Thursday, March 30, 2006


Don't send sensitive e-mails to anyone in Zimbabwe!

Please, no matter how you may like my stuff, do not send any of it to anyone in Zimbabwe.
It can maybe get people killed!

THIS IS NOT ONE OF MY SPOOFS. I knew this was coming, but this is no joke. I received this Email, which is here in the full. The first bit is from the sender, who is not in Zimbabwe. The second is a letter from someone in Zimbabwe. I read naked terror. When will it end?

Please Everyone, this is of paramount importance. I received this today,followed up by three phone calls from friends in and around Zim. Some of you do not know about the recent arrests and commitment to Jail in Zim of agroup of really great people, but of course you understand that to go to jail there is very very serious. Things are extremely tenuous there now, and any excuse is used to arrest folk.

I heard from a VERY reliable source yesterday about two chaps - one White one Black who were joking in apub about the usual subject, and they have been in Adams Barracks for over6 months now, severely tortured.
Perhaps you can follow the lead set by another Rhodie who runs a newsletter and put your Zim connections in a seperate place on your addressbook so you can't send anything by mistake - which I have been guilty of inthe past.

Bless you all, Annie.

Monday 20th March, 2006

Dear Annie,

PLEASE put this out to absolutely everyone on your list. It is REALLY important that folk read this. It could literally mean the difference between life and death for someone!Please do not send us in Zim anything that can be deemed to besensitive. Our newspapers again reported about a bill being drafted topry into telephone and email messages and to compel service providers toinstall equipment to enable the state to intercept ALL private communications. This is being fast tracked through parliament. and specialist technology has already been obtained there-for.

So please do not send us any political jokes, cartoons, even memory stories referring to places by their old names or refer to the previous administration. We don't need any hassles in this regard I know that some of you never send arb. stuff, but I am sending this to all in my email address book . Thank you . A Zimbabwean".

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Unemployed Heroin Addicts To Help Army In Record Numbers.

Afghani Warlords brace for an invasion of the Druggiebands.

Reported by Westminster correspondent, Urine Heep, for The Daily Creep.

Today in parliament, after the Chancellor gave his budget speech, the Prime Minister, surprised everyone, including as usual most of his own party, when he declared that a workable plan has been made to get British troops out of Afghanistan before Christmas.

He then made way to allow the newly created Minister for Druggies and Dossers, Divhead Bonkit M.P., to announce to an after lunch semi-pickled house of Commons that,

“Stinking drug addicted vermin must get off their shared needles and contribute to Britain’s safety, instead of relying on the DHS to provide them with accommodation and money to create crack houses in school play grounds.” The Dis-Honourable member for Shifty Bightsize, whipped his dog with his white stick to get it to howl loud enough to gain the attention of the back benchers, who were engrossed in chilling out with their recently donated iPods, and feeling from a paper he had punched out himself, Bonkit’s badly bruised fingers paused for a poised second before groping on,

“It is my desire to solve two problems for every overdose death. The state cannot afford to chase smelly bearded men with Kalashnikovs protecting poppy fields in mountainous Afghanistan and smelly bearded men with syringes in mountainous city slums of Britain simultaneously. We will round the druggies up, ship them to Afghanistan, where they can get their habit for free. Once all the poppy fields are used up, we can bring the troops home. The Afghan War Lords will take care of the crack heads after that. The state just cannot steal enough money for these invasion capers anymore.”

At this point the leader of the opposition, Dandy Campon, snickered and suggested that the Right Dis-Honourable member had obviously not been given a quick glimpse of the latest budget.

Bonkit, obviously not seeing the joke, groped on. Temporarily forgetting which party he belonged to, he ridiculed the Governments recent proposal to give every asylum seeker £3000 pounds and a free airfare to fuck off. He stated to the packed house, gathered to vote for a M.P. pay increase of 27,5%, which was considered to go through with support from the opposition parties,

“Take Zimbabwean asylum seekers for example. They taking the piss or what? They come from a land where their democratically elected leader says my best mate, the Prime Minister, is gay and a gangster!”

