Monthly Archives: December 2013

Justin Bieber: “I’m Going To Live On Olly Murs’s Big Face And I’m Taking Honey Boo Boo With me”

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Canadian pop icon, Justin Bieber, has made the surprise announcement that he’s going to quit the music business and set up home on the enormous face of his British counterpart, Olly Murs, accompanied by US child star, Honey Boo Boo.

Bieber, 11, spoke to reporters from outside his home in Toronto last night.

“I’ve had it with being a pop star and all the hassle that goes with it. These last few months have been hell for me, and to be honest with you, I don’t think people understand how tough it can be being constantly in the public eye. I can’t even go to the can without some damn pap with a long lens trying to get a money shot of my cock. I’ve therefore decided to get the hell out and set up home on the gigantic face of Olly Murs and I’m taking Honey Boo Boo with me. She’s been my rock right throughout all this bullshit. We’ve laughed together, cried together and to say that we’re now great buddies don’t even come close gentlemen. She’s agreed to come with me and help me search for a quiet spot to build our new home, probably somewhere behind one of his ears or just beneath the hairline where we can get the peace and quiet we both hanker for”

Murs himself was unavailable for comment last night but we spoke to his mother, Martha, 109, who told us.

“I have to tell you Olly’s none too pleased at the prospect of having an unpleasant little turd like Justin setting up home on his massive dial, but the bottom line is he needs the cash. In any case it’s better than having Vanessa Feltz taking up residence there. I mean to say imagine having that bloody great arse plonking itself down on the tip of your nose half a dozen times a day!”

The announcement, which will dismay Bieber’s millions of fans worldwide, comes just days after the President of Nigeria revealed plans to move the entire population of the country onto Simon Cowell’s forehead.

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South African Police Kill Everybody

South African Police Officers pictured helping an elderly man to cross the road last night.

News was emerging last night that following reports of unrest in the South African township of Soweto last week, further heavy handed tactics have been deployed by the security forces resulting in the death of the entire populace.

It is believed that the widespread massacre began early on Wednesday morning and was completed late Friday evening leaving just under 50 million dead and one wounded.

The lone survivor, Mr Jonas Nkoma, 29,, a flight attendant on South African Airways, looked visibly shaken as he spoke to reporters and described the carnage.

“I’d just returned from a long haul flight to Dubai and was making my way across the tarmac to the terminal building when I noticed a number of bullet riddled bodies littering the runway and the grass verges” he stated.

“At first I thought a few of the cabin crew and terminal staff had been partying the night before and were sleeping off the Mealy Meal grog before resuming their duties, but I quickly realised something wasn’t quite right when I noticed a number of them had their wrists bound behind their backs and had bullet wounds to the back of the head, whilst the women were all naked and had the burnt carcasses of car tyres around their necks.

“I immediately turned back to report my findings to the pilot and remaining crew, but when I was just a few metres from the aircraft I was shot in the back of the thigh by a sniper bullet. Seconds later a number of shoulder launched missiles struck the fuselage of the plane, destroying it completely.

” I must have lain there amongst the smouldering debris for around 5 or 6 hours before making my escape and sheltering in an airport staff, rhino whip store. It was absolutely terrible and for something like this to happen so soon after the passing of Nelson Mandela is so tragic”

A spokesperson for the South African police, Chief Inspector Dirk Van Kripps, 54, an officer for 25 years and former tooth mug wallah to the late Prime Minister Jan Christiaan Smuts, made a brief statement to the media from outside police headquarters in downtown Johannesburg last night.

“In the current climate of unrest that pervades the country at this moment in time we believed that stern action was called for so we killed everybody.

“You can’t be too careful in this day and age, and given a similar set of circumstances, I’d have absolutely no hesitation in slaughtering the entire population again in an effort to carry out my duty in protecting the public”

South African President, Jacob Zuma, and members of the government were remaining tight lipped last night after having been mown down in a hail of machine gun fire during an afternoon cabinet meeting on Thursday.

