Monthly Archives: September 2014

The Devil Wears A Donkey Jacket

Demonic dialogue by Gary Hoadley. Infernal editing by Clivey Dee



The Devil and his wife are sitting in their lounge.

“Look, what I’m saying is, when Jesus comes back, I wont have
so many working hours, so we will need to cut darn a bit”

“Why is that then?”.

“Cos he’s offered the Nergals and the Hades jobs in His Heaven”.

“How does that effect you then?”

“Gawd’s sake!…Wivart the Nergals and the Hades there won’t
be a bleedin Hell will there, you great, fat, puddin!”.

“So, will they make you redundant?”

“Well, they can try…I mean, you can’t have goodwill to
all men all over the world can yer? You got to ‘ave a bit of bad”.


“Why?…’Cos it’s yer working class right to have a bluddy good drink and a punch up on a Saturday night!  That’s why my dear…it’s tradition innit?”.

“Well Jesus don’t think so”.

“Look…LOOOOK! If they had all listened to Him, I’d have never got the job in the first place”.

“He’s got more followers than your lot”.

“I know, we never had time to write a rule book did we? Bluddy
Communist swine He was! He had it all planned out from the off”.

“It was your lot caused the division”.

“Don’t be bluddy daft my dear! It was them! They wanted  men and women
to walk abart in the nude! We stuck one of our shop stewards in there
and he reported back to the guvnor and that was it.”

“You got thrown out of Eden”.

“We didn’t get thrown out, we formed our own union”.

“Well it hasn’t done you much good has it?”

“You’re bluddy right there! I’m still  stuck darn here
married to you! I’m going darn the pub!”.

Editor’s Footnote: This infernal skit is loosely based on the convoluted interactions between the legendary TV character, Alf Garnet, a committed racist and right wing misogynist, and his long suffering wife, Elsie. He was created by the great Johnny Speight in the 1970s as an East London anti-hero and was a real favourite of mine…despite the fact that a number of people have said that Alf’s accent and my own are indistinguishable…the saucy gits!!!



Filed under Humor, Humour, Satire

Home Workshop Manual for 29 Tools: with users’ advice (Updated)



To the uninitiated, the workshop can be an intimidating place, full of tools you may not know what to do with.

To help, here’s a helpful explanation of common tools and their uses, followed by some DIY tips provided by Mike Steeden Construction and Demolition expert.

1: Socket-Sets:

A definitely much needed tool. You’ll always lose the one you want to use, but the nearest width one can always be utilised to chew-up the bolt heads.

2: Drill Press:

A tall upright machine useful for suddenly snatching flat metal bar stock out of your hands so that it smacks you in the chest and flings your beer across the room, denting the freshly-painted vertical stabilizer which you had carefully set in the corner where nothing could get to it.

3: Allen Keys:

Highly losable. You can keep them on a key-ring, for you to sort through them to find the size out of the 60 you have on the ring isn’t there, more easily.

4: Multi-Pliers:

Contain a handy assortment of sharp and dangerous tools. Best left in its leather sheath and worn on a homeowners belt to make you look macho and increase testosterone levels.

5: Wire Wheel:

Cleans paint off bolts and then throws them somewhere under the workbench with the speed of light. Also removes fingerprints and hard-earned calluses from fingers in about the time it takes you to say, “Oh shit!”

6: Halogen Light:

A work-light that lights up your backyard with the incandescence of a football stadium, causing you to cast a heavy shadow over the area you’re working on so that you need to use a flashlight anyway.

7: Electric Hand Drill

Normally used for spinning pop rivets in their holes until you die of old age.

8: Cordless Drill:

A device that lessens your chance of electrocution 90% over a standard plug-in tool. Guaranteed to lose your power when you need it.

9: Skill Saw:

A portable cutting tool used to make studs too short.

10: Pliers:

Used to round off bolt heads. Sometimes used in the creation of blood-blisters. These have been known to mysteriously increase a man’s cursing vocabulary.

11: Belt Sander:

An electric sanding tool commonly used to convert minor touch-up jobs into major refurnishing jobs.

12: Hacksaw:

One of a family of cutting tools built on the Ouija board principle. It transforms human energy into a crooked, unpredictable motion, and the more you attempt to influence its course, the more dismal your future becomes.

13: Vice-Grips:

Generally used after pliers have failed in the task. To completely round off bolt heads. If nothing else is available, they can also be used to transfer intense welding heat to the palm of your hands.

