Tag Archives: spoof

Charlotte Brontesaurus: 19th Century Romantic Agony Aunt

charlotte bronte

“Anyone got any ciggies? I’m dying for a burn!”

Here’s one I wrote a little earlier that will almost certainly bring the ubiquitous death threats from the fragrant, lady members of The Bronte’s Appreciation Society. Sorry girls but I’m afraid it had to be done 🙂

It’s not as dire as the singing buoy skit I foisted upon you the other day but it runs it pretty damn close I don’t mind telling you! 🙂

http://sozsatire.wix.com/soz-satire#!charlotte-brontesaurus/cj96

Warning: Contains heaving bosoms, men in tight riding breeches and the odd spelling mistake.

Clivey Dee, 19.

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The Devil Wears A Donkey Jacket

Demonic dialogue by Gary Hoadley. Infernal editing by Clivey Dee

alf

“Look!…LOOOOOK!”

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?”

“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!!!

Clivey.

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Shylock Humes In: The Case Of The Farringdon Funker

sherlock

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.

Gaz.

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644 Squadron: An Everyday Story Of Carpet Bombing Folk

lancaster

“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”.

“Sir”.

“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.”

“Sir”.

“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”.

“Sir!”

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”.

“How?”

“They told him to bring it home”.

“What, a spare bomb?”.

“Yes”.

“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”.

“Affirmative”

“Roger sir”

“What?”.

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”.

“Eh?”

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”.

“Sir”

“Dent, plot our course for blighty”.

“Sams”

“Sir”

“You’re a complete arse”.

“Thank you sir”.

30 minutes later, the bomber is nearing Dover…

“White Cliffs of Dover sir”.

“Why?”

“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”

“Sams”.

“Sir?”

“You are a complete arse!”.

“Yes sir”.

Wingco Gary Hoadley DFC and barmaid

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Stalag Blues: A Ripping Yarn Of British WWII Incompetence by Wing Commander Gary Hoadley (retd hurt)

.stalag
British POWs seen relaxing after a gruelling session of tea drinking and hearty banter.
Stalag Luft 20 1945. A number of captured British airmen are deep in conversation.

“Look Bottom, there have been seven attempts at escape and all have failed”.
“I know Sir, but there were certain extenuating circumstances”.
“Such as?”
“They got caught Sir”.

Wing Commander Lampton paced the hut floor, as officer commanding, it 
Was his job to ensure every man did his duty by escaping from the Germans.
His number two, Captain Bottom DSO had been appointed escape coordinator.

“The thing is Sir, we suspect there is an informant”. said Bottom.
“A Hun nose poker inner?” replied Lampton.
“The very same Sir They seem to know our every move”.
“Who do we suspect?”
“It’s definitely the Germans Sir”.
“No, I mean the nosey parker”.
“Oh, I think it may be Gunner Fritz”.
“Why?”
“Just an notion Sir”.

In hut 55 Lieutenant Hinge is discussing tunnels.

“So, we have a tunnel under the bathhouse”.
“Yes”
“A tunnel under the washhouse”.
“Yes”
“And the third tunnel is?”
“Under the shi…”
“I get the picture Adams”
“Sir”.

Meanwhile, over in the camp commanders office….

“Oberst Ruben! We have found another tunnel”.
“Oye!, I should end up running a POW camp?”
“It is under the chapel”.
“Are you sure it is not mice?”
“No mien Oberst, it is the Englanders”.
“You SS are so suspicious”.
“Were you born in Germany Oberst?”
“Yes”
“Which part?”
“…All of me…”.

Tunnel “Noddy” was being constructed from hut 79 to the north wall.

“Gad I hate being down these tunnels” Stated Airman Rogers.
“Me too, plays havoc with my nails” Replied Gunner Jenkins.
“The heat, the dirt…”
“The chaffing”.
“Quite, and the lack of sun and air makes a man…”.
“Want to wash his hair”.
“I say Jenkins, are you a tad light footed?”
“Well, I did audition for the Mrs Fountain dance Troupe”.
“I thought as much, would you like to go in front?”
“Saucy”.

