Monthly Archives: March 2015

The Soz Satire Mint Proudly Present: The WordPress Blog-O-Mate Butt Plug Of Hope

This piece first appeared in Soz Satire magazine and was nominated for The Liebster “I’m A Nosy, Intrusive Bastard Award” but was subsequently withdrawn for being too judgemental and searingly erotic.
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Are you sick of being beaten to the punch by other bloggers when it comes to liking or commentating on a recent post by one of your favourite members of the WordPress family? Do you find yourself logging into WordPress on your PC, laptop or device, only to find that one of your most loyal and valued followers has made a post and that you are about 75th in the list of likers?

Well those days could be over for good with the help of this clever little device my friends. The WordPress Blog-O-Mate Butt Plug Of Hope simply slides effortlessly into the anal cavity and will deliver a brief but powerful electrical jolt every time a pre-selected blogger of your choice clicks their “Publish” button.

Endorsed by WordPress themselves, the Blog-O-Mate will ensure that you never have to endure the heartache of seeing rows of small avatars lined up beneath that special post that you wanted so much to be the first to fawn over.

It can be used anytime, any place. Whether you’re at home relaxing, working at the office, or even in the shower. The Blog-O-Mate will make sure you never have to play second fiddle to your rival bloggers again. Order yours today and receive one of our “I’ve Got Far Too Much Time On My Hands” t-shirts absolutely free!

Warning: Always remember to remove the Butt Plug Of Hope before going to the toilet, particularly if you are going to evacuate your bowels. Failure to do so may result in extreme abdominal pain, bloating, haemorrhoids, a throbbing vein in the temple, and in extreme cases, death – for which the manufacturers cannot be held responsible.

Testimonials:

“I’m a fawning sycophant and as silly as a sackload of shit to boot. I honestly believe that by liking and commenting on other people’s blogs my own tawdry output will be in some way enhanced so the Blog-O-Mate was an absolute boon to me” – Miguel Sideboard. Torremolinos

“I couldn’t agree more! Since this wonderful little device started electrocuting my arseole at regular intervals I’ve never felt more popular or more loved by members of the WordPress family – Toby Menopause. Rotherham.

“I was having sex with my girlfriend when my Blog-O-Mate alerted me that somebody I don’t know from Adam had made a post. My girl found the experience so pleasurable she now makes a WordPress post whenever she’s at the point of climax. Thanks Blog-O-Mate!” – Marvin Kunt. Kent.

For express delivery of The Blog-O-Mate, send cash or a banker’s draft for £22,985.70p + £800.00 p&p to:

Clivey Dee

Soz Satire Magazine

Whitechapel (The nice part with hardly any prossies and crack fiends sleeping rough in it)

East London

Written by Clivey.

Graphic by The Artful Dodger

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Situations Vacant: Islamic Freedom Fighters Wanted

jihadi john

“Your caliphate needs YOU!”

An internationally known organisation with branches across the globe has openings for young people wishing to help curb imperialist expansion and to pull the teeth of the infidel jackals.

The position offered, includes exciting travel opportunities to dusty inhospitable desert with no amenities, poor pay and the almost-certain confiscation of your passport and imprisonment should you try to get back to civilisation.

Do you: Spend most of your time in your bedroom, surfing the internet and wondering why you haven’t got a lfe?

Is your: Best friend a bloke with a beard and glaring eyes at the mosque who would be going out there himself, except that he’s a bit busy right now?

Have you: A strong desire to ascend to heaven with 72 virgins, or to have sex with someone other than yourself?

If you can answer yes to all or any of the above questions. you could be the person we are looking for.

Full training will be given, including modules in bigotry, unquestioning fanaticism, beheading (up to grade 3 standard), and amateur video production. A uniform of baggy trousers for the gents, or stylish all-over burqa for the ladies, will be provided at subsidised cost.

If you feel that you are right for us then why not drop in at one of our informal meetings at the address below. We’re there most Thursdays:

Second pile of rocks on the left, just past the border with Turkey.
Syria.

Note: Political/religious/sexual/height restrictions may apply.

Written almost entirely by Gary Moore ‘Churchmouse’ with hardly any pedantic, unnecessary editing by Clivey Dee, 19.

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Letters To LOMM

Jo Stalin

These letters were discovered in Gary Hoadley’s basement by one of his kidnap victims and smuggled out by his brute-like servant, Gerald Chambers, 137, while Hoadley was having tea with his dark-skinned advisor, or witchdoctor, in the upstairs billiard room.