Using his white stick as a pointer, Bonkit, turned and attempted to prod the Prime Minister for dramatic emphasis, thus breaking up a short lived conversation between the Chancellor and P.M. Tinny Blabber, who had just asked Gobby Browneye if he had got a wood watching ‘Brokeback Mountain’. His misplaced lunge landed up buried deep into the Chancellors budget briefcase, making Dandy Campon quip, “What a circus, their own people are putting holes in the budget already!”

Shouts of “Woof, Woof” from the front benches, were drowned out with loud comments, such as,
“I dunno about gay, but that Tinny is a gangster awlright.” This coming from a large group of smelly New Age Travellers packing the public gallery to protest the banning of their children from wearing their traditional dress of cast off rags at schools they rarely attend. The return to the cabinet for a record third time for MP Divhead Bonkit, was not going to be another easy ride.

“I have spent hours feeling my way through the figures, (roars of laughter from the packed house,) and I can honestly say that we can withdraw our troops, relieve this land of unwanted rif raff, bring peace and prosperity to the people of Afghanistan, whilst saving billions in tax payers money needed desperately to feed the starving children in Africa.”

A heckler from the public gallery interrupted the speech by throwing a shit filled baby’s diaper in Bonkits direction and shouting out, “What the fuck you talking about you dirty old man?” But the 18 year old and 8 months pregnant, unemployed single mother of 3 children, was dragged away by security personal to be detained under the prevention of terrorism act, still shouting claims that Divhead Bonkit was the father of her unborn child.

At that point, the new minister of ‘Druggies and Dossers’, had to agree for an adjournment to future debate after he was informed his dog had just defecated on the Teresa Jolly’s brand new Gucci shoes, (a present from the Italian Prime Minister,) and was doing ‘humpies’ on Roof Kollie’s leg as she struggled to numerically put in correct order the papers for her latest education proposal.

One backbencher, who prefers to stay anonymous, told this reporter, “I love that hound. Master and dog are a perfect match, this mutt is truly like Divhead; takes advantage of any dumb bint!”

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

The Great Welsh Cockles War.

A little known ‘dirty’ war waged between the government authorities, desperately trying to preserve some of Britain’s last natural resources, and the even more desperate illegal immigrants trying to eke out an existence.


Commander James T. Jerk scratched his wooden leg absentmindedly, and swore loudly as a large splinter buried itself deep under the finger nail of his index finger.

“ ‘Chippie’ up on the bridge, now,” he screamed into the intercom, “and bring some sandpaper.”

Pulling the splinter out with his teeth, Jerk thought back to that time seven years ago when he lost his right leg, left arm, right ear, left eyeball, right testicle, left kidney, and his wallet with a winning lottery ticket inside, whilst commanding the H.M.S. Sinkfast during the fierce battle for the Nigerian Delta. The remaining two digits on his right hand, one still bleeding, wandered almost instinctively to the well fingered M.B.A. medal (Missing Bits in Action,) that he wore with pride over his collapsed left breast. Shifting uncomfortably on his chair, the absent right buttock made sitting up straight difficult, he spoke to his second in command.

“Bring her about 41 degrees of port and tell me when she has drunk enough to let me in her bed, Number 1, and any sign of the enemy yet?”

First officer Simon Simpleton lowered the binoculars from his exhausted bloodshot eyes. The party last night had been an incredible lesson in over indulgence, and he made a silent pledge never again to mix Red Bull and cheap Vodka 50/50, as he replied to his commanding officer.

“All I see are waves and they doubled. I don’t feel very well and is it alright to go below for a bit of kip, sir?”

Jerk sighed. Simpleton had been the only survivor besides himself when the H.M.S. Sinkfast had spectacularly self exploded after he had made the decision to scuttle the ship rather than let the enemy in 5 dug out canoes enter the delta and sabotage the oil refinery. Simpleton rarely spoke about that moment of truth, when the man had desperately struggled with his conscience to either shoot him and let terrorists destroy Britain’s desperately needed fuel for the latest models of four wheel drives, or sacrifice the ship and crew, thus sending a message around the world, (Help, the Captain is mad!,) still clutched in the hundreds of hands that went up with the ship.

