Monthly Archives: May 2014

Danny Sparko: Heavyweight Consumer’s Champion

tough guy

“I Know Your Rights!”


Dear Danny

I’m a 75 year old widow living alone in a small 2 bedroom house in Spitalfields, East London. Normally my heating bill is around £30.00 a month as I try to keep the gas fire off as much as possible. Then last week NPower sent me a bill for £97.39, telling me that the wholesale price of gas had risen and that I’d have to get used to paying a bit extra each month.

Please help me if you can Danny as I’m on a state pension and just can’t afford to pay the amount of money they want from me. I’m almost at my wit’s end with worry over this.

Thank you ever so much dear.

Ivy Stapleton

London E1


Dear Ivy

I’ve gone round to NPower’s head office a bit earlier and given one or two a good clumping. First up I’ve grabbed the geezer on reception by his tie and smashed his head on the desk a few times. Before I could turn round I got grabbed from behind by a couple of security. I wasn’t going to let a couple of mug straight-goers like that take liberties though and stuck the nut on the biggest one and then kneed the little geezer in the Niagras. They’ve both gone down like sacks of spuds so I’ve pulled me blade out, dragged their strides down and striped em both right across the ‘arris.

Next up I’ve jumped in the lift and gone steaming into the Area Manager’s office and chinned the boy with a peach of a right cross. As soon as he’s hit the deck I’ve stamped on his swede and put the millimetre tread on his dial. After laying the boot into his kidneys a few times I’ve gone through his pockets and had it on me toes with his wallet and credit cards.

Then on the way out I’ve pulled out me bat and given a few milky looking arseoles in the foyer one or two lively ones across the kneecaps for good measure.

All the very best to you Ivy, and if you have any further problems with this one please don’t hesitate to let me know.



For more spleen-rupturing exploits from the people’s consumer rights champ, have a butchers on this blog. Just don’t pull any strokes or I’ll come round your drum and serve you fucking up!



Filed under Humor, Humour, Satire

LOMM’s TV Choice #2092

tv choice

BBC3 21.00: Don’t Tell The Bride.

A moving documentary telling the story of a young bricklayer and groom-to-be in the week leading up to his wedding after he’s accidentally severed his penis with an angle grinder.

Warning: This programme may contain traces of nuts



Filed under Uncategorized

644 Squadron: An Everyday Story Of Carpet Bombing Folk


“Now look here. I’m most dreadfully sorry sir but I seem to have run out of amusing banter”

RAF Benson. 1943

(Dedicated to Clive and Gill Danton)

Inside the command centre…

“Evening Tomkins”.

“Evening Sir”.

“I have called you here, to explain the next operation”.


“It is top secret, Tomkins, so only your wife, your wife’s

friends and the butcher can be in on it”.

“What about our maid?”

“Don’t be stupid Tomkins! Are you mad?”

“Sorry sir”.

“Yes, well, we all make mistakes. Except me of course”.

“Goes without saying sir”.

“Right, look at this map, it shows the Rhine valley.”


“The Bosh have built a hydro dam right here…”

“And you want to bomb the dam, causing the flooding

of the Rhine valley, putting the Germans out of action”.

“No, we want to bomb the distillery next to it”.

“Really sir?”

“Yes…Without a constant supply of Schnapps, the German

officers will be beside themselves and not have a drop in the mess”.

“That’s very cruel sir, has Air Vice Marshal Cramp approved it?”

“Yes, and what is more, he has also asked us to bomb the Blue Nun

Vineyard in Spitlebanderhoff as a secondary mission”.

“Brilliant sir, just bludy brilliant”.

“Now, get the squadron together, and work out a plan of attack”.


Meanwhile, over in the mess…

“Something’s afoot Buller”.

“Yes, I can smell it in the air”.

“Oh, sorry, its those damn powdered eggs”.

“Yes while I’d try to cut down a bit if I were you old boy”

A flunky enters the mess.

“Sirs, there is a meeting in the briefing room in ten minutes”.

“The games up! it’s a new mission”.

“Lets go cheps!”.

Ten minutes later in the briefing room.