Dear League Of Mental Men

I went to the theatre the other night to see; “Calamity Jane”. What a load of old
rubbish that turned out to be! First of all, the guns were not real…or the blood!
Then, to top it all, there was a woman dressed as a bloke, the dirty, depraved, bastard.
Apparently, this Calamity Jane was a real person. Well I’ve never heard of her so how can this be true? In my opinion, it’s yet another homosexual play that’s slipped past the censors.

Your Faithfully

Bob Racist

The Mumbles

Penge

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Dear League Of Mental Men

I opened my front door this morning to find the entire street had disappeared. My Albert said it could be woodworm, but I think it’s all these foreign types stealing our houses and taking them back to their foreign lands.

Mrs Morpeth, from number 7, had her garden shed disappear. It turned up 4 months later in Nigeria being used as a supermarket. Thank God she had one of those radar things put on it or her Sid would not have been able to mow the grass. They will steal anything these days won’t they?

Yours Sincerely

Eileen Hate-Filled-Bigot

The Cliff top

Dover

Kent

Lovingly written by Gary Hoadley

Savagely edited by Clivey Dee,19.

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Letterz To LOMM

Jo Stalin

Dear League Of Mental Men

Charity shop owners. Do me a huge favour by slagging off Sir Elton John’s adopted kids, thus saving me an absolute fortune on the wife’s birthday when I boycott their goods.

Toby Manatee

Tampa Bay

Clivey

 

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Letters To LOMM

Jo Stalin

Dear League Of Mental Men

The president of storm-ravaged island, Vanuatu, Baldwin Lonsdale, has called for his people “to come together” in the days ahead, following the devastation and destruction caused by Cyclone Pam.

Well far be it from me to criticise the man but I would have thought the last thing these poor devils would feel like doing is indulging in some kind of crass, synchronised masturbation event.

Barney Dogfighting

Papua New Guinea

Clivey

 

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Some Lovely Appealings On Behalf Of Big Chief Scambwana Bot Bot Odinga

robbie

Please be givings most generous darling.

 

My Darlingest Whiteys And Blackies Of Englishmen

I am daughter of big scientist and million dollar person, Big Chief Scambwana Bot Bot Odinga, who is most bestest person in Nigeria because he invent machine to make man’s cocky get bigger without aid of pumpings or medicine potions. Him sell machine to American government for $500 billion and Mr Barack say it is very loving thing for peoples of Wyoming.

He in prison now because Mr Nigeria president try machine but still he is having small cocky. I am thinking he not use correctly. If you will be sending me $200,000 I will be paying bail and sending you all of Big Chief’s million dollar moneys and free machine for cocky.

Here is picture of him in the jailings to prove to whiteys and blackies that he in big trouble:

ugly black man

 

Please be sending all cashings to:

Lovely Big Chief Appealings

22 Carter St.

Sheffield

Clivey.

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Gary Hoadley’s INSANE. (No really, he is)

JaneGazCL
Hoadley (left) meets with Dee,19, (the one with blue writing on him) to discuss film rights to Hoadley’s latest blockbuster skit, while Inchcock (far right) tries to remain upright following a rather stressful visit to the gents.
 

64 Baker Street. London. Headquarters of the International Nuclear Security Agency: Northern Europe ( I.N.S.A.N.E.)
Captain Scarpet is sitting behind his desk. He replaces the telephone receiver,
and leans forward on his elbows…

“Who moved the fuckin’ desk!?” cries Scarpet as he lay face down on the lino.
“Sorry Captain sir, I was cleaning under your desk” replies Mrs Tumour.
“Look at the state of the peak on me cap!” shrieks Captain Scarpet.
“No need to go on love. Give it here and I will straighten it out for you” says Mrs T.
“You fuckin’ wont!” replies an irate Captain Scarpet.
“I will straighten you out if you talk to me like that again mate!” bellows Mrs Tumour.
“I don’t think so Mrs Tumour, I’m indestructible” says Captain Scarpet.
“Not according to the rumours” answers Mrs Tumour.

A green phone rings. Captain Scarpet answers it.

“Hello, INSANE HQ…Captain Scarpet speaking”……No, there is not a train on
the line…Now fuck off!”
“Who was that?” enquires Mrs Tumour.
“My Mum” replies Scarpet.
“She back on the gin then?”
“No Mrs T, the whiskey” answers Captain Scarpet.
“Why does her husband put up with it Captain?” asks Mrs Tumour.
“He’s got no choice Mrs T” says Scarpet.
“Browbeaten is he, the poor love?”
“Beaten to death Mrs Tumour” replies Scarpet.