14: Welding Gloves:

Heavy duty leather gloves used to prolong the conduction of intense welding heat to the palm of your hands.

15: Oxyacetylene Torch:

Used almost entirely for lighting various flammable objects in your workshop on fire. Also handy for igniting the grease inside the wheel hub you want the bearing taken out of.

16: Table Saw:

A large stationary power tool commonly used to launch wood projectiles for testing wall integrity.

17: Hydraulic Floor Jack:

Used for lowering an automobile to the ground after you have installed your new brake shoes, trapping the jack handle firmly under the bumper.

18: Eight-foot long Yellow Pine 2×4:

Used for levering an automobile upward off of a trapped hydraulic jack- handle.

19: Ease-it-out Bolt & Stud Extractor:

A tool ten times harder than any known drill bit that snaps neatly off in bolt holes thereby ending any possible future use.

20: Band Saw

A large stationary power saw primarily used by most handymen to cut good aluminium sheet into smaller pieces that more easily fit into the trash can after you cut on the inside of the line instead of the outside edge.

21: Two-Ton Engine Hoist:

A tool for testing the maximum tensile strength of everything you forgot to disconnect.

22: Phillips Screwdriver

Normally used to stab the vacuum seals under lids and for opening old-style paper-and-tin oil cans and splashing oil on your shirt; but can also be used, as the name implies, to mangle-up Phillips screw heads.

23: Plain-flat headed Screwdriver

A tool for opening paint cans. These are often used to convert the common slotted screws into non-removable slotted screws.

24: Crow Bar:

A tool used to crumple the metal surrounding that clip or bracket you needed to remove in order to replace a 50p part. Also useful during burglaries and street riots.

25: Hose Cutter:

A tool used to make hoses too short.

26: Hammer:

Originally employed as a weapon of war, the hammer nowadays is used as a kind of divining rod to locate the most expensive parts adjacent the object we are trying to hit with it.

27: Stanley-Knife:

Used to open and slice through the contents of cardboard cartons delivered to your front door. Works particularly well on contents such as seats, vinyl records, liquids in plastic bottles, collector magazines, refund cheques, and rubber or plastic parts. Especially useful for slicing work clothes, but only while in use.

28: Swiss Army Knife:

Can always come in handy as a substitute for the tool you need, but you cannot find.

29: Dammit Tools:

Any handy tool that you grab and throw across the garage while yelling “Dammit” at the top of voice. It is also, most often, the next tool that you will need at any given time.

Guest Advisor Mike Steeden’s Advice for the Handy-Man:

JCP05If you can’t find a screwdriver, use a knife. If you break off the tip, it becomes an improvised screwdriver.

Try to work alone, an audience is rarely any help and only takes the piss out if you when you get it wrong again.

Despite what you may have been told by your mother, praying and cursing are both helpful in home repair… but only if you are working alone.

Work in the kitchen whenever you can… many fine tools are there. It’s warm and dry, and you are close to the refrigerator.

If it’s electronic, get a new one, or consult a twelve-year-old.

Stay simple minded, Plug it in, Get a new battery, Replace the bulb or fuse, See if the tank is empty, Try turning it to the “on” switch. Or Just paint over it.

Always take credit for miracles. If you dropped the alarm clock while taking it apart and it suddenly starts working, you have healed it.

Regardless what people say, kicking, pounding, throwing, and shaking sometimes does help.

If something looks level, it is level.

If at first you don’t succeed, redefine success.

Above all, if what you’ve done is stupid, but it works, don’t toy with it any-more!


Filed under Humor, Humour, Satire, Soz Satire Magazine, The League Of Mental Men

Jihadists Need To “Dress For Success” Says UN Envoy Victoria Beckham


Victoria Beckham pictured last week showing the General Synod Of Great Britain how to look classy but sexy during a fractious, religious schism 

Newly appointed United Nations envoy and fashionista, Victoria Beckham, has hit out at what she calls the “appalling and outdated” dress sense of Islamist terrorists, insisting that if they were to “smarten themselves up a bit” and start “dressing for success” the rest of the world wouldn’t see them in such a bad light.

In her maiden speech to the UN in Geneva last night, Ms Beckham, 73, was particularly scathing about the Islamic State fighters, currently cutting a murderous swathe through Syria and Iraq, whose full length black robes and matching face masks were described as “samey” and “lacking in oomph” by the star

“Perhaps if these jihadist people were to pay a little more attention to their wardrobe the British and Americans wouldn’t be quite so keen to bomb them” she told delegates.

