Monthly Archives: September 2015



The scene is a small coffee house opposite 221B Hetero Street in Brighton, Sussex, the home of the renowned sleuth and towering bigot, Sherlock Homophobe. The great man is seated at a table close to the window, when his staunch friend and assistant, Dr John Mincing, enters in a state of some excitement.

Mincing – I say Homophobe; I’ve just received a most singular letter from a young baronet in Cornwall. He has just taken up residence in his ancestral home from where he writes. It’s the most deucedly odd thing, but there have been several sightings  of an enormous spectral hound roaming the nearby moors. I think we should investigate further and without delay. What say you old friend?

Homophobe – Stop trying to gay me up you infernal bottomist! I can see by the aspect of your trouser frontage that you are in a state of high arousal sir. There can be very little doubt that you now expect me to perform a lewd and unlawful act on your person, after which you will no doubt expect me to subject to buggery in the gentleman’s retreats. Your mien and desires are no better than those of a common beast of the field sirrah. Now get out before I call a constable and have you flung into Newgate!

Mincing – !!!!!!

NEXT WEEK: Homophobe accuses Mincing of masturbating into his violin case

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krays with mum

It’s not the money if that’s what you’re thinking, nor indeed the prestige and fame, let alone the offers of marriage from countless smitten film starlets and fashion models. No, my friends, it’s none of those things. It’s the brevity.

Let me explain further. I write for a handful of satirical news publications with varying degrees of success. For example, I recently had a story published in News Thump which attracted 30,000 Facebook ‘likes’, over 700 ‘shares’, and more tweets than you could shake an inky quill at, not to mention countless comments on the piece itself, some complimentary, some condemnatory. In short, just as it should be when writing ‘proper’ satire.

The real beauty, however, comes with my interactions with the various editors. Brevity truly is the order of the day with these boys and that’s right up my misanthropic alley. Take this morning’s communication with the editor of News Thump following my early morning sub:

ED. – This is good Danny (my nom de plume) I’ll get it up some time this morning. (He has a very attractive wife apparently)

ME – Thanks mate. Much appreciated as ever.


Good isn’t it? 😀

Here’s the piece if you’re interested. Have a great day/evening/night.


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Filed under facebook, Satire, Soz Satire



“A murder you say? The infernal work of a crazed homosexual no doubt”

The scene is Homophobe’s study at 221B Hetero Avenue in Brighton, Sussex. The great detective and insufferable bigot is breakfasting at a small table when his great friend and staunch assistant, Dr John Mincing, bursts into the room in a state of great excitement:

Mincing – By thunder Homophobe! I bring you the most singular tidings old friend. A male corpse has been discovered in a derelict house in Brixton. The poor chap appears to have been poisoned and there’s the most deucedly strange inscription on the wall, daubed with the victim’s blood. Let us hasten to the scene at once my dear old friend, for I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there wasn’t some infernal and extremely rum skullduggery at work and that the case will henceforth be known as: A Study In Scarlet. For God’s sake come at once Homophobe, for time is of the essence man!

Homophobe – You infernal arse bandit Mincing! Verily you are well-named sir. Mincing by name, mincing by nature! I see through your vile subterfuge sirrah. No sooner will we be alone in that derelict property than you will start rogering me violently over an old sink, stretching the flower of my manhood until my most intimate cavity is flooded with your accursed nancy boy jism! Now get out before I call Inspector Lastrade and have you incarcerated in Newgate for life with other ghastly examples of your depraved, bottom-worshipping ilk!

Mincing – !!!!!

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Filed under A Study in Scarlet, homophobia, Sherlock Holmes


irish drinker

The little paper oblong on bars of Imperial Leather soap can be gently picked off and then stuck to a small piece of cloth to create a snug and decorative duvet cover for pet locusts.

That’s absolutely true that is. A bloke down the pub told me.


Filed under imperial leather, locusts, pets corner, Soz Satire


A bridge too far perhaps?

The League of Mental Men!


Some homeless people pictured limbering up for a stint on the proposed Garden Bridge last night

London’s homeless community have added their support to the proposed Thames Garden Bridge lobby, insisting that the controversial project will provide them with much-needed shelter and even food during the winter months.

The proposed bridge, the brainchild of actress, Joanna Lumley, is seen in some quarters as a self-indulgent folly which will add nothing to London’s infrastructure and is just an ill-conceived eyesore and a criminal drain on taxpayer’s resources.

However, a number of vagrants we spoke to on a piece of wasteground in Spitalfields, East London, were unequivocal in their support for the project. One of them, a man in his 60s said:

“Personally I think this is a wonderful move and I can’t wait to start hiding in bushes and jumping out on passers-by with a beard full of sick. I just…

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Blimey! Who knew eh?