“Go ahead, Number One, I’ll keep an eye on things, take King Kong’s bint with you, she also looks worse for wear.” Signalling with his good arm to the slumped figure of Jane Noname, rescued along with himself and Simpleton from a malarial infested mangrove swamp where they had landed after the ship blew up, she spoke no English besides, “More Port”, and walked on all fours.

‘Chippie’ turned up from where he had been engrossed in filing his teeth into sharp triangles.
A gruff, but gentle kid, he was intent to prove that his bight could be worse than his bark.

“Give us ya leg Captain, I’ll sand the bugger good this time, got to keep ya on your toes if we gonna catch them sneaky slitzzies.”

Jerk hated ‘Chippie’ talking like this, the uncouth ASBO collector was only 17, but he came along with the new ship now under his command, the H.M.S. Dump, a 22 foot, wood rot riddled pontoon grounded permanently in the middle of the Mawddach estuary in North Wales.

“They are illegal Chinese cockle poachers, ‘Chippie’, and please refrain from such racial inferences, otherwise it is my right to have you keel hauled if we ever get afloat.”

As ‘Chippie’ got to work on the splitting parts of his prosthesis, Jerk mentally went over once more the recent intelligence that had been passed to him in the ‘Last Inn’ pub the night before. According to a reliable source, that he had carefully nurtured for the last seven years with free beers paid out of his disability pension, today the Cockle thieves would sneak up the estuary unnoticed, disguised as tourists in black wet suits on rented Jet Skis, plunder one of Britain’s last cockle beds and sell them duty free to Chinese restaurants in Beijing.

“Not whilst there is breath in my right lung still in me left,” thought Jerk, as he watched ‘Chippie’ create a small pile of sawdust below his extended leg. He had worked on the plan to stop the raiders for over four years and now he was ready. 26 giant bottles of household cooking gas were stored below; connected together they were only stopped from expelling their deadly fumes by the handle mounted on the commander’s chair.

The navy had refused to give him a 22 inch battery gun, quoting local Gwynedd council health and safety regulations, but the hero of the Nigerian Delta had not been put off. That experience seven years ago could be put to good effect.

“They’re coming,” Jerk whispered conspiratorially to ‘Chippie’, his good ear tuned to the sounds of the approaching roars of the Jet Skis. “Get Jane and Simpleton, prepare the escape dingy, and stand by for action; RED ALERT!” With that, Jerk pulled the bright red lever to ‘Open’ and the gas started to flood into the pontoon. Timing was critical. Unlike the Delta incident, when the spectacular self destruction of H.M.S. Sinkfast had managed to destroy several hundred acres of rain forest, along with 5 dugout canoes and the oil refinery it had been sent to protect, his new command had limited fire power.

As his crew gathered, the hiss of the expelling gas drowned out by the noise of the approaching smugglers, Commander James T. Jerk, took 4 Cuban cigars out his top right breast pocket. Handing them out, he winked, tugged his shirt down, smoothing out the wrinkles and as the stench of gas reached his nostrils said to his motley crew,

“Don’t light them till the fat lady sings huh, we done it ship mates. Britain will once more be safe from terrorists”

‘Chippie’ sniffed appreciatively at the cigar in his hand,

“Didn’t they say that in some movie?” he commented, as he flicked the wheel on his newly stolen Zippo lighter.

Monday, March 20, 2006


It is called this because that is how long it took to write it. I was really surprised when it received enough comments to push into Spotlight status at the writing community web site I am a member of.

It is based on a very old joke.


When Tony kicked his shoes off, when he returned home from work, he did it the same way as he had since he could remember. He couldn’t be arsed bending down and undoing the laces. Simply used one foot against the heel of the other shoe and forced the foot out. The last shoe would always be flicked up into the air, to crash against the ceiling and land with satisfying ‘splat’ on the staircase, where it would then proceed to tumble, ‘thump thump thump’ all the way down, where it lay, till his screeching wife Cherie, would eventually pick it up and place it on the ‘shoe rack’.

Today was different.