“If I were in charge out in Iraq or Syria I’d make sure a full range of top name designer clothes were available at all times. It’s a disgrace the way they present themselves in public during these beheadings and suchlike. Where do they think they are for God’s sake? Manchester?

“I went for a coffee with Sporty Spice last week and she agreed with me wholeheartedly. Although what right she has to talk about fashion I don’t know. I mean to say have you seen those shellsuits? Scruffy little cow!”

“While we’re on the subject of public executions, surely it wouldn’t do any harm if the victims were given a decent ensemble to wear before being despatched would it?  Imagine being beheaded in public wearing an orange jump suit. Their friends and loved ones must be absolutely appalled. Surely it wouldn’t be too much to ask to kit them out in a nice pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs would it? They could even offer them some optional padding seeing as it’s their last public appearance. Well it never did my David any harm did it?”

Ms Beckham was unavailable for comment last night and is believed to be in Nigeria, advising terror group, Boko Haram, fighters, on how best to match handbags and shoes with casual evening wear.

The above piece of satire was inspired by the, somewhat surprising, news that Posh Spice was yesterday unveiled as a UN envoy.

Disclaimer: No nails were broken or fashion faux pas were committed during it’s writing, although I was a bit worried at one point that one of my tits had popped out.



Filed under Satire

Supreme Leader, the Musical

 Another diary entry by Kim Jong Un, Supreme Leader of North Korea

Dear diary,

I like Lady GaGa. She’s not as hot as Beyoncé, but her music makes up for that. I wish we had singers like that in North Korea. My wife used to be a singer, but she was not as good as Lady Gaga.

Tonight I will attend the premiere of Supreme Leader, the Musical. It’s about me. It will be in the May Day Stadium.

May Day Stadium

I will have the best seat, where I can see everything and everybody.

During last year’s premiere of Supreme Leader on Ice I arrived late. The announcer said I was stuck in traffic, but that was stupid so I had him sent to prison: all the cars in Pyongyang were at May Day Stadium, so there was no traffic.

I then had to threaten South Korea so my people would think I was busy working and that made me arrive late. Stupid announcer!

I didn’t arrive late because of traffic last year. I arrived late because of Lady Gaga. I had just gotten her new CD and it was awesome. I was listening to it all day and forgot all about the time. It was such a happy feeling. My dead dad never let me listen to cool music, but my wife does.

‘Porker Face’ is my favorite. I didn’t know what it means, so I called my best friend Dennis Rodman and he explained it to me. It reminds me of my generals. And advisors and scientists and government and people.

I have a porker face too.

Sometimes I act really nice to my people, but then I secretly think they are losers. And then in my head I’m like Can’t read my, Can’t read my, No, he can’t read my…pooorkerface. That makes me laugh inside.

I don’t really feel like going to Supreme Leader, the Musical. But everybody expects me to be there. They all come to see me. I guess it’ll be rude of me not to show up.

I’d rather stay home and finish writing my letter in which I ask the world’s greatest dancer if he will produce next year’s event with me. I think it should be called Michael Flatley’s Supreme Leader.

Your one and unly,


I’m playing Wordfeud on my Iphone with a 36 year old housewife from Bristol. She’s very good. She thinks I’m the mother of one of her kid’s friends. She’s British, so she scores more points than me; labour, harbour, humour, dictatour, vibratour, etc.


This cynical character assassination of a wonderful human being comes courtesy of Lenny Van Ree & Satire Nation.



Filed under Humor, Humour, Satire

Utter Codswallop!: An Everyday Story Of Fish-Wielding Folk

The Soz Satire Crime Files nervously presents:

The Strange Case Of The Cod Walloper Of Olde London Towne

Dastardly script by Gary Hoadley

Murderous editing by Clivey Dee

Merciless graphic by The Artful Dodger


A cold winter night. October 1888. London. Mr Fred Bunge is walking along the
Whitechapel road in Shadwell. East End. From nowhere, Fred is struck with a huge Cod across the back of the head. The blow sent him reeling. It also stung a bit.
Fred Bunge was the tenth victim of the Cod Walloper. Police questioned Fred.
They asked if the fish had been left at the crime scene. Fred said he had taken it
home and that his wife, Maud, “Did it wiv a bit of bread an butter an some left over liquour from the pie an mash shop”.

The police needed to act fast, victim’s of the Walloper were eating the evidence.