The League of Mental Men!

gaz beer

Did you know that The Queen has got an artificial leg? Well she has. She lost the original one during the war when she and Princess Margaret went out on one of their famous secret walks together. They used to dress up as normal civvies and go to the pictures and then down the pub after. Apparently, the Germans dropped a bomb on the cinema, where they were watching a Noel Coward film, and the Queen had her leg blown off, although Princess Margaret got away with it.

The new leg is made from wood from a tree in Buckingham Palace and she’s got a special servant who polishes it and sands it down now and again so that the royal corgis don’t get splinters when they rub up against it.. She didn’t say anything about it at the time because Winston Churchill told her not to. He told her it…

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Dear SoZ

Why don’t they get some of these benefit cheats and illegals to attach hooks to The Middle East and tow it down to Australia. That way, some of these ISIS fellows might become enthused with the laid back Aussie lifestyle and take to barbecuing roo burgers instead of beheading the gays and so on…and if they don’t, and carry on with their murdering ways, nobody will be bothered as it will only be Australians getting it in the neck.

Teddy Fuck

New Zealand

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Filed under Australia, ISIS, roo burgers, Soz Satire



Do you sometimes feel that you’re missing out on the clandestine, furtive sexual abuse that takes place on public transport?  Has your bottom become a fondle-free zone, leaving you feeling unwanted and unattractive, even to the most unpleasant sexual pervert?

Then we at The Soz Satire Mint have just the thing to put an end to your woes. The Gropematic is an ingenious little device that clamps almost invisibly to your arse and will give your buttocks that surreptitious pawing that you crave so much. Whether on the bus, the tube, or the train, you can simulate the unwanted attentions of a drooling, middle-aged sex offender at the push of a button.

Each Gropematic is lovingly bolted together by Romanian orphans and is fashioned from the very finest bits of plastic and pig iron. Every device comes with our unbeatable guarantee that if you complain just once about the build quality or the fact that it hasn’t arrived after 6 months, one of our highly-trained East London enforcers will come direct to your home to ensure that you will no longer be in any fit state to continue with your whining.


“I used to dread going on public transport because of the complete lack of unwanted attention by perverts. Now, thanks to my Gropematic, my arse is very nearly red raw by the time I get to the office. Thanks Gropematic!” – MrFelix Todd, Plaistow.

“Due to the fact that I used to remain largely unmolested on my journey to work I almost took my own life. The Gropematic has changed all that, and now, thanks to the constant pawing I give my arse while standing up on the bus, I have begun to feel good about myself again. I even use mine when I’m doing the ironing or washing the pots so that I can pretend to have an amorous partner. I’ve ordered another one to go on my tits” – Madge Lewd, Shoreditch.

To get your Gropematic in time for Xmas, send a banker’s draft or hard cash to the tune of £32,000.67 to:

The SoZ Satire Mint

The Marquis of Granby

Millwall Docks

Disclaimer: I’m as thick as shit and don’t realise that my Gropematic will never arrive, either by return of post, nor indeed, at any time in the future. I’m unfamiliar with the Consumer Rights Act and I’m not a professional boxer or shotgun licence holder.



Filed under arses, the soz satire mint


michael caine pie n mash

You know that Michael Caine the actor bloke? Well, did you know that he suffers from a rare condition that prevents him from eating anything other than pie and mash? If he eats anything else his body reacts so violently it almost kills him. His mum gave him a sausage sandwich when he got home from school once and they had to get the priest in to give him the last rites. Fortunately, a doctor gave him a plate of pie and mash and he recovered almost instantly. Absolutely true that is. A geezer down the pub told me.

Next week in SoZ Satire’s Wonderful Worldwide World of Wonders: David Cameron’s sudden pork allergy.


Filed under pie and mash, Politics, Showbiz, Soz Satire

Situations Vacant: Senior Vagrant Required

No dogs on bits of string were harmed during the writing of this piece…hopefully.

The League of Mental Men!


A number of hopefuls pictured last night waiting nervously for interview

A park bench in Shoreditch, East London, has an exciting opening for an experienced gentleman of the road with at least 5 years experience of drunkenness and anti-social behaviour under his string belt

The purple-faced stumblebum we seek should be able to display good muttering skills and be prepared to spend a good percentage of his/her time shouting at traffic or lying comatose in their own piss.

A good working knowledge of staggering through shopping malls with a dog on a bit of string will also be looked on favourably, as will the ability to start fights with yourself in a public library or a telephone box.

The successful applicant will be expected to supply their own ill fitting fetid trousers and battered, sick encrusted trilby, but a pair of old boots with no laces in will be provided and may be collected from one of the dustbins round…

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