As the right shoe bounced it way down as usual, there was a deeper note, and as it slid to a halt, Tony looked at in puzzlement and took a step forwards, only to crash down onto his face.
From a distance of two hands spread, Tony stared through pain watered eyes at the shoe. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It wasn’t the fact that his sour smelling grey/white sock protruded over the split and worn back of the leather shoe, but that it appeared his foot was still in it!

They sent Tony to a small island, just off the coast, to where the other Lepers lived. He couldn’t really complain. Being an idle sod anyway, life wasn’t so bad. Food and beer was dropped by helicopter every Thursday, Satellite T.V., 24/7. No worries in the world, except at some stage he might fall apart at the seams. The other inhabitants suffered their equal lot with quite dignity. In fact, they would take their fate with morbid humour. The women would giggle over so and so losing his member in the middle of a hefty session, the men would joke how so and so had proudly shown her breasts during one drunken orgy, only to find one was missing.

Tony settled in well, and soon had a regular Poker game going every Wednesday. Then it happened. What every Poker player dreams of. A ‘Royal Flush’, no wild cards. The stakes were high. Cigarettes the only currency. Tony knew he had the others and bet his entire allocated ration. The pile grew and grew, as the other 7 players bid and bid. Tony knew that when he won this hand, and, he had to, the odds of two Royal Flushes were as miniscule as finding life in the Whitehouse, he would have the monopoly on fags for the next week.

“CALL!”, and Tony placed the Royal Flush down on the table and grinned wickedly.

The others threw their hands in with disgust and Tony laughed his head off.

The End.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

EBay Bans Me Again!

Auctioning things on EBay is not that simple. Yet again I offended their censorship software and whilst the company notified me that my sale had been accepted and they greedily charged me 30pence for it, lo and behold, almost 24 hours later it was apparent that the only person who could access the auction was me!

Last time this happened, I wrote them a letter asking what was going on. You would think that it is their responsibility to notify their customers when a listing upsets the sensitive software. This time around I made sure there was no offensive language, so exactly what did trigger the ban? So here is the original and on EBay is the ‘censored’ version… 5677090546

When I redid the description, leaving out the words that could have set the alarm bells ringing and then reposted, it suddenly appeared for all to see, but, I wasn’t compensated for the missing 20 hours…


Remember those times at school when the subject was boring, the teacher was a drunken nervous wreck, who muttered incoherently whilst scribbling indecipherable gibberish on the Blackboard?

So what did you, and the just as equally future illiterate co pupil sitting next to you, do?

Yes…those were the days of TTC…Table Test Cricket!

Matches could last several lessons, providing hours of exciting entertainment!


Contents of RHODESIA TTC game.

2 hexagonal sided pencils, (unchewed, see below for more information), 1 is for the Runs and the other, ‘How Out’ pencil. (Howzat.)

Batting Team’s Runs pencil, 6 sided, labelled:

1,2,3,4,6 and HOWZAT!

How Out Pencil. 6 sided, labelled:

LBW: Leg Before Wicket.
BAC: Bowled And Caught.
R.O.: Run Out
C.B.: Clean Bowled.
C.: Caught.
Not Out.

Contents of ZIMBABWE TTC game.

1 hexagonal sided ‘How Out’ pencil and 1 half round 2 sided Runs pencil, (slightly used).

Batting Team’s Runs Pencil. 2 sided, unchewed, labelled:

1 and HOWZAT!

How Dismissed Pencil. 6 sided, labelled:

CWW: Clubbed With Wicket.
CSS: Caught Stealing Stumps.
STD: Starved To Death.
BBB: Brained By Ball.
SSB: Someone Stole Bat.
Not Out.


Each player has eleven players in his team, of which only ten are allowed to play. This is normal in Cricket. On a piece of paper, (Not Supplied,) each player draws up a score board as demonstrated below, using a Zimbabwe game for example:

Batter Runs Attained Total Score How Out.

1. Rob Mugabe, 1,1,1,1 4 BBB
2. Gideon Gono 1,1 2 CSS
3. Prof Mutambara 1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1 16 CWW
4. Morgan Tsvangirai 1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1 16 SSB

After all ten players are out, the final total is tallied and the highest scoring contestant wins.

To play is very simple.