October 17th 1888

Inspector Ball and his deputy, DS Chalk, made their way to Smithfield Market.
They began to question members of staff. One of the porters immediately became a suspect, it was clear he had something to hide. Inspector Ball pressed him further.

“So, how much do you know about cod Mr Pickle?” Asked Inspector Ball.
“Nuffin at all mate” replied Pickles.
“I see, so you deny having any knowledge of things piscatorial” said Ball.
“Yers, me old china”. stated Pickles.
“And why would that be?” asked DS Chalk.
“Cos I works in a meat market”. replied Pickles.
“Ah ha! So, you work in a meat market eh? And where would that be” pressed Ball.
“The one you is standin in mate”. offered Pickles.
“Right, well, don’t do it again” warned DS Chalk.

The Star public house in Bethnal Green, has a good reputation for a knees up,
punch ups, and a Saturday night lock in. On 25th of October, 1888. Alf Mullet and his best friend, Ted Lemon, stood outside The Star. They rolled up their sleeves in anticipation of thudding each other up the throat. Suddenly, from nowhere, both men were felled by a huge cod. The two friends hit the ground.

“Earr, yu bugger, you gawn an done me wiv a fish yu cheating tyke!” shouted Alf.
“Wot!…Yu jus done me rand the canister wiv the very same!” Ted retorted.

The two men then realised, they had been attacked by the Cod Walloper, of Old London town.
Inspector Ball arrived at the scene. On the pavement lay two large cod.
Inside the mouth of one cod, a note protruded. DS Chalk removed the paper
and read aloud. “If you is not catching me soon, I is going to start using Mullet”.

“This is serious Chalk”, said Inspector Ball. “If this madman gets his hands on a
Mullet, the consequences will be dire, we have to catch him”.

Mrs Eider Down, landlady of the Sea View bed and breakfast hotel in Argyle Square, began to have some suspicions about one of her residents.
Mr John West, had arrived some months ago, he told Mrs Down that he was employed as a Clerk for a law firm in the Caledonian Road.
The problem was, he smelled of fish. His clothes, his hair, even his room. Why did a clerk at a law firm smell of fish? Mrs Down decided to contact the police.

2nd of November 1888. 2pm.

Inspector Ball and DS Chalk arrived at the Sea View hotel. They were shown into
the parlour where they met Mrs Eider Down, the proprietor.

“Hello Mrs Down, I’m Inspector Ball, and this is DS Chalk, we understand you have some worries about one of your residents”.

“Yers, he ain’t right, comes ome from work, smelling of fish, an he didn’t want
the cruet, I mean to say, how do yu eat mutton wivart salt an pepper?” Said Mrs Down.

“Quite. May we have a look in his room?” Enquired DS Chalk.

“Oooh, I don’t know, it’s the privy you see, he might not of emptied it”.

“The privy Mrs Down?” said Inspector Ball.

“She means the Edgar Allen guv”. offered DS Chalk.

“Oh, right, that’s not a problem for men like us Mrs Down” answered Inspector Ball.

“You aven’t seen his privy dear”. replied Mrs Down.

The detectives made their way up the stairs . With trepidation and
a growing sense of foreboding, they opened the door to room 101. At first all seemed normal.
The bed, the chair, the row of freshly gutted Cod…it looked like any run down
bed and breakfast hotel room. Inspector Ball was not fooled however.
“Lets have a good look round Chalk, there has got to be something here.
After several minutes of searching, Chalk found a clue.

“Guv, look at this”…

Inside a chest of draws, lay several unwashed handkerchiefs.

“The dirty bastard!” exclaimed Ball.

“What sort of depraved fiend leaves stuff like this in their dresser?” asked Chalk.

“Only a madman, and the sort of person that should be in an institution”. replied Ball.

“We need to set a trap for this person and have him off the streets within the day”.

“You’re right Guv, let’s inform Mrs Down” replied Chalk.

Downstairs in the parlour, the detectives informed Mrs Down of their find.
She was overcome with shame and fear. They gave her succour, and a few slaps around the head.
The plan now, was to catch the Cod Walloper, without raising suspicion.

3rd of November 1888 6pm. The Sea View Hotel. Argyle Square. Kings Cross.

Inspector Ball hid in the wardrobe of room 101 while DS Chalk concealed himslef under the bed.
After a while, the door opened and in walked Mr West. He did indeed smell of fish.
Both detectives leapt from their concealment.