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Female Circumcision Was Key To My Speedway Success Claims Lulu

Pic by Mina

Following a series of convincing wins on the speedway track, Scottish pop icon, Lulu, has revealed that she puts her recent successes down to having undergone a circumcision op performed by a neighbour from The Democratic Republic Of Congo at her home in Glasgow.

Speaking from outside the London Palladium, where she’s appearing in a series of concerts with Sir Cliff Richard, Lulu, 112, said, “I was watching a documentary on TV a couple of months ago, condemning the practice of female circumcision, which is practised fairly widely amongst the people of a number of African nations. Naturally I began to wonder whether, if I were to have my genitalia mutilated, it would enhance my career as a speedway rider which had been in the doldrums for a number of seasons. Fortunately one of my neighbours is a practitioner herself, so I popped round one evening and had my clitoris and both labia cut away with pruning sheers. The results were absolutely astonishing and I rode to victory after victory, claiming The World Championship for the first time in over 8,000 attempts. I’d have absolutely no hesitation in recommending genital mutilation to any aspiring young female rider.”

A spokesperson for her record company said. “We’re absolutely delighted to learn that Lulu has become a true speedway legend due to having her fanny chopped half off and now we can only hope that Justin Bieber will learn from this and submit to public castration without anaesthetic”

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“I Was Never Abused By Rolf Harris” One Woman’s Shock Claim

Harris pictured leaving his home in disguise last night

There was a fresh twist in the ongoing saga surrounding entertainer Rolf Harris last night after a 54 year old woman made the claim that despite the fact that she was once an under-age girl, she had never been sexually abused by the star.

Mrs Janet Coyte, from The Isle Of Mull in The Inner Hebrides, makes the shock claim in a forthcoming BBC documentary which is poised to unmask the TV star as a serial abuser of girls as young as 9 during his long career as a popular showbiz icon.

In a shockingly frank interview, Mrs Coyte claims “I know that a number of other women have made allegations of being sexually abused by Rolf, but I can only speak for myself and I’m telling you that throughout my early teens he never once even so much as made an inappropriate remark to me, let alone tried to touch me intimately. I’ve always found him to be a perfect gentleman.”

Between bouts of sobbing she went on. “Yes I know I have spent my entire life on a remote Hebridian island hundreds of miles from where Rolf  is alleged to have committed these terrible acts, but that’s beside the point. If all these accusations are true then why didn’t he simply get the ferry from the mainland and subject me to a terrifying and traumatic ordeal when I was 13 or 14? It just doesn’t make any sense. I’m convinced his accusers are simply attention seeking mischief makers, determined to besmirch the name of a wonderful entertainer and a great man. I think it’s disgusting to be honest with you”

Mrs Coyte was unavailable for comment last night but it’s believed that she’s also prepared to categorically deny that foul-mouthed celebrity chef, Gordon Ramsay, ever told her that her cooking was “Absolute fucking shite.

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A Fadista (The Fado Singer)

We sit quietly together sipping the thick dark wine, blood red and cloying to the palate. The smoke from strong Portuguese tobacco swirling and shifting in the candlelit glow, the throb of conversation fills the air, the words blown around us by the hot breath from the open door.

The guitarist ambles onto the stage carrying his instrument by the neck like a goose and sits on a small wooden chair. He settles down comfortably. leans his cheek against the guitarra and spreads his white fingers over the strings. He strikes a few chords in the darkness, warming his hands and his imagination.

As if drawn to him by the music, a small dark figure in a long black dress, the bodice nipped tight at the waist, moves to his side and watches him silently. The girl then moves forward into the light, her face waxen and grave, framed by the coils of hair that writhe about her shoulders like snakes, her eyes black as jet, juicy as fruits.