After tossing a coin to see who starts, the batting team contestant takes the ‘Runs’ pencil in a hand, and from a small distance rolls it onto a flat table top. Whatever result is visible at the very top, is the amount of runs successfully completed. This is then noted. When the Batter rolls a HOWZAT, he has the opportunity to see if he is really out and rolls the ‘How Out’ pencil. Unless NOT OUT is displayed, in which case the appeal has been successful and the batter may continue, the way the batter was dismissed is entered against his score. The reason for this is not known, but in real cricket they do this in the newspapers.

Sadly with the invention of Bill Gates and the silicon chip, TTC was doomed. Most school pupils prefer to waste their educational time playing with mobile phones or chilling to MP3 players. So this is a unique opportunity to have a piece of history, as well as a unique modern version. Needing no batteries, this game is ENVIROMENTALY FRIENDLY, and the wood used surrounding the Chinese produced pencils are genuine Amazon Rain Forest hardwoods that are becoming increasingly rare.

History and Celebrities of TTC.

Most historians have agreed that the game was most probably created by Sir Ernest Shackleton in 1901, to relieve the boredom of the Discovery crew stuck for months in the Antarctic. A popular humorist, he was the first to adapt the ‘How Out’ pencil, replacing the orthodox cricket terminology with his own.

FTD: Froze to Death
LHM: Lost His Mind
EBS: Eaten By Shipmates
SBW: Stiff Before Wicket
DIB: Disappeared in Blizzard
Not Out

Albert Einstein: Using a German version of TTC, Albert, though failing maths at school, went on to develop the ‘chewed’ system. A rather nervous character, he often would chew or bite his pencils and it was during a game of TTC with Robert Oppenheimer, that he discovered a difference of the roll between chewed and unchewed pencils. This would lead years later to his sensational theory of relativity, C=BR2. (Chewed=Better Roll Twice.) Condemned for several decades as a way of cheating and manipulating the way the pencil would roll, it was finally confirmed in 1969 as an acceptable way of play, similar to how a bowler would polish or roughen certain parts of the ball in real life cricket to make it bounce differently.
Sadly, ‘Clever Al’ would die of lead poisoning before the introduction of TTC health and safety rules outlawing lead based cores and paint on the pencils.

Sid Vicious: Played an English version of TTC from the age of two, ever since his mother shoved a pencil deep in his throat to stop him screaming. He left school at the age of 12, after becoming the only pupil to have won every test match he played. Later he went on to become a member of the cult Punk rock group, The Sex Pistols, recognised as a world renowned brilliant singer, guitarist and heroin addict. He sadly died in the middle of a game of TTC, when his mother shoved a pencil too deep down his throat to stop him from screaming, whilst tripping out his box shortly after murdering his girl friend ‘Spunky Chicken’ for cheating in a game.

Osama Bin Laden: Recent video footage has often shown the cross legged sitting leader of Al- Qadea with two pencils at his feet. Close ups have revealed that it is a version of TTC, although as of now still unrecognised by the IFTTCA, (International Federation of Table Test Cricket Association,) and scrutiny of the ‘How Out’ pencil reveals in several different videos to have the following,

BWK: Beheaded With Knife.
SB: Suicide Bomber
STD: Stoned To Death
ABY: Attacked By Yanks
BWG: Bowled With Grenade
Not Out

Arnold ‘The Governator’ Schwarzenegger: A recent convert to TTC after watching President George Dummkopf Bush play a game against Pakistan’s General Pervez Musharraf during a recent tour. Arnie has ordered several hundred TTC sets to be given free to all death row inmates with his own ‘How Out’ pencil version, which he claims, will help relieve their boredom as they await for their appeals to be turned down.

KLI: Killed Lethal Injection
FIC: Fried In Chair
DOF: Died Of Fright
FS: Firing Squad
HLB: Hasta laVista Baby
Termination Complete

Coming Soon: Despot and Dictators TTC Special Edition.