“Mr John West, I arrest you in the name of the law!” shouted Ball.
Startled, Mr West fell back onto his bed. “What! What have I done?”
“You are the Cod Walloper of Olde London Towne!” shouted DS Chalk in Olde English

Without a struggle, West was led to Whitechapel police station.
In the interview room, Inspector Ball began his questioning.

“Now then West, what made you become such a beast?”
“It all started a few years ago”. replied West.
“What started?” enquired DS Chalk.
“My dad was a fisherman. He supplied all the shops in the east of London.
One day, he got into trouble and fell overboard from his boat. I can remember
his last words to this day”….
“What were the they West?” whispered Inspector Ball.
“Fuck me! It’s a Shark!”…shouted Mr West.
“So your dad was killed by a shark?” asked DS Chalk.
“Yes, unless it was an irate Dolphin”. replied West.
“Why did you start the attacks?” Asked Ball.
“The fish shops owed my dad money, when they found out he was brown
bread, they refused to pay, so I hatched a plan of revenge” explained West.

“That’s all well and good Mr West, but what about the dirty handkerchiefs?”
“No comment guv”.

Mr John West was sentenced to five years hard labour. On his release he moved
to Burnham on Crouch and became a drag artist at the Nell Gwyn tea rooms.

Disclaimer: No Inchcocks or Mike Steedens were harmed during the constructing of the graphic that accompanies this skit…much.


Filed under Humor, Humour, Spoof

The LOMM Forum: Rules & Regulations

Good evening! Cliveypops here!

Now then, I stumbled across this little gem from Gaz in the hallowed halls of our forum the other day (we don’t just throw this shit together willy nilly tha knows!)  and decided it was too funny to waste on the miserly, 2567 forum members that we currently boast so I have therefore decided to give it an airing here. The rather brilliant smudge from our own, Artful Dodger, is worth the price of admission alone!  Right that’s it really. Here we go then:


“Gazmoses” smudge by The Artful Dodger.


1# All Members must be a member before posting as a member.
2# Members (Now known as Members) shall be known as Members by other Members, unless they are not a Member.
3# Members must NOT use the lower field.
4# Members are required not to use the lower field. Even if they are not a Member.
5# The lower field is OUT OF BOUNDS to all Members.
6# Members must not lean on other Members wing mirrors.
7# Leaning on Members wing mirrors, in the lower field is NOT allowed.
8# No Back Scuttling in the forum.
9# Back Scuttling in the lower field is forbidden by Members.
10 Swearing at guests is only allowed in the upper field.
11 The upper field is out of bounds to guests.
12 No Hedgehogs allowed in the forum.
13 Members MUST keep Camels on a lead when in the upper field.
14 The Forum is for Members only.
15 Only Members can use the Forum (Except where a guest has a picture of a tractor in the lower field)
16 Pictures of tractors are banned in the forum. (Except pictures taken in the lower field)
17 Swearing is only allowed if a Member makes prior arrangement with another Member.
18 Members must not swear at each other in the upper field.
19 Any Member found swearing without prior arrangement will be banned.
20 All coats must be put on the lower peg.
21 All coats must be put on the middle peg, if the Member is staying in the forum for more than one hour.
22 All coats must be put on the lower peg, then moved to the upper peg if the Member is not staying in the forum.
23 Coats are banned from the forum unless a Member is a Member in the forum.
24 Members may bring a coat if they are not going to the forum but the picture gallery.
25 Coats are NOT allowed in the picture gallery unless a Member is accompanied by a guest.
26 No guests are allowed in the Picture Gallery.
27 Members are NOT allowed to commit suicide in the car park.
28 The car park is out of bounds to suicide bombers.
29 Members MUST sign out of the forum, EVEN if they are not signed in.
30 All Members MUST sign in, before they sign out.

By Order Of Wing Commander Dresden-Bombsite (Ret)
Forum Committee Chair
Reg Charity No 2342098655.



Filed under Humor, Humour

Clivey & Gaz In: Pumping Irons

clivey weight training   gaz weight training

Gettin’ strong nowwwwww

Written by Clivey Dee

Harsh & hilarious smudges by The Artful Dodger

Scene One: The public bar of The Blind Beggar public house in Whitechapel East London. The lads are seated at a corner table. Clivey seems troubled and appears to be in pensive mood.

You alright Clivey mate? You seem troubled and appear to be in pensive mood son.

No I’m not alright as it goes Gaz. I’m troubled and in pensive mood for a very good reason squire.

I knew it mate! I knew you were troubled and in pensive mood! What is it bruv? What’s making you so troubled and pensive me old china plate?

