The genius who discovered a hole in the ground.

Obituary – The Daily Wank.

The genius who discovered a hole in the ground.

Sir Fredrick of Fukall, Hall, (1945-2018) inherited his title and fortune from his father, Lord Av-Wank Nightley, at the age of six months in his mother’s womb, a whore known as the Bridgewater bike.

Growing up doing nothing but cashing in on his peerage, he found this hole in the ground, fell in, broke his stupid neck and died.

Instead of some ‘royal’ type funeral, he was simply covered up in the hole he fell into.

The local priest did give a short blah-blah . ‘Anyone searched the asrsehole’s pockets? Might be a few quid to get us a pint.’

A Freshly Boiled Egg

A Freshly Boiled Egg

I do not recommend any of you try this …

The following sketch may make you feel a bit queasy and contains mental images of brutality and extremely bad language -

It all started when I was recommended to have a freshly boiled egg for breakfast.

Egg? What is an egg? Google that word.

Ahh – it comes from the insides of a chicken. Chicken? What is that?

Google ‘chicken’ and images – bingo. I have seen some around.

Next – get chicken and boil it. In theory – it should have a freshly boiled egg inside.

Well, what a fiasco. Catching a chicken is not that easy. By the time I cornered the fucker, I could have happily throttled it.

THEN – I had to go and buy, at HUGE expense, a pot large enough to boil it.

Plus - it kicked up some fuss as I it shoved in the pot.

I had looked up ‘Boiled Egg to perfection’. It recommended five minutes at sea level and add ten seconds for every hundred metres above that.

Fuck! I just want a freshly boiled egg. I am up to my neck in feathers - trying to shove a cackling, screaming chicken in a pot of boiling water, which is kicking up some resistance, and now I must find out the altitude of where I live?

Google that one handed. (The other hand is holding chicken into boiling pot of water.)

Ahh – 630 meters above sea level, but that could change due to climate change. What?

Give me a break, for fuck’s sake. So - I settled on six minutes.

Chicken got quiet, quiet after four. That gave me time to get a plate ready for my freshly boiled egg.

Two minutes later. Nothing. No freshly boiled egg. Just a dead chicken in a pot.

And?

What do you do now? I have been told LIES! I will not sit down and simply make a ham sandwich. No.

I want the blood on my hands of the idiot who recommended a freshly boiled egg for breakfast in the first place.

The thing is – I can’t remember who told me…

Obituary – Sir Pearcavere Szupid Kent. OBE.

The Times Newspaper

Obituary – Sir Pearcavere Szupid Kent. OBE.

It with this regret, that no one gave a shit about the death of this idiot.

The lunatic shot himself in the foot.

Standing in front of West Minster abbey, he took a Hilti nail gun and pinned his left foot to a paving stone.

Watched by thousands of tourists, filming on their mobile phones, Sir Pearcavere Szupid Kent, wandered anti clockwise, ranting about his freedom of speech.

Luckily, he would bleed to death before someone realised the idiot was dying for real.