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"

Fascists of the Royal and Food varieties

Dear chums, at last something to write about!

The world of Royal watchers (Sid and Doris Patriotic-Bonkers) were aghast this week with the revelation by the Sun newspaper (sic) that our dear Royal Family are in fact all closet Nazis and were fans of that nice Mr. Hilter back in the 30's.

A grainy home movie purports to show Her Madge giving the old raised arm salute to the delight of the Queen Mum and her Uncle David.

There are however distinct reasons to believe that this footage is a fake;-

i) The Queen Mum is NOT drinking her customary gin and tonic
ii) Uncle David (Edward VIII as he was to become) is NOT having intercourse with Wallace Whats'ername for whom he forsook the throne to embark on a life of serial buffoonery and debauchery
iii) Her Majesty the Queen is known to detest football and therefore would have no need to practice the greeting given by all Ingerland fans when the national side plays the Krauts.
iv) The Royal dachshunds are nowhere in sight (better check that bit - Ed.)

As to the Sun's headline "Their Royal Heilnesses", this is just puerile. (Pot, kettle - Ed.)

A statement issued from Buckingham Palace reads as follows;-

"Mein Gott in Himmel. Was ist alle dieses schiese in der Sonne dagblatt? Wir ver only following orders."

To reassure our readers of the continuing uncontaminated allegiance to all that is great and good in this country, we include this recent photo of the Royal christening;-

OK, it's not Charlotte, but charming, nichtswar?

If readers need further reassurance that the Royals remain central to the nation's heart we include this tribute.

A knitted reconstruction of the Royal christening created by the parishioners of Griston in Norfolk

That's more like it! Personally I think that Prince William here looks like Sir Michael Caine.

Further fascist news this morning when it was reported that interfering councillors in Stonehaven, Scotland have ordered the local chippy to remove their advertising banner.

It comes to something when the good burgers (shouldn't that be 'burghers' -Ed!) of this quaint Scottish outpost can't celebrate their only claim to culinary fame (or any other sort of fame come to that) without the busybodies deeming it unbecoming and an affront to dietary correctness.

Come on guys, loosen up! From a nation that produced the haggis, this is a bit thick.

Rumours that a daily intake of DFMB made First Minister Nicola Sturgeon the woman that she is today have not been refuted, which I find quite significant.






And finally, for those of you with a strong disposition, here is a close up of the DFMB to stir your appetite.