Camershag - just when you thought it couldn't get worse!

Further amazing revelations in the Camershag saga this morning have shaken the world of Conservative Party supporters ( Colonel Sid and Mrs. Doris Upmammal) to the foundation with the news that the Premier has been photographed mounting a horse!

It seems that our ever-fecund Prime Minister has moved on from piggy-poking to equine enjoyment in his quest to engage the whole animal kingdom in acts of depravity.

(The photographs which follow may be felt inappropriate in a family-oriented publication such as Bobblededgook, but are included as means of chronicling the depths which DC will plumb in his search for full expression of his perverted desires. Readers! please ensure that your internet access settings are such that these images do not fall into the hands of children and the more impressionable members of the Great British Public - or Daily Mail readers as we call them.)

"I hope those bloody paparazzi don't see me!"

Such is Cameron's devotion to horsey-humping, The Great Leader is even thought to indulge in elaborate 'equine ecstasy' sessions with the fragrant SamCam during weekend romps at Chequers.

"Come on Sammy - just one more buck!"

So voracious is TGL's appetite that his peccadillos even extend to inanimate objects;-

An exclusive Bobbledegook image shows Dave mounting a bus!

(That's enough 'mounting' jokes - Ed)

David Cameron's fetishes and drug taking excesses are shared with many of his pals in the village of Chipping Norton where he has his weekend assignations. This centre of debauchery will now forever rejoice in the name of Chipping Snorton for obvious reasons.

It's a relief that the Cameron's don't indulge their habits in one of our local villages, the delightfully named Blidworth Bottoms. The epithet Sniffing Bottoms is not to be contemplated!

In Defence of Porcine Poking!

Your correspondent is pleased to be given the opportunity to respond on behalf of Saint David and the Conservative Party to the gross calumnies perpetrated by that jumped up little squillionaire Lord Arseworth alleging misbehaviour by the Nation's favourite politician during his days at Oxford.

Who is this upstart Ashworth anyway? This jumped-up, nouveau riche arriviste seems to think that slipping a couple of million squid into the party coffers entitles him to have opinions!

Whilst Lord Arsewipe's hallucinogenic allegations do not merit a personal response from a man generally acknowledged to be a Saint, Our Dave (for it is he) has authorised Bobbledegook to refute these wildly mistaken allegations which he can only imagine are a result of Lord Ashcroft's early onset dementia and deafness.

First though, a photograph of the great man himself;-

St. Dave is an acknowledged animal lover.
(Careful mate, that's what Ashcroft says! - Ed)

The thought that our future Prime Minister could have engaged in oral gratification with a dead pig will leave a nasty taste in the mouth of all right thinking folk (as it did with the pig! - Ed.) This vile insinuation is clearly a figment of the imagination since, being an Old Etonian, had DC wished to show his appreciation of the pig's finer features he would obviously have rogered the little porker from behind whilst it was still alive. It always seemed to cheer up his fag Trumpington Mi. when he was a little homesick anyway!

As to the fantasy that David was a debauched party-going pisshead during his days at Oxford, there seems to be some mistake shurely. During his student days DC was was a very diligent student and only left his rooms at the end of term to engage in the normal celebrations of ballroom dancing and the consumption of lashings of lemonade and fruit cake.

David is seen here enjoying an eightsome reel with some chums.
(L to R:Lady Amelia Fitz-Tightly, DC, a chap doing a poor Tommy Cooper
impression and a somewhat lost Cheri Blair)

Note that there is not so much as a cigarette in this picture and that the Saintly One's flies are firmly done up.

The allegation that Cameron was a knob-meister first class is so far removed from the truth as to be ludicrous (although he candidly admits to the odd bit of self-abuse in his monastic lodgings, "Well, I was practising for my role as a politician").

The following wild allegation seems to have been an editorial mix-up at the Daily Mail;-

"Cameron’s most significant conquest was a beautiful blonde called Laura Adshead, who seemed destined for a stellar political career. Educated at Cheltenham Ladies’ College and Oxford, she dated him for a year.

When Cameron ended it, Laura was so upset that she reportedly had to be given a period of compassionate leave from work.

Later, she moved to America, where her hard-partying lifestyle spiralled into drink and drug addiction.

Subsequently, she became a nun."

