. My back hurts so badly, help me, please." He tried to follow the other hippos but was too weak to move, the sun was too hot ,his back hurt so much.

The line of hippos was slowly moving up the hill. the line wavered in the heat haze and he could barely see it. He felt a great weight on him and he had to go to sleep but his skin was burning. He felt so weak he could barely keep his head up. He'd just lain his head down when he heard a soft yicker. He opened his eyes to see a few yards away was a Hyeana, looking at him with hungry steely blood red eyes. The smug hippo wasn't worried, even when he saw other Hyaenas running to join the first one. No Hyaenas could hurt a big hippo.

"Go away and find a stupid wildebeest or an impala. You cannot hurt me," he shouted in his best and biggest voice that he could manage, though really he felt so weak.

"You're so right hippo," said the Hyaena chief silkily, "We can't hurt you your skin is so thick and you're so big, but our friend will kill you," he said looking up to the sky and the sun beating down.

"That's rubbish," the hippo snorted. "I'll simply follow my friends there." Nodding his head at distant line of hippos, so far up the hill.

"I don't think you will," the Hyaena chief said with such certainty that it chilled the smug hippo's heart.

"Rubbish, look," he raised a leg, or tried to but it hurt so much. He tried again, harder, so hard that he heard his skin crack and he let out a shout of pain. He couldn't move any of his legs, his skin had dried out so much.

"See, my friend," the Hyaena said softly. "Now we're going to sit down in the shade over there and just wait. Your blood smells so rich, we'll enjoy drinking that."

Now for the first time the fat smug hippo knew he was doomed. Doomed because he's wallowed in his own pool and wouldn't let anybody in. He'd never taken his turn out of the pool. His skin had never burnt gradually until it became used to the sun. Now he couldn't move because he'd been so greedy he hadn't changed like the other hippos. Now they were away looking for a pool they might find.

He looked at the burning eyes in the tree's shade.

OK Lads One More Time

Not Fut Fer Perpoise

Rivetting Ruth

Ruth Kelly's Opus Gay

Forget Adopting Gay Children

I want one of these. How can I adopt one of these cubs from the Wolong Giant Panda Research Center?

Fashion Industry Continues to Take the Piss

Norman Stanley Fletcher

"Norman Stanley Fletcher, you have pleaded guilty to the charges brought by this court, and it is now my duty to pass sentence. You are an habitual criminal, who accepts arrest as an occupational hazard, and presumably accepts imprisonment in the same casual manner. We therefore feel constrained to tag you and let you go as we've been locking up so many people in a masturbatory frenzy of sentencing that we've forgotten to build more prisons. Next!"

Looters, String Em Up

Various huffers and puffers of the media are venting their spleen on the salvagers (read locals; apple cheeked country poor people and the retired middle classes taking stuff off the beach), scavengers (apple cheeked country poor people from a few villages away, not really locals, 'ows cans zey be and more retired middle class folks loading up their volvoes with scavenge) and god help us looters (pasty faced chav scum from them big cities like Axminster and Portsmouth, string em up I say). Let's have a look at some real looters, who day in day out loot and pillage large swathes of the earth's surface, where's the condemnation of these scum running amock stealing resources for their own gain.

No Thieves, No Louts, No Thugs

There Ain't No Black In The Union Jack

There is, so let's hope the throwbacks stop singing it.

Washed Up Goods

Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft

An amazing image this, the Golden Record from Voyager. An image full of endless possibility, with the enigmatic images giving instructions on how to play it, will there be CD players out there in the cold depths of space? What will they make of our Earth's Greatest Hits selection, will they be the Borg or ET?

When you tire of the everyday sleaze and lies of Blair. The tawdriness of media whores like Jade it helps to turn your eyes and mind to the stars and wonder. And what I wonder is if it's found these Aliens listen to it and come here to the little Blue Planet seeking the wise ones. And will they understand when we explain, we killed the wise ones many years ago along with a lot of the planet. How will we be able to explain the slaughter of the whales.

Alien with a puzzled expression

"So you thought that the wise ones were important enough to put on this Golden Record but you then killed them, killed them all? Beam me up."

Trainers Galore

It might look like a rather sweet scene down on Branscombe beach with plenty of nappies to go around and the odd oak barrel if you want. And if you're lucky and you get the right container, a motorbike there's even been talk of a 4X4. But be very careful when the Chavs of Portsmouth and other seaside ghettoes start to descend it could get a little like an elephant seal orgy. And they will descend, trainers have been discovered, a magnet to Chavs. And there's talk of Burberry...

