The Dead Synapses Society

A Kentish farmer fractured his penis after ogling a teenage girl milking her goats, while carrying a heavy sack of feed. Farmer Jack Smith, 52, from the village of Sandhurst, had been moving the feed sacks to the barn when he stopped to watch sixteen-year-old Cheryl Smith (no relation) hitch up her skirt, squat down on a stool and grasp the udders of a goat. Smith became over excited and dropped the sack on his erect penis, snapping vital tendons and ligaments.

Doctor David Smith (no relation either) told Me: "I did what I could for him, but it's a toss up whether he'll ever play the the organ again.

When I attempted to contact the goats, they were unavailable for comment, but their agent, John 'thomas' Smith (related by marriage), told us: "To tell the truth, matey, they're so relieved they've not stopped celebrating since the accident.

Sheep from as far afield as Canterbury were heard to exhale huge sighs of relief when news of Farmer Smiths' accident reached them.

Billy the worm is the longest worm
That anyone has ever seen
His front end is long, his back end is long
And he’s very long in between.

When being introduced for the very first time
People often make the mistake
Of assuming he isn’t a worm at all
But a slower than average snake.

He doesn’t fit in like other worms do
And can never go out on a date
Co’s his front end will always arrive too early
While his back end is always too late.

One day while wriggling around in the garden
He thought that he had found a friend
Until a passing beetle told him that
He was chatting up his own rear end.

Totally embarrassed, he wanted to hide
In his own little world of despair
But when you’re a worm of enormous proportions
Everyone knows you are there.

So now he’s decided on an operation,
The plans have all been made,
And everyday he lies in the flowerbed
Waiting for the man with the spade!

Bristolian man, John Collins, tells of his shocking ordeal at the hands of aliens who transported him to another planet where he was subjected to merciless interrogation.

"Before we ask you about the alien experience, we would like to establish who you are and where you're from; what do you do, Mr Collins?"

"I am a quality controller in a leading biscuit factory. It is my job to, er, um test biscuits for Taste-Stibility and I, er, do this by biting into them, tasting them for texture and flavour, and if the biscuit is satisfactory, I allow another four million to go by. I haven't tested this one by the way."

"I think our readers will take that one on trust," we replied. "So, Mr Collins, where do you do this biscuit testing; where do you live exactly?"

"Er, the Bristol area; the environs of Bristol. It's very quiet; it nestles in a little valley where we live. We're surrounded by um, countryside and we, um have a small garage."
"I'm sure our readers will find that fascinating."

"Yes, it's a very fascinating area, Bristol, because it's where, the Romans first put down their um their roman baths were first put down in Bristol, you know," continued the Biscuit taster.
"Did they really? Well, fascinating as the history of the Bristol area may be, I think our readers would like to hear about your astonishing experience of being abducted by aliens. Where were you when this happened?"

"I was out, er with my wife Wendy who also lives in the Bristol area," replied Mr Collins," helping himself to another chocolate hob nob.
"Remarkable."

"Just above the garage we have a little flatlet, and we were out of an evening I was out metal detecting."
"Is that a hobby?"
"Yes, I like to, er, I've got this, well, actually I found this metal detector years ago. I was very lucky because I borrowed a friend's metal detector and I was out detecting and suddenly I had a strong feeling that there was something metallic under the ground, and sure enough I dug away, and lo and behold there was this metal detector; all nice and as brand new."

"Metal detectors are made of metal aren't they?" we asked.

"They are made of metal and one of the problems with a bad metal detector is that if it's really poorly made it will start detecting itself."
"You don't say?"

"I do. A friend of mine had a detector which detected itself and started just curling up and trying to eat the handle."
"But this is a good one?" we asked.
"This is a good one, and we were out in the car, and, er, I got out of the car and started detecting"
" And?"
"And suddenly I saw this strange, glowing object hovering about one and half feet above the ground."
"It wasn't your cars headlamps, or anything like that, was it?"
"No, no, it was an unearthly object non-metallic otherwise the detector would have, er, detected it, and, er, I felt strangely calm, but at the same time, horribly terrified. I didn't know what to do. It just stayed there, glowing eerily. It was just hovering there and I felt something beckoning at me; a mental beckoning more than a physical beckoning and I suddenly saw a creature get out of the orb and begin slowly to suck me into it's orbit mentally."