This passage was in fact a quotation from the bonk-busting work of Jackie Collins who sadly shuffled off this mortal coil earlier this week. We'll not see her like again. (Thank Christ -Ed.)

As to Lord Arsepoof's assertion that Our Dave "spent his entire undergraduate career ripped to the tits on weed and snorting coke like there was no tomorrow" (I've paraphrased Ashcroft's fantasies a bit there), this is a complete misunderstanding on the part of the benighted knight.

The suggestion that our future Prime Minister indulged in the consumption of narcotic substances whilst listening to Supertramp as a member of the notorious 'Flam Club' is clearly erroneous. "I cannot recollect ever experimenting with drugs at Oxford" says DC. (Neither can any of us 70s dopeheads, laddie! -Ed.) David was in fact a founder of the Oxford University Flan Club, and would spend hours baking his favourite delicacy along with a group of his chums. Any white powder seen around his nose at this time would just have been flour from an over-enthusiastic kneeding session!

Obviously if Cameron had indulged in the weed or white powder he would not have become the man he is today. The effect of such abuse would have rendered the perpetrator detached from everyday life, unable to make rational decisions and generally of no use to man or beast. (Are you sure of that defence? - Ed.)

So, rest assured good readers that St. David is totally without blemish, a man upright in everything that he does (Not another sexual allegation shurely - Ed.) and that the future of your country is safe in the hands of this paragon of purity,

What ho chaps, anyone for Tizer?

Death of a Titan

Sad news yesterday with the death of D.B.Close CBE.

Brian Close was a boyhood hero of your correspondent. The phrase 'Yorkshire Tyke' was probably invented to describe him. He was almost certainly the bravest player ever to represent England at cricket, although many would prefer the term 'foolhardy' to describe him.

'Hard' does not even start to describe his attitude to cricket. Remember that this was in the 60s and 70s. No protective helmets or body armour in those days. The only protection worn was the box. "What me wear a box? Are you suggesting I'm a Jesse, you soft southern piece of shite?"

For those of a strong disposition, have a look at this clip of Closey facing up to the West Indies pace attack of a young Michael Holding at Old Trafford in 1976. In those days there was no limit as to the number of bouncers that could be bowled per over. (Warning: not to be viewed by impressionable youngsters, pregnant women or those who suffer nightmares!)

I think 'sang-froid' is the term that might be used to describe that performance. ("Sang-bloody- froid! We don't have that foreign muck in Yorkshire") Close believed that you should never show pain as it would only encourage the bowler! As he wandered down the pitch to do a bit of 'gardening' (the wicket was breaking up alarmingly with every delivery) you can imagine him saying to John Edrich "Eh lad, I'll be glad of a pint after this little lot. That basstard Holding's a bit on the fast side!" Brian was aged 45 when playing in this match, England had already lost the series and the selectors brought in older players whose careers wouldn't be ruined by the trauma of facing the Windies quickies.

This is Closey's torso at close of play;-

"Which of you bastards has nicked my fags?"

Notice that all the bruises are on Brian's right hand side. As a left handed batsman Close hadn't ducked or turned his back on the ball at all! His reasoning was that if you went down the track to the quicky and took it on the body, you couldn't be given out LBW!

DBC was certainly brave, and probably certifiably mad. He specialised in fielding at short leg - the suicide position usually detailed to the most junior ( and therefore most dispensable) member of the team as a rite of passage. Not in the Yorkshire side!"Eh Doris, is that the Cathedral bells clanging? No Esmerelda, it's that Brian Close being hit in the knackers again. Our Janet had a feel of them one night and says that they're like pickled walnuts!"

The story goes that Close, fielding at short leg, was once hit on the forehead by a ferocious hook. As he went down pole-axed he shouted "catch it" and the batsman was duly caught at second slip. On being brought round Brian was asked "What would have happened if you'd been hit in the throat?" to which his reply was supposed to have been "The bugger would have been caught in the gully!"

Brian Close was also a footballer, turning out for Leeds Utd., Bradford City and, on a couple of occasions, Arsenal. He was perhaps the archetypal Yorkshireman; self-opinionated, stubborn and always willing to give his opinion. He eventually got sacked by the Yorkshire Committee (as he was by England) and went off to Somerset where he established that county as a force in the domestic game and brought on two promising youngsters named Ian Botham and Viv Richards.

The wit and wisdom of D.B.Close!