It’s us mate. Have you seen the state of us lately? We’re slap bang out of shape moosh. Our bodies are a complete shambles. If it wasn’t for our knives and shooters we wouldn’t be able to knock the skin off a rice pudden. We need to whip our cockney arses into shape a bit lively or people will start liberty taking. We’ll end up getting mugged off left, right and bastard centre son.

I hear you bruv but what’s to be done chief? How can we turn around our shameful, physical reversal?

Weights son. Weights and Steradent. Anabolic Steradent! We need to hit the gym and start shifting the iron furniture my son. Coupled with the Steradent we’ll be in superb nick in just a few days, trust me.

I thought Steradent was for false teeth Clivey. I thought it was for cleaning the old false Hampsteads.

It is Gaz but it’s also for building up the physique son. You inject Steradent into your arse cheeks and within days you end up looking like that Arnold Swarthyknickers out of Conan The Librarian.

Arnold? That’s a foreign name aint it mate? Is he a foreign geezer then?

Yeah. He comes from Lambeth son. He’s got a little one-bedroom drum in The Palace Road.


Exactly mate, but if we want to shape up and start looking like ‘im, we need to take drastic action. No pain no grain squire. Listen son, if we knuckle down and get this little job squared away, before you know it we’ll have shedloads of naked blart flocking round us like good uns. They’ll be absolutely begging us to cop a feel of their threepenny bits mate. They’ll be showing us their Alan Whickers before you can say Janet Reger!

Blart you say son? Blimey!

Naked blart Gaz. Naked blart.

Righto Clivey, we’ll get stuck in to the old weights a bit lively then. When are we going to start geezer?

The New Year Gaz. There’s no point in rushing these things chief. We’ll tuck into the grog and the fish suppers for a few more months to get our strength up, and then on the 1st of January, we’ll take some Steradent and steam into the heavy poundages son. After a few days of that we’ll be like two brick shithouses. We wont need to carry our tools anymore either. We’ll be so massive we’ll be able to give our sworn enemies a top drawer clumping using just our hands mate.

No tools? What about my spiked, electrified cosh mate? I bloody love that one!

Yeah I see what you mean mate. It’s become a real part of you down the years has your spiked, electrified cosh. It’s a bit like me and me poison-tipped Stanley Blade in that respect. Tell you what Gaz, we’ll keep em, but we’ll only use em on special occasions. Birthdays, anniversaries, an away win for West Ham, that sort of thing son.

Sweet as a nut Clivey! Fancy another livener sheriff?

Yeah fuck it, go on then son, and while you’re up there get us a steak and onion pie and a pickled egg.

Gaz goes to the bar and returns looking troubled and in pensive mood.

What is it Gaz? You seem troubled and in pensive mood squire

They’ve run out of pickled eggs Clivey


Yeah shame.

For the sake of any filthy colonials, rebellious Scots or non-cockney rhyming slang speakers who may be reading this. “Irons” is London slang for gentlemen of a homosexual persuasion or “Iron Hoofs” as we fondly call them. 


Filed under Humor, Humour

The Bourne Supreme Leader

 Another diary entry by Kim Jong Un, Supreme Leader of North Korea.


Dear diary,

I like the Spice Girls. My favorite song goes like Viva forever, I’ll be waiting, everlasting, like the sun. Live forever, for the moment, ever searching, for the un. I wanted to play it on my dead dad’s funeral, but one of my dad’s final wishes was that my uncle Jang Sung-taek would pick the music. He chose poorly.

I asked the Spice Girls if they wanted to come to North Korea, but I haven’t heard back from them yet. Maybe they are busy. Or maybe they’re fighting again.

Ginger is my favorite. I was sorry when she left the group. I was one of the many people that didn’t buy their third album.

Things just weren’t the same without Geri.

If I wasn’t so busy leading North Korea, I would probably be in a boy band. I once asked my generals and they think I have the hair for it. I’m also quite the singer. That’s what I’m known for in North Korea. My wife used to be a singer and we often sing together. I make her sing Viva Forever sometimes.

It made me wonder why no one else in North Korea seems to like the Spice Girls. My advisors told me it was forbidden in North Korea. I said that was ridiculous. My senior advisor soon agreed with me. He even said we could make money selling CD’s. North Korea is the only country where people don’t have internet, so people will still buy CD’s.

So now we’re buying CD’s for cheap on Ebay and are selling them for lots of money, so the people of North Korea can enjoy the Spice Girls too. We’re making a huge online profit this way.

