HASTINGS ARTISTE – NEW RELEASE
The column that would rather eat bacon than be eaten by it
Heir to the throne Prince Charles arrived in New Zealand earlier this month to discuss climate change and during a press conference he was heard to make a blistering joke at the Australian rugby team’s expense. According to witnesses, it was so funny that 29 people had to be flown by air ambulance to the nearest hospital in Dunbonkin 1,200 miles away, suffering from cracked ribs and severe incontinence. During a dinner in his honour that evening, His Royal Highness complained of chafing and a doctor was called. Later police charged Donald MacGoolagong (39) with indecent assault, after the purple-faced rugby fan was discovered inside the Prince’s Auld Reekie Scottish Thornproof Tweed Rambling Trousers, where he was attempting to ingratiate himself with the Imperial rectum.
READER: You’re not a rugby fan are you?
MYSELF: Not especially, but my tropical fish enjoy it.
READER: Your fish like rugby? How can you tell?
MYSELF: I don’t know, they just seem content when it’s on.
Fondly (adj) Having wandering, unwelcome hands
Terpsichorea (n) Liver ailment brought on by drinking paint-thinner
Artistry (n) The history of art
RETIRED – FEELINGS HURT
Disgraced heavyweight boxer, misogynist and homophobe Typhoon Anger has shocked the fight world by announcing that he is to hang up his jockstrap. The news came only days after being stripped of his champion’s belt by the World Boxing Federation for bringing the sport into disrepute. Sipping champagne at his wine bar ‘n table dancing club, The Pussy Lounge, Anger’s born-again manager Ron Maserati assured me that once he’d got over his dangerously aggressive paranoid delusions and bouts of sobbing, the champ would be back. “My boy is tremendously upset with all the media intrusion into his private life, and is having to snort horse tranquilliser to steady his nerves.” he told us, fingering his rosary, “But it’ll all blow over. Let’s face it, all he done was sneak up behind an elderly nun wearing a clown’s costume. How was he to know she had a heart condition?”
As scantily-clad Lolla Coaster (erotic choreography) limbo-danced under our table, Maserati dismissed the media furore over the boxer’s alleged misogynistic and racially insulting tweets, “It’s all locker-room banter’” he reassured me, refreshing my glass from a bottle of Jambe au-Dessus 2019 from the former champ’s Hartlepool vinyard;, “Typhoon not only adores women, but is not in the least bit prejudiced.” he chuckled. “Far from it. He will punch anyone’s lights out. As for the WBF’s decision to remove his belt, it’s no biggie. I mean it’s not as though it kept his trousers up. Although frankly I sometimes wish it had.”
WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK AFTER THESE MESSAGES
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HEADACHES? NAUSEA? PALPITATIONS?
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A march which took place in Hastings earlier this week terminated at the East Sussex Spiritualist Institute (formerly The Cat’s Pyjama night club), where a 100-strong banner-waving crowd assembled to object to the appearance there of Psychotic Doris, the famously litigious cold-reading mumbo-jumbo lady. Many of the banners were blank, and through a megaphone, the holder of one shouted sarcastically “See if you can guess what I’m thinking!”
Inside the auditorium the atmosphere was tense as the packed audience waited for Doris to appear. At last, 35 minutes late, she was pushed onstage in a wheelchair by four black-suited security guards wearing mirrored sunglasses and earpieces. After a brief introduction, Doris leapt out of her chair to wild applause and went into a psychic trance in order to contact her Native American spirit guide Chief Malcolm Fourcandles, whereupon the following exchange took place:
I’m getting a Bob or a Henry, or maybe a Kevin……something to do with tea…. or biscuits.
You are a fraud and a charlatan!
PSYCHOTIC DORIS (nodding to front row and making throat-cutting gesture to her security guards):
Has anyone lost a beloved pet recently? Or a very old relative? Or a costly libel action?
As Doris started speaking in tongues, we were ushered out of an emergency exit by staff and having refused to sign a non-disclosure agreement were given express instructions not to return.
The Newcastle-based performance artist Aiye Waiaye has declared that art is dead. His latest installation at Cheapside’s Pink Triangle Gallery consists of a series of life-size tableaux featuring Jeremy Kyle smearing dog faeces on his upper lip whilst trapped in a meat grinder.
“With Jeremy’s Lip, I’m basically exploring the carnivorous relationship between the universality of myth and daytime TV. By calling upon influences as diverse as Franz Kafka and Eric Morcambe,” Waiaye explained, “new insights are synthesised from both orderly and random meanings and the unrelenting divergence of the zeitgeist. As shifting replicas are experienced through boundaried and diverse juxtaposition, the viewer is left with a testament to the emptiness of our existence”.
King Sparky Hullabalulu, Almighty Grand Wizard and Supreme Potentate of Pomegrania, arrived in Hastings recently on an official state visit to mark the towns’ twinning with Utterfrack, Pomegrania’s capital city. At a special ceremony, Lord Mayor of Hastings Derek Windfarm presented King Sparky with a Hastings & St Leonards Warriors FC away strip (pink polka dots on imperial purple), a Warrior Stadium season ticket (restricted view), and a souvenir mug commemorating last year’s Alistair Crowley Day. Thanking His Royal Highness, the mayor gratefully accepted in return the King’s gifts of a live ostrich, a diamond studded Mickey Mouse watch and an undisclosed donation to the mayor’s chosen charity Windfarm Financial Solutions Ltd.
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