Root Out these Religious Extremists

Gay Basher Kelly

It's time that we root out these religious extremists in this country. It's time to draw the line in the sand, look the mad god-botherers in their crazed eyes and say to Tony Blair and Gay Basher Kelly fuck off with your stupid superstitious religious views and prejudices and stop dragging religion into government and leave it where it should be with the social misfits who mumble about tolerance but who are prepared to kill to further god's love.

If Fred Astaire...

Poor Jim Lad

This is Becoming an Obsession

If Darth

If Cybermen...

Wanted

Do You Like Jade?

ring ring

hello hcsb help line, how can i help you?

i have a problem with my account

OK, can i have your name

john smith

and the third and fifth numbers of your security code

4 and 7

OK, that's good now what's the problem?

well, I know that my account has over £2000 pounds in it but my card isn't working

ah yes, you are well in credit but there is a problem

oh, what's that?

well that fat, stupid pig Jade Goody has been picking on our Shilpa

errr

and i'm going have to deduct those funds from your account until you decide to evict Goody and then send her school to ram some sense into that vacuous head and then get her to do some exercise so she doesn't look like a hippo with glandular problems. is that everything?

errrrrrrr

OK, goodbye

Dog Bites Man

Let Them Stand

Yes I Dr Mike Mitchell have free first class travel but you plebs must stand.

Hewo Evrybuddy

My First Page Three

Helen with a lovely pair of globes

If Daleks had Aunties

Freedom, Freedom

I am William Wallace, and I see a whole army of my scroungers here in defiance of tyrany.
You've got to fight as subsidised men, and subsidised men you are.
What will you do without your handout? Will you fight?
Fight and you may die, run and you'll live, at least a while. And dying in your bed many years from now would you be willing to trade all your days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives but they'll never take our subsidies.

Here Ya Go Jock

There's your £2,200 for every Jock, Jocky and Jockette. A pleasure doing business with you.

Have we got anybody here called Hadrian? Any good with bricks?

Freedom, Freedom, Freedom!!!

Gambling Help for NHS Punters

Eyes down. First ball, two fat doctors, 88. The Liar's house, number 10. WMDs, zero. Prescott's stones, 35.

The NHS is going to offer addicted gamblers treatment. But it will be a lottery, qute literally. Numbers will be drawn, if you lose and don't get treatment you can buy another ticket in the great NHS treatment lottery.

That Makes Sense

New York lawyer "took over" brothel run by the King of all Pimps

That really makes sense; legal whores running sexual whores.

PIMP SLAPS BETRAYAL 'GREEDY #@%ING LAWYER'

Super ASBO

The first Super ASBO is issued to a Tony Blair. The conditions of the ASBO are that for 5 years he mustn't tell people there are WMDs where there aren't any. He also mustn't sell any peerages to anybody for 5 years as well.

Mr Blair said on receiving the Super ASBO, "It's fuckin' stupid innit. I ain't dun nuffin'. I can't say there's stuff in Iran now can I? And I ain't sold no peerages or nuffin'. Now fuck right orf. And why 'ave you made me look like a fuckin' elf?"

Oh To Be A Russian Writer

Leo Tolstoy's Diary

Feb 7 1856

Quarrelled with Turgenev, and had a wench at my place.



That's it.

Beckham Sunset

Over the scene we now hear
sirens. Police squad cars hurtle
toward the camera, turn off the
road into a driveway with
squealing brakes. Dismounted
motorcycle cops stand directing cars in.

A MAN'S VOICE

Yes, this is Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, California. It's about five o'clock in the morning. That's the Homicide Squad, complete with detectives and newspapermen. A murder has been reported from one of those great big houses in the ten thousand block. You'll read all about it in the late editions, I'm sure. You'll get it over your radio, and see it on television - because an old time star is involved, one of the biggest. but before you hear it all distorted and blown out of proportion, before those Hollywood columnists get their hands on it maybe you'd like to hear the facts, the whole truth...

Goldenballs - The Movie

If the Plane Crashed They'd Charge You for Repairs

It's Not About the Money

Mr Beckham what do you like most about your £128M move to America?

He's got to be value for money hasn't he?

