Working Out The WordPress Way With WordPress Family Val Hughes

 

Looking for the body beautiful? Has your sedentary blog-obsessed lifestyle taken its toll on your figure and physique? Then The Val Hughes Workout is for you!

Here are a few simple exercises to try at home when you’re stuck in front of your laptop or device feverishly looking for acclaim and validation from abject, like-minded literary failures like yourself.

First, and most importantly, warm up with a few short, duplicitous comments on a blog that appears to have been scrawled across the site by a drunken chimp. After 5 minutes, you’ll be ready to launch into the workout proper.

Remember to stay hydrated at all times as reading and pretending to like a steady stream of amateurish drivel can be pretty exhausting, even for the most seasoned bullshitter.

Exercise 1 – Crawlarse Squats: Bend the knees and squat down until your thighs are parallel with the floor. Hold and tense the buttocks for 5 seconds while telling an inept WordPress ‘poet’ that their vile output reminds you of Lord Byron at his finest. Repeat for 3 sets of 8

Exercise 2 – Fawning on the spot: March on the spot using high knee lifts while sucking up to a beetle-browed moron of a blogger who doesn’t know his arse from his ellipses. 2 sets of 12

Exercise 3 – Bullshit pull-ups: Using a pull-up bar, tell some absolute cunt of a ‘writer’ that you’ve read all his work and that you’d definitely buy his disgusting self-published bilge if it ever comes out. 3 sets of 8

Exercise 4 -Insincere stomach-churning crunches: Adopt a comfortable supine position on a bench or floor and sound as if you’re reaching orgasm as you comment on a particularly hideous piece of prose that’s quite frankly not fit to wipe your cat’s arse with.

Exercise 5 – Speed liking: This is a gruelling little number in which you race down your reader, liking everything you come across without even looking at the title. Try to manage at least 20 likes in 2 minutes and then work up to 100 plus when you become more proficient and even more devoid of a moral compass or sense of shame.

Exercise 6 – Self-Published Tripe Deadlifts: This is the final and most taxing exercise of the regime. Put all your utterly dire and unreadable self-published books – that you’ve tried desperately to flog on Amazon to a depressing assortment of gullible and astonishingly thick followers, into 2 suitcases and lift them by the handles until you are upright. Lower them down again and repeat for 3 sets of 8. A weightlifter’s belt should probably be worn for this physically demanding routine.

Finally, warm down by reading some of the heartening but wildly over the top comments on your own depressingly poor blog, bearing in mind that 90% of these people won’t have read it, and that the remaining 10% are as totally clueless as you are; which render’s their half-assed opinion utterly worthless

Remember The WordPress Family motto everyone: No pain, no delusional gain.

Kind regards from your WordPress Family friend

Val. xoxoxo

EDITOR’S NOTE: For more scurrilous accusations of ineptitude and duplicity, why not visit our sister blog: sozsatire@wordpress.com. You’ll get another basinful in there too I shouldn’t wonder 🙂

Clivey & Gaz in: Doin’ Time

 

Feloniously written by Gary “Mr Knuckles” Hoadley. Angelically edited by Clivey “Baby Face” Dee, aged 19.

 

Clivey and Gaz, are residents of Her Majesty’s Prison, Steeple Bumstead. They occupy  Cell 23 on “The Ones”, in which, the following discourse takes place

 