I feel privileged to have seen him once playing for Yorkshire against Glamorgan.

We'll not see his like again.

Electional Dysfunction

Whilst talking about erections your correspondent was drawn to reflect that the elevation of Kim Il Corby to the Labour leadership is but one result of the contagion which seems to have been rampant this summer in the electorates of the western world.

The Americans have always had some dodgy Presidents, ranging from the criminally insane Tricky Dicky through the sexually obsessed Kennedy, confused ex-celeb Regan to the mentally retarded Bush Junior. (Yes, you seem to have been pretty inclusive in your abuse there - Ed.) But an even weirder prospect now looms over the Land of the Free in the form of arch self-publicist and total arse Donald Trump.

Trump!

A right fart.

                                                                                               

How anyone could think of electing a bewigged, mysoginist buffoon whose name means fart is completely beyond me.

Whilst pursuing this wind-based analysis of politics across the pond, and feeling rather puerile, readers might be interested in this video which shows what Cabinet meetings could be like if old Donny gets elected.

Actually I think I might be being a bit unkind to our New World cousins. (Shurely not! - Ed.)

Does this Trump election poster show that the Yanks are finally beginning to appreciate irony?

Dear, dear Donald has been criticised for his crass comments on just about everything, and so has enlisted his dear lady wife in his campaign in order to 'soften' his image a bit.

Donald and Melania

Now come on Trumpster, she's a fair bit of eye-candy but as an ex-model who specialises in peddling anti-aging cream, she ain't no intellectual dynamo.

By the way, why do people (even billionaires) have to make rabbit ears when on camera?

You couldn't imagine a great British statesman like Winston Churchill doing such a thing, could you?!











If you feel that Trump as a potential President is plumbing the depths, it gets even worse for the U S of A!
It seems that a gentleman named Kanye West has announced his intention to run for President in 2020. Mr. West, it seems, is a famous rapper (the 'C' is silent) and convicted felon who is mostly famous for being married to a blow-up doll.

Kanye and his wife.
What a lovely pair!

It seems that Miss Kardashian is very keen to take an active part in running the world's largest democracy and has issued a number of briefing papers on topics of interest to her.

Hi boys! Good job I've got massive boobs else I'd be forever falling on my butt!

As First Lady, Kim intends to cover herself in liquid chocolate to welcome visiting dignitaries to the White House.

The mind boggles ................

That American Presidential Succession in Full

2016  Donald Trump

2021 Kanye West

2026 The Ghost of Walt Disney

2031 A box of Golden Grahams

2036 A small house brick

(That's enough Presidents - Ed.)

Corby-mania grips Britain!

With the labour Party cognoscenti (Sid and Doris Welfare-State) in apoplexy at the election of their new leader, Conservative Party-sponsored street parties are popping up all over the country as The Toffs celebrate the prospect of being in power ad infinitum.

"Mark my words chummy" said a tired and emotional Tory grandee (Brigadier Maurice Mussolini (retd.)),"The boy Cameron and his fragrant wife will rule forever - we'll make the ambitions of the Third Reich look like pie in the sky!" (at this point the Brigadier appeared to reach sexual climax, but it might have been a seizure).

Ten things you should know about Jeremy Corby.

1. Jeremy is a part-time model and an icon for the followers of the new 'Geography Teacher Crumpled' fashion trend.

Jeremy is here shown modelling the new England rugby away strip.

It is understood that the International Rugby Board have given The Great Leader (TGL) special permission to appear as a replacement should England be losing by more than 20 points in their RWC match against Uruguay. TGL will obviously save the game single handed, playing on the left wing.
















2. Jeremy's family made their wealth from Grandpa's invention of the Corby trouser press, the iconic accessory in every hotel room in Britain.

The Corby Press in commemorative red livery to celebrate TGL's erection.

The Corby trouser press has many functions in addition to that of pressing trousers. It does a fine job of warming up take-aways (especially paninis) and has provided great sexual solace to many a lonely travelling salesman during long evenings in Scunthorpe. (Health and Safety hint: Always check the inside of your host's trouser press before inserting anything you value into it. Old chips or fish fingers can easily be removed, but you must make your own decision as to viability should the press have significant internal staining.)





3. Jeremy Corbyn has the same initials as Jesus Christ!

This is, of course, just as you would expect for the True Redeemer as Jeremy's followers call him.