The conversation snaps shut and the audience draw close because they know that what they are about to see they will never see again.
The strokes of the guitar become more confident and free and the girl moves her body in time, swaying gently from side to side like a watch. At once the music becomes more urgent, the girl throws back her head and hits a high barbaric note, a naked wail of sand and desert, serpentine, prehensile. Trembling with emotion she begins the first verse, her breasts rising and falling with passion as she tells of lost love, storm tossed oceans and regret. Her lament driven on by the lash of the guitar and her all consuming love for the fiery bones of her Portugal. It’s a passionate entreaty, an animal cry thrown out over burning rocks, a call lost in air, terrible and impenetrable. She stands there, writhing and coiled in the words, unfettered and alone in her torment, the steady whip of the guitar seeming to strike her small body, sending it into paroxysms of hot movement.

Then it’s over and she runs from the stage, her hair streaming, her shoulders and back glistening with sweat under the lights. The audience stay hushed and silent for a moment as if turned to stone, and then with a sharp intake of breath the roar begins, filling the room and shaking the tables, making the candles sputter uneasily in their dishes.

We walk home through the wine dark streets with only the small beggar children, with their beautiful, diseased faces for company, and as we climb the stone steps to the room I pause for a moment to kiss you and feel once more the aching need for your deep embrace, your sweet, hot breath and love without end.

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UK Independence Party To Expel “Ayrian Types” From Party Executive.

UKIP executive members pictured leaving party HQ last night.

In a surprise move last night, Nigel Farage, leader of the United Kingdom Independence Party (UKIP), announced that anyone “with an Ayrian look about them” will be barred from joining the party executive and also from appearing in party political broadcasts in the run up to elections.

Speaking to reporters from outside his newly-rented, one-bedroom flat in Brixton, South London, Mr Farage said.

“We are quite frankly sick to death of being accused of being closet racists with a chip on our shoulders when it comes to the blacks, Jews, Eastern Europeans and immigrants in general. I have therefore made a recommendation to senior colleagues that we exclude anyone with an Ayrian look about them from serving the party in an executive or public relations-connected role.

“Furthermore any person or persons with a background connected to white supremacy or neo-Nazism will have all the windows in their home or shop premises smashed by a baying mob of ethnically diverse, party rank and file during the night.

“I’m absolutely determined to stamp out this totally spurious image of UKIP as the party of The Little Englander and the swivel-eyed racist and if that means recruiting a few sooties from Bongo Bongo Land to achieve that then so be it”

Mr Farage then went back inside explaining that he’d left a “whole heap of rice and peas” boiling on the stove in a Dutch Pot.

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Soz Satire’s Heavily Edited Classics For Facebookers #243: Wuthering Heights

  

“I wuff oo Heethcliff, will u be my ickle Facebook frend?”

“Yesssssssssss. I wuff oo too Caffy! I wuff oo and I want lotzzz and lotzzz of snuggles”

“LOOOOOOOL ur so norty Heethcliff. Wood yew lyke to see my bootyful ickle kitten. I can send u a pichure ov him on my fone babezzz?”

“Yesssssssss! Send me one ov ur ickle kitty and annuver one ov ur titzzzzz”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO! LOL LOL LOL! OK then but only if u shew me one ov ur nob ROTFLMAO!”

“I can’t babezzzzzz. I’m going to foreign parts to seek my forchooon”

“OK hun. Laterzzzzzz. Wudge oo babezzzzzz (((((((HUGZZZZZZZ)))))))

“Wudge oo too babezzzz. Don’t marry sumbody else wile I’m gone ok, cos I’ll be dead jel, and don’t go out in the rain and get a chill in ur ickle tummykinzzzzzz neiver”

“I prom babezzzzz XOXOXOXOX”

Some years later.

“Where’s my bootfull ickle Caffy? I’ve got lotzzzz and lotzzzz of muney and want to buy her lotzzz of presentzzzzz…. Dead! Ur joking! Dead???. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

A bleak windswept moor some hours later. Two spectral figures rush into each others arms.

“Caffy Babezzzzz!”

“Heethcliff my bootyful ickle snugglebunny!”

“WUFF OO BABEZZZZZZZZZZ!”

The End.

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