Monthly Archives: July 2014

Game Of Moans: A Clivey & Gaz Production For The Under Fives

 

clivey & Gaz profile

Written by Gary Hoadley. Heartbreakingly Edited by Clivey Dee

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“Did you see that programme on the telly about sport Clivey”
“What one was that then Gaz?”
“Well, it was quite long, it went on for days”.
“Blimey”.
“I nearly starved to death, I couldn’t go out in case I missed something”.
“BBC was it son?”
“Yeah”
“What you got there Gaz, is yer Commonwealth Games”
“Commonwealth Games!”
“Yeah. Haven’t you read about it in the Radio Times son?.”
“I don’t believe it! I thought it was a documentary”.
“And you watch those from start to finish do yers mate? Documentaries I mean”
“Always have Clivey boy.”
“You’re a martyr to that David Attenborough and his wildlife shows. That’s what you are sheriff. A bleeding martyr!”
“Well I wouldn’t go that far mate but I do like it when ‘e talks about Manatees. They get killed by speedboats apparently. People run em over and that”.
“Shame.”
“Shame.”

Clive and Gaz go to the kitchen.

“Nice cup of splosh mate?”
“Yeah, cant beat a mug of Rosy Lee can yer Gaz?”
“Marvellous how they make tea leaves.”
“Yeah mate, all those girls, walking the fields, picking leaves all day.”
“Picking leaves Clivey?”
“Yeah, they pick the leaves in India Gaz.”
“India? I thought tea came from Tescos.”
“It does, Gaz, but first, it has to be picked in India.”
“I bet it’s a job getting the tea in them little bags.”
“Yeah, bit of a job sewing them up.”
“Sewing mail bags in the shovel was hard enough Clivey.”
“Tell me about it chief. Used to take me ages to get the cotton through the needle. Had to borrow a pair of bins off one of the screws on B Wing once.”
“Yeah, he never did get them back did he Gaz?“

“No he didn’t as it goes mate”

“Shame.”

“Yeah shame”

In the garden, the lads sit and ponder.

“What’s that there then Gaz?”
“A plant mate.”
“What sort?”
“A green one squire, you colour blind or wot?”
“No I’m not as it goes mate.  What’s it called?”
“Bastard weed, I think”
“Bastard weed mate?”
“Well, that’s what I heard Irene call it”.
“Funny that, I must have them in my garden too son.”
“Why’s that mate?”
“That’s exactly what Gill calls them.”

“Shame to call ’em that really mate. I mean to say, plants must have feelings too”

“Of course they have feelings mate! Look at them Weeping Willows. Miserable bleeders!

“Yeah it’s a shame really mate”

“Yeah shame”

This has been a Quim Fartin’ Production For CCTV

 

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The League Of Mental Men Morosely Present: Churchmouse!

churchy

“Anyone fancy a nice bit of bondage? I’ve got all me own gear!”

 

Good evening. Cliveypops here.

This morning I received a piece of copy from an old satirical sparring partner of mine and have, against my better judgement, decided to publish it on here with a view to further outpourings being submitted in the weeks, months and interminable years ahead.

So without further ado I shall now crave your indulgence as I present a brief and utterly damning pen portrait of the brute known to man and slavering beast alike as…”Churchmouse”

Physiognomy & Anatomy –  Churchmouse stands just 13″ high and has a debilitating skin disorder which requires him to wear a specially designed “Plague Suit” at all times. He has 5 teeth and an enormous male appendage of over 6 feet in length. This he wraps around his body a number of times before plugging it into his left ear. Hence his nickname “The Human Petrol Pump”

Dietary Habits – He ekes out a frugal existence by scuttling along bar tops, stealing savoury snacks and drinking the dregs from other people’s pints when they’ve gone to the toilet.

Home Life – He is married with 243 children. His wife, who I have had the pleasure of meeting in a public house in The Strand, West London, is a charming, attractive and thoroughly delightful lady with a pronounced French accent, and, as I have pointed out on many occasions, is far too good for him.

Military Career – He enlisted in the British Army as a 5 star general in 1888, on Inchcock’s birthday, and quickly rose through the ranks before being dishonourably discharged in 1914 with the rank of private 2nd class. He served with distinction at Waterloo, Agincourt and The Battle Of Rourke’s drift where he was decorated with The Victoria Cross for singing heartily in Welsh, petty larceny, aggravated sodomy and for squirting Deep Heat cream up the Regimental Sergeant Major’s arse while he slept. He was also mentioned in dispatches for making 16 female Zulu warriors pregnant as they tried to hack through the burning roof of the military hospital with Assegais.

Biblography – He is a published satirist, having appeared in the infamous Dorking Review, now of blessed memory, along with two more of your very own LOMM favourites, Inchy and Gaz. I’m in The Dorking Review II incidentally, which will obviously be far superior when it’s published some time in 2134, or as soon as we get an illustrator, whichever’s soonest. He has also shared a satirical organ (steady in the ranks ladies) with myself and the other two aforementioned gentlemen, but was sacked without back pay for drunkeness, slovenly evening wear, troilism and for hanging onto the sports editor’s leg whenever he wanted to go to the toilet. He has also aided and abetted me in writing the “Comrades” skits in the once mighty Soz Satire magazine but I had to let him go after he started stealing the beetroot vodka and spooning all the lumpy, nourishing bits from Gary Hoadley’s gruel bowl.