Wing Commander Lampton calls for an escape committee meeting.

“Now then cheps, I’m going to hand you over to Bumper Burtles for a 
Run down of what has and is happening with regard to our escape”.
“Thanks awfully Sir, right…Duncan and Smidgen got caught awf the 
boundary for a duck, and ended up with a short wicket. 
Patterson, Simons and Edgley coped a Yorker at mid awf.
Cleverly and Porter were goose over stump for a six and are now in clink.
Rogers is bedding with Jenkins in Neddy, and should be ready by tea time.
Hut 57 is pushing for a touch down porter side, while myself and Timms
have been smudging Jerry passes for the leaving party next week”.
“Thank you, Bumper, any questions men?”
“Has anyone actually escaped Sir?”
“Bumper?”
“Let me check my file Sir… Erm…No”.
“There you are Cromer, not one escape”.
“Thank you Sir”.
“Anyone else?”
“Are we completely wasting our time Sir?”
“Absolutely Fredrick’s, but don’t tell the Harry Hun”.

GH (Skilfully, albeit heartlessly, edited by Clivey Dee)

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The Battle Of Waterloo by “Iron Duke” Hoadley

Image

“I ‘eard that!…pardon?”

 

Sunday 18th June 1815.

The French attack Wellingtons Army at Mont-Saint-Jean.
One hundred cannon blast the Belgian road.

Wellington is roused from his bed.

“Sir! The French are attacking with cannon”.

“Get my horse”.

“What flavour Sir?”

“What?”

“The sauce Sir”.

“Horse Jones! Horse!”.

“Yes Sir”.

Wellington rides up the Belgian road to
Ohain road. He spots Napoleon moving
Lancers to his right.

“Tell the infantry to use the reverse slope defence”.

“Which one Sir?”

“Which what?”

“Which fence do you want them to mend Sir?”

“Slope defence Jones! Are you mad man!”

“No Sir, it’s the cannon Sir”.

“They are noisy buggers”.

Wellington finds an Elm tree in the middle of
Brussels Road. This would be his command post
for most of the day.

“Take a message to the Scots Greys Jones”.

“Yes Sir”.
“Double to the flank”.

“There’re not open on a Sunday Sir”.

“Who?”

“The bank Sir”.

“What are you talking about Jones?”

“The Scots Grey’s Sir”.

“The flank Jones, the flank!”.

“Yes Sir”.

Napoleon now orders an attack on Hougoumont.
Wellington counters with Infantry and cavalry.

“Jones!”

“Sir!”

“Tell Uxbridge to send in the First Brigade”.

“We don’t have one Sir”.

“What!”

“Fire Brigade Sir”.

“Household Jones! Household Brigade”.

“Right ho Sir”.

Jones returns gasping for breath. He has lost his
horse and has sustained a wound to his arm.

“What happened Jones?”

“Caught in the cross fire Sir”.

“How much Dead?”

“About thirty loaves Sir”.

“For god’s sake Jones, sort those ears out!”

“Where are they Sir?”

“What!?”

“The spears Sir”

“Ears! Jones, ears!”.

“Sir!”

Wellington’s Anglo army has taken a beating. Over the
Horizon come the Prussians. Napoleon has now retreated
to a small square. The end is in sight. After a wave of
heavy cavalry charges, all is lost and Napoleon is defeated.

Wellington lights a cheroot. 

“Is that it Sir, is it over?”.

“Yes Jones, we are victorious”.

“What will happen to Napoleon?”

“He will be exiled”.

“Where to Sir”.

“St Helena”.

“I think he would prefer Wigan Sir”.

A single gun shot pierces the calm of the night air.

 

Did you enjoy that?…No? Well try this mag then. It’s similar but there’s some music in it. Miserable sods!

 http://sozsatire.wix.com/soz-satire

 

 

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Sir Francis Drake. The Truth At Last!

drake

“Sod the bowls, anyone fancy a game of snooker?”

 

 

On board the Golden Hind.
Drake is in his quarters.