“We’ve done it now Clivey”
“Yeah, bludy five years”
“I thought they would give us two and a half each”
“Not that “Hanging” Judge Judy mate, she’s a right steel magnolia”
“Yeah Clivey, a right steel magnet. Still, I suppose that’s what you get when you rob Buckingham Palace”
“You told me Gaz, that the crown jewels were under the bed”
“Well Clivey, that’s what unreliable Ronnie told me”
“Still, we weren’t to know Prince Philip was in bed”
“Nah, shame he rolled off onto that Corgi”
“Gave the Queen the right hump Gaz”
“I thought she was going to have our heads Clivey”
“Them soldiers in the big hats gave us a chase Gaz”
“Oh, was they hats? I thought it was their haircuts Clivey”
“Now, we ‘ave got to be careful in here Gaz”
“Why’s that Clivey?”
“Too many people running to the screws telling tales”
“You are right Clivey, I overheard the gardening party talking about
a Jewish informer”
“What’s his name Gaz?”
“Mo The Grass”
“Fuck’s sake”
“We need an escape plan Gaz”
“Where we going to escape to Clivey?”
“Spain Gaz, Spain”
“Which one is nearer?”
“Do what?”
“Out of the two Spains you mentioned. Which is the closest?”
“I wonder about you sometimes Gaz”
“Cheers mate”
“Where can we get a rope, a hacksaw, and a ladder?”
“Under my bed Clivey”
“Under your bed Gaz?”
“Yeah”
“How did you manage to smuggle them in Gaz?”
“Under my hat Clivey”
“You don’t have a hat Gaz”
“Blimey, it’s lucky they didn’t spot them then Clivey”…

That night, the two lads begin sawing at the bars in their peter.
When the coast is clear, they sling the rope out into the abyss
and began to climb down…

“It’s a long way down Clivey”
“I know mate. I thought we were on the ground floor Gaz”
“Maybe they got a basement Clivey”
“Knowing our luck, it’s next door to a zoo”
“Can you hear growling Gaz?”
“I thought it was your stomach mate”

The lads hit the ground with a thud.
In front of them, lies a huge lion, sleeping…

“I knew it! It’s a fuckin zoo Gaz!”
“Ere, look at that lion, how we going to get past him?”
“I will show you Gaz”

With that, Clivey takes a step back, and kicks the lion
in the testicles as hard as he can. As he’s running
away, he turns and shouts to Gaz…

“Gaz! Run like fuck before it gets up!”
“Sod off! I’m not running anywhere mate! After all, it wasn’t me that kicked him in the bollocks”…

Curtain falls

Clivey & Gaz are currently appearing at Bow Street Magistrates Court, charged with affray, going equipped, resisting arrest, possession of an illegal firearm, and watching BBC iPlayer without a licence

R2-D2’s Remains to be Thrown into Whitechapel Car Crusher

Star Wars fans from around the globe are expected to descend on East London next Tuesday after it was revealed that the remains of popular droid, R2-D2, will be thrown in the crusher at a Whitechapel scrap metal yard.

R2, aged 39, passed away peacefully yesterday at his home in a galaxy far, far away, leaving a wife and two pedal bins aged 5 and 8.

Danny Carter, the owner of the scrap yard where the short service and final crushing will be carried out, told us: “We’ll obviously inspect him first to see if he can be put back on the road and sold with false papers. If not, we’ll cut the top off and see if there’s anything worth salvaging: screwdrivers, biros, sunglasses, that sort of thing. After that, we’ll throw him in the crusher. There’s not much of him so it’ll be over pretty quickly hopefully”

Mr Carter went on “He’ll end up as an 8 or 9-centimetre cube once the job’s done. We’ll put his remains up on Ebay and hopefully, make a few quid. I should imagine there’s literally thousands of dozy space cadets out there, willing to part with their readies for a chance to have what’s left of the boy on their sideboard”

One notable absentee from the service will be R2’s old friend, and fellow droid, C3-PO, who told us “I have a business appointment that day, and anyway, I never liked him to be honest. All that beeping and whistling used to get right on my tits”

Danny SoZ

Advertisers to Electrify Little Xs in Corner of Online Ads

 

“Virgin Broadband? I’d like to register a complaint”

.

 

In what is being seen as a controversial move, companies who advertise their goods or services using pop-up ads on web pages, are planning to deliver a high voltage charge to people who attempt to close the box in order to continue looking at what they actually logged on for.

A spokesman for The Online Advertising Board said last night: “We don’t put these infuriating pop-ups onto websites for our own amusement you know. If people are ignorant enough to click on the little X in the corner before reading them, then we feel entirely justified in sending a couple of thousand volts through the fuckers. If they die they die. At the end of the day that’s commerce I’m afraid”

This move comes just a year after Hotmail introduced the controversial, boxing glove on a spring device that smashes subscribers in the face who don’t switch to their latest beta version for a trial period.