I love the smell of Paypal in the morning.

But then my mind went on. With no internet, we can also sell videotapes. My advisors were really happy with me and they told me I could buy BLOCKBUSTER VIDEO for like 10 dollars.

So I did. I bought BLOCKBUSTER, but I changed the name to SUPREME LEADER VIDEO.

This is what it’ll look like. My advisors tell me I’m the Supreme Graphic Designer.

I am so happy I bought something American. I said I want to buy Nebraska too, but my advisors told me that ain’t worth shit.
I believe them.

As it turned out, BLOCKBUSTER only has capitalist movies, which are forbidden. So we replaced them all with North Korean films like The Bourne Supreme Leader, The Night of the Living Supreme Leaders and The Last of the Supreme Leaders, which is about me.

Your one and unly,


I was also told North Koreans don’t have video or DVD players, so I made a law that says everybody has to buy one so paying for a movie at SUPREME LEADER VIDEO makes sense. I want to buy TARGET for that, but each time I say ‘I want Target’ people get nervous.


This cynical character assassination of a wonderful human being comes courtesy of Lenny Van Ree & Satire Nation.




Filed under Humor, Humour, Satire

Shylock Humes In: The Case Of The Farringdon Funker


A Victorian gentleman pictured diligently checking the saturated fat content in a murderous, Amazonian dwarf outside Fortnum & Mason’s


By Edgar Alan Pose aka Gary Hoadley

Part one.

Shylock stood in Baker Street. He hailed a cab. The driver waved back and drove on.
Presently, he was joined by his friend and trusted companion, Dr Whatson.

“Have you hailed a cab Shylock?” asked Whatson.
“No, I thought I would stand here in the rain waiting for you”. replied Humes.
“Oh, why would you wait in the rain? Are you collecting evidence?” said Whatson.

“He get’s worse” Shylock said to himself. “Can you hail a cab please, Whatson?”
“Right ho, Shylock…Caaabbb!”

A cab pulled over, the driver sat under his rain cape. The horse had a crap.

“Where to guvnor?” asked the driver.
“Limehouse” answered Shylock.
“That’s a fair old trot guvnor”. said the driver.
“Just get there as quickly as you can”. ordered Humes.
With that, the cab took off at great speed, leaving our heroes on the pavement.
“I think we should have gone with him Shylock”. said Whatson.
“Would have been a good idea” sighed Humes.
“Did you give him the address?”. asked Whatson.
“Not yet”…answered Humes.

Later that day, Shylock and Whatson arrived at Cooks Pie and Mash shop. Limehouse.

“What is that awful smell Whatson?” enquired Shylock Humes.
“It’s not me Humes, I had toast for breakfast” answered Whatson.
“Let’s go into the shop and speak to the proprietor” said Humes.

Inside the shop, the smell intensified, Humes held a handkerchief to his face.

“Mornin dear” said a small rotund woman. “Can I ‘elp you?”
“Good morning Mrs Meatflan, my name is Shylock Humes, the world’s
greatest detective, and this is my friend, Dr Whatson” .
“That’s nice love, ‘ave you come abart the smell?” said Mrs Meatflan.
“Yes, where is it” asked Whatson.
“In the corner of the yard aht back” replied Mrs Meatflan.
The two men made their way to the back of the shop, they opened a small
wooden door and stepped into the yard. The smell was overpowering.

“My god!” exclaimed Whatson.
“Yes” replied Humes. “What vile creature would leave a thing like that!?”
Mrs Meatflan came to the door. “Wot is it then?” she asked.
“That” said Shylock, pointing, “Is a malodorous, gaseous, escape from the lower bowel otherwise known as a funk, and it’s a very nasty one to boot”.
“Oooh err!…Why leave it in our yard?” said Mrs Meatflan.
“We shall find out Mrs Meatflan, and have the devil thrown in prison” said Humes.
“Can we go now Shylock, I’m feeling a bit Tom an Dick”. asked Whatson.
“Immediately Watson, the funk is effecting your speech!” cried Humes.

The two men exited the pie and mash shop.

“That was close Whatson, you nearly became an Aaw Gawd Blimey” said Humes.
“You mean…” answered Whatson.
“Yes…An East End Cockney!”.
“My god! What would Mrs Whatson have become?” asked Whatson.
“A washer woman in the Old Kent Road I fancy” . replied Homes.