“Pike! What is our position?”
“Desperate Sir”
“How so?”
“No more toilet paper Sir”.
“Oh my god! Turn back”
“From where Sir”
“Wherever we are”.
“Plymouth Sir”.
“Can’t someone go and buy some?”
“Sunday closing Sir”.
“When do we get underway Pike?”
“As soon as your wife lets go of the rope”.

The Hind moves slowly from it’s mooring.
Sails ripple into life. Vomiting from the
main deck echoed across the silent waters…

“Are you okay Mr Drake Sir?”
“Yes, I always get nervous before a voyage”.
“Shall I fetch you a change of pantaloons Sir”
“I think that would be wise Pike”.

On the poop deck, Drake takes command of his ship.

“Sail Nor by Nor West Mr Evans”.
“Aye Sir”.
“Pike, hoist the main sail”.
“On me own?”
“Where’s the crew?”
“Day off Sir”.
“On a Monday!?”
“Its Sunday Sir”.
“Fucks sake, okay, swab the decks”.
“I’m an officer Sir”.
“Look at the map?”
“Aye Sir”.

Drake raises his telescope to scan the horizon.

“My god! It’s land”
“Already Sir?”
“What do you mean already?”
“We’ve been sailing for two hours Sir”.
“That long eh, gad the men must be tired”.
“They are asleep Sir”.
“What time is it?”
“Two past the mizzen mast Sir”
“Eh?”
“The mizzen mast Sir”
“What time in English Pike”.
“Ten past midnight Sir”.
“How do you tell the time like that?”
“Hang me watch on the mizzen Sir”.

The sun rises over the yardarms.
Drake is woken from his dreams.

“Sir! Morning is nigh”.
“Eh?”
“Oh, sorry Sir, I will wait outside”.
“I was just checking for lumps Pike”
“My dad went blind doing that”.
“I was just checking”.
“Aye Sir”.
“Your father was a sailor Pike”
“Yes Sir, a Whaler”.
“Wow, I bet he was a real sea dog”.
“Aye Sir, I remember his last words”.
“Which were?”
“FUCK ME…A SHARK!”

An opalescent sky gives way to the sun.
Drake comes on deck dressed in his refinery.

“Get the madam!”. Quips a sailor.

“ Pike”.
“Aye Sir”.
“Are we in the doldrums?”
“No Sir”.
“Why are we not moving?”
“We have run aground Sir”.
“Where?”
“On the sea floor Sir”.
“Who was on watch last night?”
“Blind Pew Sir”.
“Why do they call him blind Pew?”

Silence….

“Where are we then?”
“Isle of Wight Sir”.
“How do you know?”
“My auntie was waving from her house in Cowes”.
“Fuck sake, what am I to tell the Queen? She thinks
we are half way round the world by now?”
“Well Sir, my uncle breeds three legged chickens”.
“And?”
“We could take a few back to the main land and say they
Are a speciality from a far off foreign land”.
“You are a fuckin saint Pike and no mistake”.
“Thank you Sir”.
“What do they taste like, these three legged chickens?”
“No one really knows Sir”.
“Why?”
“Can’t catch the fuckers”.

A boat was sent ashore to fetch the chickens.
Drake waited out the summer stranded on the Isle of Wight.
Soon, the winter tides lifted the ship, and they sailed for home.
The Hind came alongside in Plymouth. Hoards of people were
there to great her return and to hail the great Sir Francis Drake.

“Wait till she sees his giblets love”. Said a sailor.

Unfortunately for Drake, the Queen did not believe his story.
He was sent to the Tower of London to await execution.
When questioned about his sudden wealth and titles.
Captain Pike swore he was not a grass.

The End

Dedicated to my good friends
Clive Danton
Mike Steeden
Shirley Blamey

By Mr Midshitman Gary “I’m anybody’s for a tot of rum” Hoadley

Did you enjoy that?…No? Well try this mag then. It’s similar but there’s some music in it. Miserable sods!

 http://sozsatire.wix.com/soz-satire

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