The great George Best said

"He cannot kick with his left foot, he cannot head a ball, he cannot tackle and he doesn't score many goals. Apart from that he's all right." Can't dribble either.

George Best so much a better player, a more interesting lifestyle and better girl friends; Victoria Beckham the sulky emaciated pout bitch from hell, you'd like to strap her down and stick a gavotage machine down her throat and pump liquidised kebab meat and deep-fried Mars bars down her gullet. "My we are getting a big girl now Vicky."

Go Brand Beckham Go, Go.

WMB

Condoleeza means war mongering bitch.

Holiday, Holiday it would be so nice

Jonathan says

Blair probably cares more about global warming than any other world leader

but he still doesn't give a shit about global warming if it stands between him and some F list celeb's villa the other side of the world.

"Yes Robin the sea seems a little high and it's flooding your garden. Well bye I have to er be er somewhere else. Ah Mr Putin a villa on a mountain sounds lovely. Errr solar radiation, well I can stay inside. Bye bye Robin."

Cheers Tone

Coke's Good for Ya

That explains the River Dance then.










and a song, because it's a good song

Verse 1:
Well if you got a wingo, take her up to ringo,
Where the waxies sing o all the day,
If you've had your fill of porter, And you can't go any further,
Give yer man the order "Back to the Quay"
And take her up to Monto, Monto, Monto, Take her up to Monto, langeroo, to you.

Verse 2:
The Dirty Duke of Gloucester, the dirty old imposter,
Took his moth and lost her up the Furry Glen,
He first put on his bowler, then he buttoned up his trousers,
And he whistled for a growler and he said "My man",
Take me up to Monto, Monto, Monto, Take me up to Monto, langeroo, to you.

Verse 3:
You see the Dublin Fusiliers, the dirty old bamboozileers,
They went to get the childer one, two, three,
Marchin' from the linenhall there's one for every canonball,
And Vicki's going to send yis all o'er the sea,
But first go up to Monto, Monto, Monto, First go up to Monto, langeroo, to you.

Verse 4:
When the Tzar of Russia and the King of Prussia,
Landed in the Phoenix Park in a big balloon,
They asked the Police band to play the Wearing of the Green,
But the buggers in the Depot didn't know that tune,
So they both went up to Monto, Monto, Mont,
They both went up to Monto, langeroo, to you.

Verse 5:
The Queen she came to call on us, She wanted to see all of us, I
'm glad she didn't fall on us, she's eighteen stone,
Mr. me Lord Mayor, sez she, Is this all you've got to show to me?
Why no, ma'am, there is more to see, Póg mo thóin,
And he took her up to Monto, Monto, Monto, He took her up to Monto, langeroo,
Goodnight to you.

Scottish Pit Bull Rounded Up

The Express Looks Ahead

it all started out so charmingly, the odd little fracas at a night club with the police having to royal-totty handle her out to her car, then the scrum on her 25th birthday. It got a little hotter with those beach photos until it ended so tragically being driven into an underpass by a drunken Australian chased by rabid paparazzis. The accusations flew faster than the royal daimler into the side of the tunnel, did the Duke order her killed, was it the curse of the Queen Mum? Still, good for circulation.

O'Leary is Good for You

Shock!! Airline boss says you don't have to give up flying to protect the earth. Later Union Carbide will explain how it can help with your eyesight.

Ross Westgate is a Spastic

Well he is off camera

The CNBC anchor is notorious for saying when he had two well groomed lady presenters either side of him that he was glad he was wearing his trousers with the specially strengthened front, and that was on air...

MI5 Bullshit Warning

Just putting two-and-two together here:

MI5 are going to give us email warnings about the threat from terrorism.

Dame Eliza Manningham-Bullshitter of MI5 said the day before 7/7 that there was no imminent threat from terrorism

So those terror alerts are really going to be worth something then.

Zombies in Manhattan

No one would have believed in the first years of the twenty-first century that Manhattan was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter.

That first day of the gas we were so blithely unaware. I still feel the terror of the next day when Manhattan had been transformed into a ghetto full of zombies obsessed with material wealth, status and getting a rent controlled apartment. The city was now full of cruelly thin beings whining about their diets, their non-existent sex lives and the angst and ennui of being in Manhattan.

So Good They Sniffed It Twice

BAE Not Probed over Saudi

Armageddon News

From Glory to Ashes

The English Cricket Crapademy