Jeremy Corbyn

JC

Long hair, beard, charismatic speaker. Coincidence?

I think we should be told.

4. Like Jesus, Jeremy Corbyn was born in humble circumstances, which did not stop him rising to become a leader of men.

Chez Corbyn (stables round the back)

5. JC has a town named after him in Northamptonshire. Corby is described as 'the arsehole of the universe' and is home to more unemployed, alcoholic, Scots ex-patriots than Sauchiehall Street on a Saturday.

6. Jeremy is not just a one-eyed politico, oh no!

 According to the Financial Times, "he loves making jam with fruit grown on his allotment, belongs to the All Party Parliamentary Group for Cheese and is a borderline trainspotter".

He is a vegetarian and a keen cyclist - he does not own a car - as well as being a supporter of Arsenal football club. 

Corbyn Jam

(Editor's note: The above bit purports to be true! The All Party Parliamentary Group for Cheese actually exists and will feature in a future blog.)

7. Jeremy was heavily criticised for inviting Palestinian terrorist group Hamas to Parliament, but explained later that he thought the bloke with the tea towel on his head was promoting hummus which is another of the great man's passions.

8. Jeremy is a serial knobber. He is currently on wife number three having worn out the first two with his incessant demands for tantric sex (with added hummus).

9. TGL is at present taking time out from his highly successful film career to concentrate on turning Britain into a Third World country.

One of JC's finest roles is celebrated in this commemorative philatelic tribute;-

Obi Wanker-Knobby

10. Er..... that's it! (Thank God for that - Ed. Roll on the rugby!)

Silly Season Animal Stories

As the summer sun beats down on our beautiful countryside (Are you 'aving a larf mate? Look out the bleeding window) the denizens of the press have started their annual transhumance to the beaches, leaving journalism trainees and interns to fill the pages of the papers with dross pinched from the previous day's net postings. With Britain under siege from 'swarms' (ooh Mr. Cameron, what wicked words you use!) of illegal immigrants, the roads of Kent at a standstill and countless family holidays to the continent ruined, do we have any detailed analysis? No. With the Daily Torygraph rapidly turning into a redtop, what fills the pages but that old stand-by, the cuddly animal story.

We started the week with the sad news that Cecil the lion was no more.

Now I'm no apologist for twatish American dentists with too much money and a morbid interest in slaughtering endangered wild life, but I must admit to having been a bit annoyed by a story which features an animal with the name Cecil. For heaven's sake, this poor creature was supposedly the King of the Jungle, and deserved a better name than Cecil! When did we ever hear of a King Cecil? Why wasn't our maned friend called Bart, Arnie or Llewellyn- some well-hard name befitting such a majestic animal?

The late Cecil (or it might be his mate Tarquin)
These Africans all look the same to me.

Of course, Cecil's demise was soon followed by the outpouring of a nation's grief and the erection of a shrine to the deceased flea-bitten mammal.

Out came the predictable stuffed toys, although I'm not too convinced by the white bear and the monkey with the big ears. (Come on, this is in America. The poor old Yanks are trying their best - Ed.) Actually I think this charming photo was just an attempt to get an upskirt shot of the lady with the trainers.

For those readers feeling trigger-happy, here is a shot of the 'World's Most Wanted'

"I think we've been spotted"

With their dander well and truly up (I wonder what a 'dander' is?) the animal huggers then turned their wrath on the sleepy seaside town of Skegness. And what has poor old Skeggy done? Slaughtered all the seagulls who nick visitors' chips? Culled the resort's feral cats? Barbecued the donkies who used to give rides on the beach? No, they have a mascot called Jolly the Fisherman.

Jolly welcomes you!

It seems that Jolly first appeared in 1908 on a Great Northern Railway poster extolling the delights of this East Coast Mecca;-

Jolly - effeminate but innocuous

A splendid evocation of Skeggy's nautical past you might presume - but oh no, no, no.

According to the demented Dawn Carr, head lunatic of PETA (Puerile EarThlings against Anything)

(Are you sure of that? I thought it was People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals - Ed.), Jolly "evokes images of cruelty to animals".

As your humble correspondent could not even start to make up Dawn's description of this piscatorial poaching pariah, I will quote her verbatim;-

"Fish being tricked into impaling themselves in the mouth, animals being pulled out of the ocean in giant nets where they are so crushed together the pressure pushes their stomachs out through their mouths and their eyes pop out."