“Quiet men, settle down, I am Flight Commander Tomkins,

We have been given a very difficult task, namely, to bomb

a major Schnapps distillery in the Rhine valley…”

#1 “Wait a damn minute Tomkins!”

#2 “That is despicable!”

#3 “Never in a million years!”

#4 “Ooh, what a beastly thing to do!”

#5 “Watashi!”

“Where did that Kamikaze pilot come from?”

“Ok men! Quieten down, and listen. I know it goes against

everything we hold dear to our hearts, but the fact is, Harry Hun

needs a good kick in the pants, and it is our job to do it”.

“But what do we tell our servants?”.

“Just have to grin and bear it Johnny”.

“My chess partner wont like it, Tomkins”.

“Sorry Bertie, nothing I can do”.

“Play havoc with the wife’s sowing circle”.

“Right, enough moaning, lets get down to business. If you

look at the map, you will see the hydro dam, it is heavily fortified

which is why we will be going around it, our main target is the building,

here, we must flatten the bugger, our second mission is to destroy the

vineyard, here…Any questions?”

“Will we back in time for tea?”

“Hope so Hoppy, its lamb stew, Right, get your crew together and

see you on the tarmac at 06:00 Hours”…

Control tower.

“Call sign Alpha, runway 6 please over”.

“Okay tower, runway 6 over”

“Clear for take off”.

“Take it off where? over”

“What? over”

“The cake, over”

“Clear for take off Alpha 6, over”

“Oh sorry, roger”.

“Are they sure he should be the squadron leader Bob?”

“He dropped a bomb on his own house John”.


“They told him to bring it home”.

“What, a spare bomb?”.


“And he thought they said…”

Out on the apron, the squadron makes ready for take off.

Flight lieutenant Biggs leads from the front.

“Right cheps, of we go, climb to two thousand feet”.

“Roger Biggs”.

“Wilko sir”.


“Roger sir”


The squadron take off and head out toward the French coast.

Inside the cockpit of the lead bomber…

“Bludy nice view number two, what!”

“Absolute corker sir”

“French coast sir”

“No thank you Navigator Dent”

“No what sir?”

“No French toast”.


An hour later…

“Twenty minutes to target sir”.

“To Margate? Were going the wrong way!”.

“The target sir!”

“I say, what a navigator, number two”.

“Bludy nice chep, he was my toast rack at prep”.

20 minutes to target…

“Bandits at five o’clock sir!”

“I don’t think we will have time”.

“For what?”

“Bangers, at five o’clock, Dent”.

“No sir, enemy fighters!”

“Bosh bashers! How dare they, don’t they know we are English?”

“That is why they are attacking sir”

“Gunner Sams, are you available for action?”

“Not quite sir, haven’t finished my soup”.

“Sorry to disturb your lunch”.

“That’s okay sir, its mulligatawny”.

“SIR! The enemy are closing!”

“Why are you shouting number two?”

“Sorry Sir”.

“Ok men, its all hands to the guns!”.

The bomber comes under attack, the fighters are seen off…

“Dirty rotters!”

“Steady number two, they might hear you”.

“Sorry sir, its just…”

“I know, I know”.

“Permission to shout huzzah sir?”

“Just this once Dent”.

“Thank you sir!” HUZZAH!!!

“Gunner Sams, are you okay?”

“Coped a bully in the bag sir”.

“Dashed bad luck”.

“Yes sir, the tea has gone everywhere”.

“How bad is it Sams?”

“I’m afraid, we will be out of tea in an hour sir”.

“That bad eh, well, we could go on, but, it’s going to be tough”.

“I’m scared sir, no tea for a whole hour, maybe more”.

“You are not the only one, number two, Sams is quivering”.

“And me sir”.

“You as well Dent, nothing for it, cut the load and head home”.

“What about the other bombers sir?”

“Send signal, out of tea, good luck, and god speed”.

“Wilko sir”.

“Number two, drop load”.


“Dent, plot our course for blighty”.



“You’re a complete arse”.

“Thank you sir”.

30 minutes later, the bomber is nearing Dover…

“White Cliffs of Dover sir”.