Humes and Whatson made their way back to 221A Baker street. Once inside
they drew a large fire and then drew the curtains, Humes drew a self portrait.
With the art work put away, the men began to discuss their new case.

“Do you think the Funker is a local man Humes?” asked Whatson.
“No, this evil criminal lives near the City of London” answered Humes.
“How so Humes?” said Whatson.
“He can disguise his funks by using the sewers to get to his victims”. said Humes.
“You mean, he lives in the sewers?” exclaimed Whatson.
“Are you deaf?” asked Humes. “I said, he uses the sewers to get around”
“Pardon?” replied Whatson.

There came a knock at the door. Both men sat waiting. After a minute, Humes spoke.

“Go and answer it then Whatson” demanded Humes.
Whatson opened the study door, before him stood a tall elegant woman.
“Good evening Madam, how may I help you?” asked Whatson.
“Is this the home of Shylock Humes, the worlds greatest detective?”.
“Certainly is, what would you want with him?” enquired Whatson.
“I am Lady Pardon from Paddington, my husband, Lord Pardon is in
Poland pressing Polish Prime Minister Prozchev to pardon Parsons, the
Polish protagonist, prior to the punishment Polish parliament will pronounce”.
“Pardon?” answered Whatson.
“Let her in!” shouted Humes.

Once inside, Lady Pardon explained, that while her husband had been away,
a strange and pungent smell had permeated the Pardon’s residence in Paddington.
“My god!” exclaimed Whatson, “You don’t think!”
“Yes” interrupted Humes. “I feel it could be the work of the Funker”.
“And now he is targeting the rich and privileged”. said Whatson.
“We need to act fast” said Humes, nodding off to sleep.



Filed under Humor, Humour, Spoof

Dr Hindley’s Bookcase: An Everyday Story Of Jibbering Folk


Dr Hindley’s Bookcase part 6

Memoirs of a consultant psychologist.

The proposed treatment and medication given to each patient must be arrived at only after careful consideration. Even when two patients are suffering from the same illness it does not necessarily mean that the treatment will be the same, it has to be tailored to the individual. As an example I once had two patients, both middle-aged men and both suffering from Male Erectile Dysfunction (MED) that were treated in totally different ways.

MED is by its nature both psychological and physical. The patient’s sexual drive declines with age and the patient realises that he no longer has the same libido and worries that something is wrong thus causing stress and exacerbating the condition. His partner notices and expresses concern which makes things even worse, thus the patient finds that he becomes trapped in a vicious downward spiral. Mr McTell was in just this situation, despite having a very attractive and somewhat athletic, albeit dim, wife when he was referred to me.

I always treat cases of MED by first interviewing both the patient and his partner together, as mental health issues always affect not only those that are afflicted but also people that are in close contact with them – or are unable to be in close contact with them in the case of ‘limp knob disease’ as I routinely  call it.

I instructed McTell to explain fully the problems he was having and insisted that he tell me just how embarrassed, small,  insignificant and useless he felt – I always found it much, much easier to build up someone’s self-esteem if I’d reduced them to a miserable, self-loathing wretch beforehand. Thus he told me everything, including all of the little moves that his wife had used to try to get him to perform (two of which I hadn’t come across before).

Well, what to do? After giving it some serious thought I decided that the best way to break the circle of stress would be if his wife could relax her need for physical contact from him for a while thus no longer inducing in her husband the stress resulting from the need to perform.I therefore sent him off with some mild anti-depressants and for the next month gave a session of treatments twice a week to his wife in my consulting rooms and also a couple of times in a cheap hotel near Earl’s Court. Quite vigorous they were too, but I’m nothing if not dedicated to my charges. It must have worked too as within three months McTell had run away with a Romanian barmaid from New Maldon.

Mr Rolph had exactly the same problem, although when first confronted with him and his wife I wondered how they had ever managed to play the ‘beast with two backs’ in the first place. Rolph himself was a small rotund man with bad skin and a facial twitch, while his wife was a heavily-built, muscular woman with a face like a smacked arse. Copulation must have been akin to 2 rutting rhinos going at it full pelt albeit with much less eroticism. I must admit that the thought of them hammering away was something that I tried not to dwell on (although I later used it as a self-cure for premature ejaculation).

Anyway, I bunged them a prescription for Viagra and told them to report back after a month which they duly did, describing in stomach-churning detail the full range of their subsequent nocturnal, gynaecological adventures.

In the end we had to kill them of course.

Gary Moore “Churchmouse”


Filed under The League Of Mental Men