So there you have it my friends. I shall publish his maiden submission (steady in the ranks once more please ladies) as soon as I’ve lovingly edited it and given it a thoroughly good rinse under the tap. I bet you can’t wait can you? I know I can! 😦

Clivey

 

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Inchcock Today: His Visit to the Dentist

GCteeth

Inchy shower of his repaired top two front teggies!

Only just moved to this Dentist. I went last week for a check-up, and they booked me in fer a bit of work today. Couple o’ fillin’s and a spit un polish at ten o’clock this morning.

I set off, givin’ missen plenty o’ time like to hobble there.

At the end of the road, I stopped and limped back to the house cause I realised I’d still got me slippers on, un changed into me weather worn shoes.

Set off again, nice morning, up Mansfield Road, crossed over the other side when I noticed the police trying to drag a chap out of the flats, and the chap seemed determined not to be dragged out into the police van.

About 15 minutes later, I arrived at the Dentist at 0945hrs.

By the time I’d queued to book in, it were abarht 1010hrs. They insisted I pay fer me treatment then, before I’d ‘ad it like. Do I look dishonest, or like a pauper… maybe.Dentist Hitler

I sat and read a few chapters of me book ‘Hitler; The Commander’ wot I got frum the Pound Shop, before I wus told to go upstairs to room 2.

The rooms, had been fashioned out the old bedrooms in what was originally the living quarters of a shop owner.

I went in, and found myself alone, so I got out me book again. A few minutes later the nurse came in and went out again, then the dentist came in, told me to sit on the split plastic covered chair thingy and she’s be back in a bit. She a Polish gal, name of Cwik – no I’m not joking.

She inquired if I required a needle of pain killer before she started, I replied in the affirmative.

She left the room again. The nurse returned, picked something up out of a drawer, and left again.

They both returned after a short while, during which time I began to appreciate the pretty patterns the spiders had spun on the ceiling.

They set to work, and before long I’d got a set of top front teeth that I hope I can eat with without struggling.

I set off on me walk home, cheered with the prospect of being able to consume me fodder without pain. Got to ten end of me road… then returned to the dentist for me book, medicines and seaweed I’d left in the carrier bag….

Huh!

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Forgive Me Father For I Have Commented

krays painting

“Did he just comment Reg?”

“I aint sure Ron. Let’s crucify him on a billiard table just in case”

 

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been two years since my last banal, unsolicited comment on a blog post.

It happened last week Father. I was bored and restless, waiting for the women’s free range air pistol shooting to start at The Commonwealth Games. I found myself idly perusing my WordPress Reader, something I haven’t done since I began blogging in 2002. I spotted a piece of anti-Christianity satire by a chap who calls himself Inspired By The Divine, but whose real name might be Jeff or something along those lines.

Before I knew it, and despite all the voices in my head telling me it was wrong, I made an inane, fawning remark in the comment box provided and pressed “Send”

Fortunately the gentleman concerned must have understood my inner torment and responded about two days later by telling me to “Fuck off out of my blog you annoying sap” He then told me to “go forth and comment no more”

His voice was as one crying in the wilderness Father and I swear I’ll not stray from my avowed, non-commenting path ever again.

Hail Mary, full of grace.
Our Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.

Clivey

 

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Letters To LOMM

josef

Dear League Of Mental Men

I think I may have uncovered a clandestine paedophile ring in my local hospital. My mate’s pregnant wife told me that during a routine check up, a doctor smeared a lubricant on her belly and then took a number of photographs of her naked unborn child. He even asked her if she wanted one to take home!

Derek Leg-Disorder

Jamaica

Clivey.

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LOMM’s TV Choice #987

television

UK Gold. 22.45: Open All Hours

Medical documentary in which Kim Kardashian’s gynaecologist gives an in-depth interview about her legs.

Warning. This programme may contain traces of silicone-enhanced arses

Clivey

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Letters To LOMM

josef

Dear League Of Mental Men

Whenever my Tassimo coffee machine finishes the brewing process it emits an intermittent, high-pitched whine, almost like the plaintive cry of a lone sea bird as it wheels and circles overhead. Where’s the fairness in that then?

Clivey Dee

British Guyana

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Scottish Devolutionists Call For “Alcoholism And Vagrancy Games” in 2015

drunk scot

A member of the Scotland team pictured doing a few stretching exercises prior to a training session last night.

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Members of The Scottish Nationalists Party have announced plans to stage a Commonwealth Games style tournament which will represent the true spirit of the people of Scotland and their propensity towards heavy drinking should the nation vote for an Independent Scotland in the forthcoming referendum.