“Why what sir?”

“Why would you want to be a rover?”

“Dover sir!”

“Oh, yes, thank you Navigator Dent.”

After landing at Benson, the men are taken to the de-briefing room.

“Bad luck Tomkins, losing the tea flask like that”.

“Yes, it was touch and go”.

“I understand you left the payload with Gerry”

“Absolutely, nothing else to do”.

“We’ve had a complaint”.

“From some Hun cowardly custard no doubt”

“No, Mademoiselle Lamont from lasselle”.

“Oh, what’s the game?”

“Killed her geese old chep”.

“Covered her in grease?”

“Yes sir. I think it’s what she would have wanted sir”



“You are a complete arse!”.

“Yes sir”.

Wingco Gary Hoadley DFC and barmaid

1 Comment

Filed under Humor, Humour, Spoof

Letters To LOMM


Dear League Of Mental Men

Last week an American man was taken into custody and charged with abduction after holding a woman captive for the past 10 years, and yet, in his song Living Doll, pop singer, Cliff Richard, quite clearly says when referring to his girlfriend: “I’m gonna lock her up in a trunk so no big hunk can steal her away from me”

As far as I know he’s never even been questioned by the police over this matter let alone faced trial. Where’s the fairness in that then?

It strikes me there’s one law for deranged kidnappers and quite another for sexually ambivalent celebrities.

Marjory Eurethra



Filed under Humor, Humour

LOMM’s Heavily Edited Classics In Dialect #213: Oliver Twist In Yorkshire


“Eeeee it’s grim oop north ah don’t mind tellin’ thee”


Scene one:  A workhouse in Cleethorpes in the county of Yorkshire in the north of England. Mr Bumble The Beadle stands at the bedside of a deceased young woman and regards the bawling infant lying beside her with a baleful eye.

BUMBLE – Bah eck as like! I’ve not ‘eard sooch a bloody racket in all me born days! Send t’ little booger t’ work ‘ouse misses.

Scene 2:  t’  work ‘ouse

OLIVER – Now then cook! Can tha give me soom more of t’ gruel by chance? Me stoomach thinks me chuffin’ throats been cut ‘ere! Eeee bah eck it does!

Scene 3: Mr Sowerberry’s undertaker’s shop

OLIVER – Bah eck ah’ll tell thee soomething for nowt, ahm not sticking round ‘ere to get anoother reet good walloping from yon Noah Claypole and ‘is missus! Ahm’ off t’ Bradford to seek fortune and to better me sen! Aye that’ll be reet grand will that!

Scene 4: Bradford. A bustling northern city.

ARTFUL DODGER – Eh oop young un! Does tha fancy goin’ on t’rob wi me and mates? Ah’ll tell thee what it’s better than goin’ down pit lad!

FAGIN – Now then young un, tha’s got to pick a pocket or two tha knows lad. You stick wi me and everythin’ will be reet grand!

BILL SYKES – Eeeee don’t tek on so wi’ boy Fagin! Ah’ll tek ‘im wi’ me and shoove skinny little booger through folk’s winders. Aye that’s t’way forward, so ‘and ‘im over

Scene 5: Mr Brownlow’s comfortable home on the outskirts of Leeds

MR BROWNLOW – Well ah’ll go to foot o’ owr stairs young un! Ooo’d a thought you’d turn out to be t’grandson young Oliver! Ah’ve never known nowt like it in ah’ll me born days lad!  Now then, sit thee sen down and ah’ll get t’ ‘ousekeeper to bring thee some faggots wi mooshy peas! What does tha think to that then lad?

OLIVER – Eeeee that sounds reet champion Mr B. Can I ‘ave a few chips wi’ it does tha think?


Clivey Arkwright-Higginbottom


Filed under Humor, Humour, Spoof

Letters To LOMM


Dear League Of Mental Men

I met an old friend that I hadn’t seen for many years in the pub last night. Just as we were shaking hands warmly, a song containing the lyrics: “Move closer. Move your body real close until it feels like we’re really making love” came on the jukebox.

I immediately floored my pal with a number of powerful hooks and crosses to the head and body just in case he started getting the wrong idea.