Based upon Parade Magazines top 10 list of nasties’, the line up of players encompass the globe, making this a truly international side. Included are famous players such as:

Omar al-Bashir, Sudan, Kim Jong-il, North Korea, Than Shwe, Burma (Myanmar), Robert Mugabe, Zimbabwe, Islam Karimov, Uzbekistan,
Hu Jintao, China, etc.

The How Out pencil will be labelled,

CDE: Coup d’ etat
ASS: Assassinated
PMU: Popular Mass Uprising
DOA: Died of Old Age
FTE: Fled To Exile
Still In Power

As you can see we have made all possible effort to make these games as authentic as the real thing, therefore it will be no surprise that the Zimbabwe version is a much faster game.


Tuesday, March 07, 2006


What a laugh. Hundreds of SS (Schutz Staffel,) gathered in heavy snow to scream, ‘Sieg Heil’ as Adolf made a speech in front of the former headquarters of Hermann Goering’s Luftwaffe headquarters.

Although the Berlin City council had given the Israeli film director, Dani Levi, permission to decorate some of the historic city’s landmarks with eagles and swastikas whilst filming his comedy ‘Mein Fuhrer’, the ‘dummkopfs’ forgot to tell the locals and the tourists.

A load of drunken English football fans training in the local beer halls in preparation for the world cup, where the final will be played in Berlin, could not believe their luck. Within minutes of the first spotting of the ‘Fuhrer’, hundreds of ‘Tommies’ gathered and charged the goose stepping soldiers with impromptu weapons.

Years of experience had ‘Churchill’s finest’ thrusting broken bottles into German jugular veins and several visiting Americans caught up in the blood soaked massacre helped their allies by force feeding the highest ranking officers with Big Macs.

Several of the voluntary cast, most having been participants for simple fact that this was the only opportunity to scream, ‘Heil Hitler’, legally for the first time since the war, were deluged with slurred English accents of,

“Cun ya Mam sew, ya Nazi bastard, get er ta stitch that then…mate” which was followed with a savage head butt by a Liverpool fan with the logo, ‘Wayne Roony is a Poofter’ printed on the back of his clubs official shirt, to the bewildered unemployed plumber from Augsburg who had just been there for the fun,


“Sieg Heil this ya Sauerkraut, ya Dad bombed my Chippie and now it’s a Polish, Armenian Tajikistani take away”, as a 4 inch blade from a Manchester United logo embossed flick knife was buried deep up the left nostril of a 53 year old unemployed architect from Dresden who had only agreed to play the part of a senior officer because he got to keep the socks.

A delighted Dani Levi was heard to comment,

“Mazel tov, this wasn’t quite the ending I had planned, but this will do nicely, and didn’t cost a Shekel more.”

A German women from Bavaria, when interviewed by the press after watching the amazing scenes unfold, said,

“It is my first visit here; it seems nothing has changed much.”

Back in the United Kingdom, a new pop video, starring the recently released from prison, ‘The Golliwogg Trio’, as backing vocals for controversial rapper EmmieN singing a crap version of ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’, has been banned from MTV after their lawyers saw fit that it could cause “alarm, harassment or distress” under Section 5 of the Public Order Act.

The Hitler Film:,,3-2072666,00.html

The infamous ‘The Golliwogg Trio’:,,2-2069322,00.html

Baa Baa Black Sheep ban:,,2-2073043,00.html

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Geri Giraffe Applies For Political Asylum.

Geri Giraffe Applies For Political Asylum.

The High Court will today decide whether Geri Giraffe, who arrived in the United Kingdom illegally, may be allowed to stay. His defence lawyer will argue that should he be returned to Zimbabwe the same fate awaits him that was dished out to his wife and children late last year.

Geri had been desperately foraging food for himself and his family in the drought stricken Hwange National Park when a police Land Rover packed with American hunters suddenly turned up.

Speaking for his client, who still cannot talk properly after catching a bad throat cold whilst escaping from the genocide, told gathered reporters, ‘The obese hunters simply stated firing wantonly with sub machine guns provided by their ‘hosts’. His wife and children didn’t stand a chance. Geri managed to run away and hide.’

