The column which builds its nest around other birds’ eggs
Due to the appointment of Liz Truss and the logging off of Liz Windsor, our reader is spending the day at Balmoral with black armband, umbrella, deep fried mars bar sandwiches and a flask of Auld Lum Reeky single malt whiskey from the Isle of Muff. Here is what’s left of the TV schedule.
THIS WEEK’S NON-MOURNING TV
The eagerly anticipated season 54 of Rail Cops starts on Netflix next Wednesday. Here is the trailer for episode one, “Things’ll Be Different When We Get To Ongar”
The RAIL COPS have collared a kid as he gets off an underground train. They scan his oyster card on a portable machine. He has the wrong ticket for the discount claimed on the card.
Rail cops sir. Step this way please
OYSTERCARD. DISCOUNT INVALID. WRONG TICKET. TERMINATE SUSPECT
WE CUT TO AN UNDERGROUND TRAIN DESTINATION ONGAR. TWO HOBOS ARE RIDING THE GUARDS VAN AND SINGIN THE BLUES. THEY’RE HEADIN OUT NORTH, WHERE THE WORK IS, OR MIGHT BE.
Things sure are gonna be be different when we get to ONGAR!
Damn right buddy! We’ll be in clover. Just as long as we can keep ahead of the
I might just set me up with a fruit farm
What kinda fruit farm?
Peaches maybe. Or Queen Victoria’s Plums.
I ain’t never had a Queen Victoria’s plum
Me neither, but they sure sound good and juicy.
They sure do.
CUT TO: LATER THAT SAME DAY IN THE RAIL COP CAFÉ
Yeah some 11 year old punk wants to ride the underground. Thinks he’s a hobo. Tries to hand us some cockeyed story about paying the conductor on the car or some such bullshit. Knock it off kid, I says to him, Rail Police! Then I shoves my motherfuckin badge right in his panhandlin’ face! Ya shoulda seen the look on it!
Motherfucker. What happened to the kid?
He ignored the fine notice. Too scared to tell his mother, the fucker.
Then he got the other warnings and done the same thing.
Yep. And the fines went up. 40. 60. 80
we had no choice but to take his stuff
what’d you get?
Bicycle. Football trophies, not much.
CUT BACK TO THE HOBOS ON TRAIN
Might even get me a real tractor
Like a Massey Ferguson?
The business. Outperforms a Ford every time. Where are we?
ANNOUNCEMENT: THE TANNOY IS SO BAD YOU CAN’T MAKE OUT WHAT IT SAYS.
Mwar sera mwar, molar corpustle tofu. Carborundum sheep trials, flute liasons, orabora tora whenever,rear view wellington catering. Tomorrow.
Who can tell? All I know is we’re ONGAR BOUND
By Celia Kanthe
The rich are not at all like us
they have no need to catch the bus
They defecate on silver plate
And their faeces
NOT HIM AGAIN PART 2
Warriors fans had a horrible feeling of déjà vu last Saturday as a visit from league leaders Cockmarlin Thunderbolts served as the debut match for their new manager, one-time Warriors supremo José Pypebahn. The Spaniard’s departure in 2020, following his dismissal was far from amicable.
BRING YOUR OWN BOOS
Boos rang out all over Warrior Park as the feisty Spaniard took his place in the technical area, after which the former sausage magnate responded by sticking out his tongue, dipping into his trainer’s bag and throwing chipolatas spiked with strong laxatives at the angry supporters, many of whom ate them gratefully since the club’s caterers’ strike was still ongoing.
Fans will not easily forget Pypebahn’s embarrassing appointment of Mr Chorizo, the club mascot, who attended games dressed as a sausage to encourage fans. Mr. Chorizo, real name Norman Rhodes, was convicted of affray following a very public nervous breakdown after being mocked by fans on a specially set up twitter account, #sackthesausage
Pypebahn was dismissed by the board two seasons ago after a heavy league defeat by Herstmonceux Cannibals. The red-faced sausage millionaire told our reporter afterwards: “I have written to the Nuclear Waste Disposal Solutions League (South), demanding an immediate enquiry into the circumstances surrounding this so-called football match.
For instance, just hours before kick off, our goalkeeper Tim Smegma, who has never been in the army, got called up as a reservist and posted to the Middle East, so we had to use a double who had never played football before.
Midfield dynamo Karl Schwartzschmidt was up all night with Cruciate Ligament, one of his racehorses, which was suffering from withdrawal symptoms. The driver of the Herstmonceaux team coach deliberately reversed over Nobby Balaclava’s legs in the car park which considerably slowed up his game. Ruud Van Smoot, their Dutch centre forward, gave some of our younger players lines of white powder in the dressing room. He told them it was ecstasy, but it turned out to be Chinese heroin, which in my book contravenes all the unwritten rules of sportsmanlike conduct.
As if that wasn’t enough, Welsh wizard Craig Cattermole, who as we all know has difficulty behaving himself at the best of times, had his pre match gin & tonic spiked with lysergic acid. The chief suspect was the Cannibals’ Ivory Coast striker Boniface Mandingo, who wasn’t in the squad, but was spotted lurking outside our changing room dressed as Little Bo Peep. Just before kick off, all our boots had been replaced with fur lined tartan slippers, except for Cattermoles’s. which had been swapped for huge pink clown’s shoes, which squeaked every time he kicked the ball. Sven Finlaysen, Herstmonceaux’s Swedish manager, ran up and down the touchline making vile Welsh insinuations and “baa” sounds through a megaphone, all of which was deliberately calculated to wind Craig up in my opinion. That partly contributed to my decision to bring him off in the 87th minute when, at 7-0, we were still in with a chance. To cap it all, after the game Sven gave me a cigar as a sporting gesture, and it exploded.”
GAME OF CHANTS
Asked to comment on the obscene chants heard from the crowd throughout last Saturday’s game, the inscrutable Spaniard would only say this: “My sausages will always be sausage-shaped, which is not the same as being penis-shaped.”
Colin Gibson • Emmet Ives • Anita Makris
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CAUTIONMAY CAUSE SMILEY FACE T-SHIRTS TO LOOK INSINCERE
by The Hunt Cult. Click for video
“Sometimes you just need a tool that doesn’t do anything”
By Colin Gibson
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