Danny SoZ

Mary’s Magnificent Minefield of Malapropisms

 

Say it ain’t so Mary love!!

 

 

As a follow up to the previous embarrassing outburst by our graphics editor’s mum, we thought we’d bring you this little beauty.

Following a short bout of ill health -from which, she has now thankfully fully recovered – our heroine was asked – by myself as luck would have it – if she was feeling better.

She gave a careworn wistful sigh and replied: “I’m a little better thank you dear but not quite 100 percent. I can’t wait to be back on the game to be honest with you”

Hopefully, she meant “in the game” as I fear that a career as a common prostitute may prove to be less than lucrative at her age. And I say that in a deeply caring way.

 

LOMM’s Wonderful World of 60s Movie Stars With Wooden Leg Issues

THIS WEEK: Ann Margret

NEXT WEEK: Marlon Brando asks Julie Christie to give him a hand polishing his wood

Oprah Stands By “Troubled” Fergie Following Whitechapel Beheading Spree

“Jihadi Ginger” Sarah Ferguson pictured showing her age following her arrest last night

American chat show queen, Oprah Winfrey, last night vowed to stand by her friend, The Duchess of York, Sarah Ferguson, after the troubled ex-royal was tasered and arrested in Whitechapel following a jihadi-inspired rampage during which she beheaded 7 people with a butcher’s knife in and around the street market in Whitechapel Road.

Oprah told The Whelk last night: “I’ve known for some time that Sarah had been radicalised and had embraced the twisted doctrine of Daesh, but I was hoping she’d get fed up with it and go back to writing books for kids about helicopters. It came as quite a shock to learn she’d been on a murderous rampage in Whitechapel, but I don’t think this is the time for recriminations. I think the cops should give her a stern telling-off, after which she could go into a special home for a few weeks; like the one she went to when she was on the sauce”

This latest incident involving a minor royal mirrors the 2011 incident when Prince Edward’s ex- wife, Sophie Countess of Wessex, opened fire on Muslim shoppers with an AK47 in the Shoreditch branch of Boots in a protest at the extradition to The Hague of Serbian warlord Ratko Mladic.

Danny SoZ

 

 

 

Beef & Onion

Beef and Onion. A One Act Play by Lady Garfield Hoadley of the Lake

ACT 1

 

The Scene: A run down office. Nicotine stained walls, decorated with long

lines of dried up condensation. A threadbare carpet, that once had a pattern.

Beneath the only window, a Royal Oak desk, sits waiting to be polished.

And from the flaking ceiling, hangs a yellow light bulb, ready to go pop!.

 

Mr Treadle, sits behind his desk. The two strands of hair, covering his 

polished bald head, appear to be trying to escape, down the unwashed

neck, that is supporting, the round fat face, now turning red with rage…

 

“Look, I make, meat pies…My father, made meat pies…His father, 

made meat pies…And his fathers father made meat pies, and you my lad,

are going to make meat pies”

 

Mr Treadle, is addressing his son, Treadle junior. The poor boy, stands,

like a man condemned, in front of the unpolished desk, trying to avoid the

sputum, that is being projected from his fathers ranting orifice.

 

“But father, I don’t…”

 

“Nay, lad, Treadles have been making pies for hundred years an more,

and you, my boy, will take up mantle, when I retire…”

 

“But I have other ideas father…More creative ambitions”

 

“More creative thar knows! An what, is more creative, than Treadles,

beef an onion meat pie feast? That crust, was created, with mothers bare 

hands, when she were dying of Anthrax, during war”

 

“Grandmother died in her sleep, after consuming two bottles of gin, father”

 

“That’s as maybe, my lad, but without mothers recipe, treadles would not

be here today. And, you would not have attended best school in north of

England, Queen were going to send her Charlie to Black Coal Grammar,

but press got wind, and that were that…”

 

“I am adamant, I shall not make meat pies…”

 

“Oh!…Mr high an mighty, and what shall thee do? Be president of some

mamby pamby office in big city, clean up in financial markets, or will thee

take on might of conglomerate?…All ninny white wash dreams lad”

 

“Actually, father, with the money Grandmother left me, I intend to open

a small factory, making ladies underwear…”

 

At this point, Treadle senior, falls out of his office chair, landing on the worn out carpet, with a loud thud. He then gets to his feet, leaning over the unpolished desk.