God help us Dawn, they're bloody fish! They have no brains, their soul (sole?) raison d'etre is to provide the raw ingredient for our national dish. Have you never experienced the delights of a lightly battered portion of cod from the great Harry Ramsden's (or Big Gav's for our NZ readers) accompanied by the requisite portion of chips? (Probably not, most of these animal fanatics are devoid of any sensual pleasures or sense of humour - Ed.)

They're fish you loon; Cod not God. Not a single GCSE amongst the lot of them, even with the abysmal standards of that qualification. When was a herring ever Poet Laureate. Has a kipper ever been King? When was the last time a Fish presented the weather forecast?

Shome mishtake shurely - Ed.

And what does Demented Dawn suggest as a replacement for the aquatic mass murderer?

Bloody hell Dawn! That's shite.

Mass civil disturbances are to be expected at this ludicrous proposal. The good citizens of Skegness have already taken to social meedja to express their support for their local hero!

Bloody classy those Skeggy lasses!

And finally on the animal front;-

Taiwan giant panda 'fakes' pregnancy symptoms to be given extra food and nicer accommodation

This one is a ripper folks! It seems that Yuan Yuan, an 11-year old Giant Panda at Taiwan Zoo got pissed off with the standard of her accommodation and grub and so faked a pregnancy to gain access to  her own air-conditioned room and to be given round-the-clock care, extra bamboo and treats such as fruit and buns.

"I hope they keep that bloody dentist away"

At great risk to his own safety, your correspondent interviewed the Polymath Panda. "Conning these keepers was a breeze, mate. Next I think I'll con my way into the UK. The government there are a right pushover. Free housing, great benefits and, if I can persuade this bloody soft cock of a mate of mine to get his act together, we can produce enough sprogs to live the life of Reilly on the state. I'll just have to figure a way to get through that Channel Tunnel - those African illegals are crap at it. Needs a bit of Oriental cunning!"

Lordy, Lordy!

House of Lords, London, 28th July

I love this dressing up! I've got suspenders on underneath!

A statement from Lord Sewel ( The Right Honourable (sic) John Buttifant (honest!) Sewel CBE,
Deputy Speaker and Chairman of Committees. Family motto: "It's the real thing - coke" Coat of Arms: Penis rampant on a background of white powder, with notes of the realm (rolled))


Dear common people.

It is with great sadness that I wish to inform you that I have herewith resigned from The Gravy Train ("beloved House of Lords" - shurely!) in the light of the unfathomable and somewhat frenzied reaction to my leisure pursuits by the gutter press.

As Chairman of Committees at Halitosis Hall, part of my rôle is to enforce discipline (more, more!) and uphold the standards of the House. Accordingly I have referred my actions to my own committee and have found my performance to be wanting on a number of counts;-

1. The use of a £5 note to snort coke was just common! What was I thinking of? We Lords are paid £300 a day in cash just for dropping in before opening time and tooting with anything less than a tenner cannot be tolerated.
2. Those 'sex workers'! I know realise that I really let myself down with that group of slappers. These were hardly Christine Keeler class were they? (Editor's note: under 50? Google 'Profumo Affair')
   
   

   

   Gratuitous picture of Christine for old times sake

         I now realise that this bunch of cut-price strumpets were of insufficient class to benefit from a         good seeing to from a peer of the realm and I apologise most sincerely to my colleagues and fellow legover enthusiasts in The House.

        3. My choice of bra was absolutely appalling!

Where was my colour co-ordination? A man of my age, of a more mature stature, should really have consulted Rigby & Peller (naughty knickers to the monarchy) for something more seemly (an ermine trimmed basque would have been nice).

Having considered my own case, and in light of the ridicule that has been heaped on me, I am reluctantly resigning from the House of Lords Prostitute Appreciation Society and apologise to all my fellow members for letting my standards slip in pursuit of a quick piece of rumpy-pumpy.

I shall thus be removing myself from pubic life and will henceforth dedicate my self to helping poor little homeless girls find their place in society and working hard to alleviate the parlous plight of poor peasants in Colombia.

The former Lord is seen at home helping his dear lady wife do the housework
"Can't find the hoover, better snort up this strange dust"