Rupert Mince




Filed under Humor, Humour

Ray Winstone’s Cockney Crocheting Corner

ray winstone

I’m the daddy of this sewing circle you slag!”


In this section we ask our readers to submit questions of a crochet-connected variety, to our good friend and non-typecast, East London hardman actor and all round blindin’ geezer, Ray Winston.

Dear Ray

I’m thinking of making a keepsake box which I should like to decorate with some pretty crocheted flowers and would greatly appreciate any advice you could offer me on suitable designs, types of wool etc.

Thank you so much in anticipation for any advice you can give me on this one Ray.

Billy Beef

HM Prison Wansdworth


Dear Bill

Behave yourself you saucy mug! Don’t you come on my manor pulling strokes and taking liberties son! I’ve shit harder geezers than you Tinkerbell. How you’ve got the front to sit there in your cold and damp 6′ x 12′ peter and ask a geezer of my standing in the East End to help and advise a diabolical little toerag like you is beyond me you cheeky slag! I swear to God if I wasn’t speaking at a needlepoint and embroidering seminar tonight I’d come round there on a visit and serve you up squire! Now go on, piss of out of it before I change me mind you slippery, two bob arseole you!

PS.Firstly always ensure you buy a good quality yarn Billy. I can’t stress the importance of this enough. As for the pattern itself, try a granny style stitch stripe, perhaps with a nice picot edging.

All the very best for the future




Filed under Humor, Humour, Satire, Spoof

Dear LOMM: Double Bill Weekend Extravaganza!


Dear League Of Mental Men

In his smash hit single, 80s pop icon, Paul Young quite clearly states “Wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home”

How my wife and I laughed last weekend when after inviting him round for tea he removed his trilby and then sold our house for a fraction of it’s market value.

Bob Flacid

East India Dock Workhouse



Dear League of Mental Men

Imagine how ridiculous song lyrics would sound if the word “heart” were substituted for “arse”

We’d have “Everybody’s Got A Hungry Arse” and “I Left My Arse In San Francisco” for starters!

Where’s the fairness or decency in that then?

Patricia Heart

The Flaming Heart Retirement Home




Filed under Humor, Humour

Bear Grylls: My Gay Little Cheese Knife Shame

cheese knife

A cheese knife trying to look butch by having a bone handle, but in actual fact fooling nobody, pictured last night.


The career of TV survivalist, Bear Grylls, looked to be at an end last night after secretly filmed footage appeared to show the ex-special forces soldier using a small curved cheese knife to spear small squares of cheddar from a wooden board with “Cheese” engraved into it.

The short film lasting just a few minutes also showed Grylls, 92, sipping a dark liquid from what appeared to be a schooner sherry glass and nibbling on a stick of celery.

A clearly shaken and contrite Grylls appeared outside his home dressed in battle fatigues and with his face plastered in cam cream. He stumbled over his words and seemed close to tears at times as he told reporters:

“Yes it’s true that I used a gay little cheese knife to eat a quantity of cheddar but I had to. My wife had put my Bowie knife in the dishwasher. I feel as if I’ve let all my fellow survivalists down. I’ve already taken a bollocking over the phone from Ray Mears who called me a poof and a big, mincing gaylord. Quite what my old Aussie mate, The Bush Tucker Man, will make of all this I shudder to think.”

Grylls’ shame will come as another hammer-blow to the tragic, weekend warrior types who take him seriously, many of whom are already reeling from the news that ex-SAS hero and author, Andy McNab, was spotted collecting a Babyliss Foot Spa from a branch of Argos in Hereford last month.




Filed under Satire

Letters To LOMM



Dear League Of Mental Men

While shopping in Tescos last week I spotted a wall poster which read “Tescos Mother Of The Year Competition: Enter Your Mum Now!”

While I realise that we are now living in a far more sexually liberated era when nothing seems to be off the menu, I found their suggestion so heinous and unsavoury I immediately vomited into a fire bucket.

Come on Tescos, clean up your act. Where’s the fairness or decency is this one?

Dave Ovaries

London E2



Filed under Humor, Humour