Meanwhile, a dark ally in a seedy part of town…

“Oooouch!”
“Was that your foot?”.
“No, it was my ear”.
“What’s your ear doing on your foot?”
“Getting trod on by a great big oaf!”
“No need to be personal”.
“Personal! You just trod on my head”
“I didn’t know it was your head”
“So that makes it okay does it?”
“No…But no need to call me an oaf”.
“You are an oaf, that is your name”.
“Oh, okay then”.
“Now then, we got to go and give that Captain Scarpet a seeing too”.
“Why?”
“Because that is our job Oaf”.
“Oh, I thought we were Tent Men”.
“How many times, have I got to tell you…it’s Henchmen!”
“Who is?”
“We are”.
“We are what?”
“Henchmen”.
“Why?”
“Cos that is our job”.
“Do we get paid?”
“Yes”
“Where’s my money then?”
“In my pocket”
“Why?”
“Because your pocket has a hole in”.
“How did my pocket get a hole”.
“I cut one in it Oaf”.
“Oh, thank you Mr Snide”.

Back in the I.N.S.A.N.E offices…

“Have you seen Captain Blue Mrs Tumour?”
“He is in the toilet”.
“Has he been in there long?”
“About two days Captain Scarpet”.
“What the hell is he doing?”
“Waiting”
“For what Mrs Tumour?”
“My prune pudding to work Captain Scarpet”.
“Blast, we have information of an imminent attack”
“I think Captain Blue has one too”
“No Mrs Tumour, I am to be attacked by two assassins”
“Why only two Captain Scarpet?”
“Cutbacks by The Mysterons Mrs Tumour”.

The two assassins arrive outside I.N.S.A.N.E. offices.

“Right Oaf, we will disguise ourselves as postmen”.
“Why?”
“So we can get ingress into the offices”.
“Where’s Ingress then?”
“Who?”
“Ingress, is he going to knock Scarpet off?”
“For god’s sake Oaf! We, are going to kill Scarpet”.
“What’s Ingress going to do then?“
“There is no Ingress”.
“Why say we have to get him into the offices then”.
“I didn’t, I was merely using a…Big word”.
“You know I don’t understand big words Mr Snide”
“Yes, I know Oaf”
“I forgot you are dim Oaf”.
“No I am not”
“Oh yes you are Oaf”
“I am from Witted, and proud of it Mr Snide”.
“Exactly! A dim, Witted Oaf”.

Captain Blue finally emerges from the I.N.S.A.N.E toilet.

“Thank god you are here Blue”
“Sorry Captain Scarpet”
“Not to worry, I must just use the toilet”
“I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you Scarpet”
“You forget, Blue, I am indestructible”.

From inside the toilet, muffled screams can be heard.

“Is that Captain Scarpet I can hear?”
“Yes Mrs Tumour, I think he may be in trouble”
“Did he follow you into the khazi Captain Blue?”
“Yes Mrs Tumour”
“I will call the emergency services then”.
“That would be wise…”

Next week, the assassins get into the offices, and the fire brigade
try to get into the toilet…

Written by Gary Hoadley with makeup and wardrobe by Clivey Dee, 19.

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I Was Hitler’s Moustache And Other True Stories

Gaz the rasta
The hate-filled bigot Gary Hoadley pictured pretending to like black people last night
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I was Hitler’s Moustache
By Hitler’s Moustache

I was sitting in a barber shop in Berlin. This small diminutive man comes
in and sits next to me. We entered into conversation regarding the current
political situation in Austria and Poland. We spoke for about ten minutes.
He then asked me if I was employed. I informed him I was understudy to
Peter Klien’s moustache at the Semperopa opera house.
“No more!” He exclaimed. “From zis day, you vill be mein moustache!”
And that was it, I arrived at his offices a week late in Dresden.
I survived the war because on the last day in the bunker, I glued a black
slug to his top lip and made my escape to Switzerland. A few months later
I began working for Peter Ustinov.

The End…or is it???
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I Was Margaret Thatcher’s Wig
by Margaret Thatcher’s Wig

In 1995, I was working for Lady Porter at her home in Westminster, London.

She was having dinner with Lady Thatcher. They retired to the drawing-room

for a spliff and a glass of Tennent’s super strength lager. After an hour, Lady

Porter fell asleep on the rug. Lady Thatcher turned to me and asked if I was

happy in my work. I told her I was fed up with the blue rinse.

“Then you shall come and work for me at number ten my dear” she declared

A few days later, I was in Buckingham palace listening to Her Majesty the Queen

explaining to Lady Thatcher how badly she had done at the bingo in Dalston the previous evening.

When Thatcher died, I went to work for Elton John.

The End

or is it…???

Well yes it is as it happens, so deal with it!

All of the above were written by the hate-filled bigot and self styled “Black Bastard Of Brentford” Gary Hoadley and edited by the ethnically pure, and self-styled “White Wog Of Whitechapel” Clivey Dee, 19.

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