“Bludy hell! Did I hear thee right?…Did you say making ladies unmentionables…”

 

“Yes father, and I intend to design a whole new range…”

 

“Hold on, only pansies and poofters make them sort of things…Are thee telling me,

that you have become light footed? Limp wristed, a florist?!”

 

“None of those father, and what is more, I intend to leave the confines of Crusty

Hall, and take an apartment in town, where I shall be free of your overbearing,

bigoted, self opinionated boring voice…”

 

“I see…So now you have a bit of brass, mother and I are not good enough for thee.

Not, posh enough, haven’t got huge plums in gob, and what next, I suppose thee 

will be wearing long scarf round neck, and carrying leather case in hand like some

southern poofter from city of London…Well let me tell thee lad…”

 

The office door opens, and in walks Mrs Treadle. A rotund woman with a beetroot

red face, large hairdo, and an exaggerated limp…

 

“What’s to do?…I can here you shoutin odds from factory floor our Bernard”

 

“It’s him Aida, that lad there, he wants to be a Florist…”

 

“Is that right lad? And when did thee decide to become limp?”

 

“I am not becoming a Florist mother, I am opening a lingerie factory in Bolton”

 

“Not while father and me are on planet my boy! Treadles is meat pies and nowt

else…Eeee, you kids today, always wanting to be something different”

 

“That’s what I told him, Aida, meat pies is meat pies an always will be”

 

“He’s been reading Country Life again, Bernard…get doctor on phone”

 

“I don’t need a doctor, or read Country Life, I am going it alone, so there”.

 

The Treadle parents, stand open mouthed. What next?

Ask Uncle Jez: The Simpering Pacifist World Leaders Rely On.

 

 

Dear Uncle Jez

I’m a Syrian freedom fighter battling the Daesh hoardes in the north of our country. Although we have made some inroads with the help of western air strikes and have driven our foes from one or two small towns, the terrorists still have control of large areas and are subjecting our people to the most barbaric treatment. Beheadings, rape, the summary execution of homosexuals and child abduction is commonplace.

If Labour win the next election, can I and my comrades-in-arms rely on your government for continued support in our struggle to save this country from extremism and from the impending terrible threat of coming under the yolk of sharia law?

Fond Regards

Mehmet al-Nafisi

Raqqa

 

Dear Mehmet

I’m afraid not as I don’t believe in armed conflict under any circumstances. However, if we do manage to get in at the next election, I will make the pledge to send you and your comrades some nice warm woollies for when it gets cold at night and some lovely camomile tea to calm your nerves when you come under fire from ISIS. You could even invite one of  two of their leaders over to your camp for a soothing cup or two. Why, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if that’s not all it takes to make them see sense and withdraw their forces. Especially if you’ve got some lovely shortbread fingers to share with them. I’ll make sure we send a tin or two just in case.

I hope you find this reassuring my friend. Keep in touch and don’t forget to wrap up warm at night.

Lots of love

Uncle Jez x

Uncle Jez appears courtesy of The Surrender Monkey On Sunday. All rights hastily relinquished

Editor’s Note: The League of Mental Men have moved to here:

https://thewhelkwordpresscom.wordpress.com/

Come and join us. It’s great! Honest!

Buy This Book

 

It’s a spoof on everybody’s favourite, swivel-eyed despot, Kim Yong-un. It’s written by the erstwhile Mental Man and my pal, Lennard ‘Lenny’ Van Ree and it’s very funny as well as being extremely polite.

So don’t delay, order your copy today…on pain of death.

Clivey Dee, 19.