Later it transpired that Geri waited for several weeks before he was able to smuggle himself aboard an Air Zimbabwe flight to London unnoticed. With the cabin crew engaged collecting foreign currency from the few passengers on board to cover the cost of fuel, Geri was spotted sitting on the wing too late for the pilot to turn the aircraft around.

Animal right groups are financing Geri’s appeal by selling T-shirts depicting a photograph taken by a passenger who had first noticed Geri at 30,000 feet, on EBay. The passenger, who insists on staying anonymous, had told Immigration officials at Heathrow airport that he had been a little surprised to see Geri watching him as he supped on a tin of beer. ‘I felt sorry for him as he is really in the same boat as all of us on the plane.’

It has now transpired that every passenger and the entire crew have all applied to be allowed to remain in the United Kingdom.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006



Since reports this week from Germany, where the first case of a cat dying from the potentially fatal to humans strain of bird flu H5N1, ominous news has come in that the deadly strain has reached American soil.

Panic has broken out at the famed Loony Tunes cartoon studios during a private screening of the latest Tweety Pie episode after the fully completed strip returned from its Asian outsourced sub-contractors based in Hong Kong.

As details slowly emerged, the obviously frightened spokesman for the company, attired in a full biological protective suit, told a reporter from Broken Inglish,

‘Our own artists only sketch every 20th sequence to a story, the rest are padded out in child artists sweat shops in Asia for 5 cents a page. Obviously they had been sharing a chicken for lunch and contracted the dreaded form of bird flu.’

The studio staff had been enjoying the new Sylvester v Tweety Pie episode and nothing had seemed odd until Sylvester the cat, who constantly attempts to eat the annoying fat headed arrogant canary, swallowed the yellow loud mouth just as it finished its classic line, ‘I tawt I taw a puddy tat’, and went into spasms, and as one viewer put it, ‘started to convulse like an Ebola victim on crack cocaine.’

The horrified audience had expected that Tweety’s assistant, ‘Bulldog’, would grab the hapless cat, swing it around the room by the tail for a few spins, then dash out the black and white screeching pussy’s brains against a table, onto which the cheeky chirpy canary would pop out as usual, saliva drenched but unharmed. However what transpired next has shocked the cartoon world to the bottom of its pencil boxes.

‘Sylvester started to sneeze violently, seconds after ingesting the canary and the walls were strewn with cat snot. The visibly shaken spokesman went on, ‘then it started convulsing, flew up to the ceiling, at which point the hapless feline’s eyes bulged then exploded.’

Worse was to come,

‘In it’s death throes, Sylvester’s tortured body stiffened, it’s fur stuck out like spikes and tried to defecate the flu riddled bird, resulting in Bulldog being literally ‘tarred and feathered’ by the diarrhoea stream of semi digested Tweety Pie fired out under high pressure.’

The yellow and brown shite dripping dog went barking mad, then in its canine terror savaged the animals’ owner, little old Granny, so badly that the poor dear died before even the fastest artist could rub it out. The utter carnage depicted had many of the 73 viewers collapse in shock as the final seconds of the macabre cartoon ended.

In an effort to control the outbreak all Tweety cartoons have been incinerated and plans are under way to vaccinate Daffy Duck and Road Runner. In a separate incident Terrytoons confirmed that their mischievous magpies, Heckle and Jeckle, after refusing to be inoculated, claiming it was a Taliban plot, were beaten to death at Guantánamo bay, baked, popped in a pie and sent to the King of Saudi Arabia, along with 22 terrorists suspects to make up the numbers.

However, there were still some cool heads at the studios. When asked if he was worried, Bugs Bunny, whilst chomping on a genetically manipulated carrot shaped like a bagel, replied, ‘What’s up Doc? I thought we were banned by Google in China.’

News Flash:

Disney called a hastily convened news conference after Donald Duck was arrested shortly after returning from China, where he had been guest of honour at a recent banquet celebrating the recent agreement to open another obnoxious overpriced Dillyland in the worlds most populous country. A short statement read out by Mickey Mouse to the 300 reporters gathered from around the world, stated,

‘Squeak squeak, Donald has been incarcerated, squeak, after he was filmed spreading the highly contagious virus. Squeak, tests will soon prove if his wife must be sent back as Peking duck.’