A preliminary itinerary of events has been agreed upon, and according to sources within the party, they will include:

The 100 metres stagger.  The blue riband event of the games in which 6 crack winos swill down 5 bottles of Thunderbird each before reeling along the white lines in the middle of a busy high street.

The 3000m Running Away From The Poliss Steeplechase – The most gruelling event of the entire games in which only the most dedicated and drink-ravaged of athletes will emerge victorious. Each man has to throw a brick through an off-licence window, grab two bottles of Glenfidich and then take off through a number of back gardens, hurdling the fences, with the police in hot pursuit. Last year’s winner, Jimmy Campbell, from Marytown, Glasgow, was feted by being given the freedom of the city and 2 years in Barlinnie maximum security prison.

200m Dog On A Bit Of String Dash – In this fast-paced bid for glory the 6 inebriated stumblebums that make the final will have to race down the high street, carrying their dog on a bit of string under one arm, until they reach the piece of wasteground at the finish.  Here they will be allowed to sit round a burning sofa drinking cans of Tennants Super until the medal ceremony begins

Putting The Battered Wife In The Infirmary – A real test of strength and endurance as contestants are pushed to the very limit as they try to hospitalise their spouses without resorting to firearms or cut-throat razors. This thrilling event will be held on Saturday evening after closing time.

Projectile Vomiting High Hurdles –  Another endurance event in which each drink-addled wreck will be required to take on board 5 litres of shoe re-conditioner before attempting to crawl under 15 hurdles while vomiting profusely. The winner will be adjudged by the amount of sick collected in his beard before he finally loses conciousness.

3000m Broken Pram Pushing – A tough middle distance discipline in which competitors stumble through the city at night pushing a pram with all their possessions in it. Last years winner, Hamish McBride, was disqualified after it was found that his pram had been artificially lightened by having no transistor radio with the back off in it.

The 4 x 40% Proof All-In Self-Fighting Championship – A gruelling finale to the games in which 24 top notch cirrhosis of the liver sufferers will enter a specially constructed public library and have frenzied fights with themselves after downing 4 bottles of high octane grog. Fancied athletes will be handicapped by having to wear an ill-fitting, fetid pair of trousers, held up with a bit of string and a pair of piss-soaked boots with no laces in.

Closing Ceremony – The victorious athletes will lean heavily on each other while muttering “Flower Of Scotland” before settling down for the night round the back of the grandstand with newspapers pushed down the back of their shitted-up trousers.

We managed to get a word with Games organiser, Willy Dalglish, last night who told us “Are ye starin’at mah pint wee man? Git tae fuck afore ah stick the heed on ye. Ye fuckin’ bashta ye!”

Clivey

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Letters To LOMM

josef

Dear League Of Mental Men

Ladies who hate ironing. Place the iron, and the item that needs pressing, on the ironing board before  swallowing a number of powerful magnets. Then simply walk up and down alongside the board and hey presto, a beautifully pressed garment and a new slimmer, fitter you.

Gus Substance-Abuse

Africa

Clivey

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Clivey & Gaz in “Culture Vultures!”

 
clivey & Gaz profile
 
The Tate Gallery. Written by Gary Hoadley And Erotically Edited by Clivey Dee
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“Ullo Gazza, what do you see, what do you know?”
“Sit down Clivey, have a butchers at that”.
“Oh, yeah, it’s Mondrian, nice painting”.
“What’s it called then?”
“Composition with yellow, blue and red”.
“What about the black lines?”
“He didn’t have enough room on the bottom of the canvas to write black”.
“Why didn’t he write it on the back?”
“He didn’t want to get his brush dirty I suppose”.
“Shame”.
“Shame”.

Clive and Gary move to another room in the Tate.

“What the hell is that Clivey?”
“That is a Matisse Gaz”.
“A French mattress!”
“No you pranit, the artist Matisse. It’s called “The Snail”.
“What part of it?”
“What part of what”.
“What part of that painting is a snail then?”
“All of it”.
“Hold on a minute squire…”
“Why you walking backwards Gaz?”
“I’m giving me minces a chance to focus”.
“Focus”.
“Yeah, cos I can’t see a snail”.
“It’s modernism Gaz”.
“If it’s that modern, why don’t he know what a snail looks like?”
“He didn’t have a garden did he”.
“Shame”.
“Shame”.

After spending a few more minutes looking for the snail, they move on and stop in front of a painting of two nudes

“They look like a couple of nice birds Clivey”.
“Yeah, a geezer called Sigmar Polke painted ’em”.
“Bet they had a job standing still in that position”.
“He must have given them something to lean on, then painted it out Gaz”.
“Clever, very clever”.
“It’s called, “Girlfriends”.
“What, he had two of ’em?”
“Yeah the dirty sod”.
“Dirty sod”.
“Nice painting though”.
“How come you know so much about these paintings Clivey?”
“I broke down outside here the other day and I dived in for a quick butcher’s while I was waiting for the tow truck mate.

A short silence ensues

“Hold up son! I thought you were a mechanic!”

“I am mate, It was me afternoon off”

“Shame”

“Shame”

The End

Arse Gratia Arseoles

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