"Mentally suck you?" we asked.

"Mentally suck me into the orbit and I fell into a trance and the next thing I knew I was elsewhere."
"What did these creatures look like?"

"Well, they're rather like, um otter-like in shape and sort of..blobby. The one on the right is the one who took me."
"You could tell them apart, could you?" we asked, "we don't think our readers will be able to."
"Er, em, mentally speaking, yes."
"So how long did you spend on this planet?"
"I was there for approximately four years, or it seemed to be about four years, but in fact it was only three minutes of our time."

"We see.. Which planet were you on; was it Mars or Venus, or "
" Ikea. They were people who arrived millions of years ago in cardboard boxes and were forced to assemble themselves."
"We see," we replied. "That probably accounts for the strange shapes you've drawn."
"Well yes, they had no instructions, you see," explained Mr Collins.
"Why were they interested in you in particular, or us at all?"
"I think they shared my love of metal but it was mainly because they have a museum up there devoted to rock and roll.."

"Our rock and roll?" we asked.

"Our rock and roll," repeated Mr Collins flatly. "The only rock and roll they've ever heard was Manfred Mann but they were unsure about the lyrics of one of his hits which was 'there I was a-walking down the street going doo wa diddy diddy dum diddy—', and that bit of the lyric was missing; so they only got up to 'doo wa diddy diddy dum didd' and they wanted to know what came afterwards."

"And were you able to tell them?" we asked.

"No, I didn't know that lyric at all. So they were most dissatisfied with me. They are dissatisfied with everything, really, up there."

"So how did you communicate with them? Could they speak English?"
"No, they, er, they think they can speak and they communicate through thought waves; through vibrations, timeless aeon vibrations."

"And you could pick this up, could you?"

"I could tell that they didn't like what they'd got," replied Mr Collins sheepishly.
"What's the atmosphere like on the planet?" we asked.
"Well, it's, er, very thin; a very thin atmosphere. If I hadn't had some air in my jumper and my socks with me I would probably have been stifled because it's just what I imagine being in Mexico City is like."

"So what do they do for air or for food; do they eat?" we asked.
"They, er..no. They've been on a diet for two million years because they, er, don't eat. They have no stomachs or mouths; they just have, er well I showed you the drawing they just have, er, the shape of an otter and two slit eyes. It's a good thing they don't eat because there's really no where for them to put the food."

"Has this experience changed you in any way?"
"Yes..it's.. An experience like that in fact that experience made me realise just how insignificant they were."
"Thank you, Mr Collins. I'm sure our readers can empathise with that."

"Can I tell you about my small garage now?"

"Perhaps later."

Ch 4, the United Kingdom’s premier porn station until the creation of Channel 5, has apologised for a stunt described by the White House as 'not funny'. A film made by the channel depicting the shooting of trigger-happy twit George.W.Bush had prompted mass rejoicing in hundreds of cities around the world.

"Hurrah, Hurrah he's dead and no animals were harmed in the process!" some chanted.

"Our city is safe from the American Idiot!" shouted residents of Kabul, Baghdad and New Orleans whilst dancing deliriously in the streets.

However the joy was short-lived after it was revealed that the film was not really real at all. It had in fact been commissioned by practical joker Ian Wright, who was to use the film on his show to wind-up Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad in what surely would have been an hilarious episode. Unfortunately the film was leaked and people took it to be gospel.

"It's fake, I'm afraid," said a TV boss at the station. "We thought the fact that there was a shooting without Dick Cheney being anywhere near the incident would have set alarm bells ringing. Sadly, some people have got carried away with it. Ian is devastated - he was really looking forward to playing a trick on the leader of Iran."

Now YouTube is being inundated with home made films of other world leaders 'being killed'. Recent uploads include grainy footage of what appears to be Gordon Brown having the crap beaten out of him on a night bus by a teenage gang of happy slappers whilst in Birmingham.

A new law submitted recently by Labour MP Richard D Head, UK women wearing 'low slung pants', 'crop tops', or other 'intimate clothing' that exposes bare skin will face fines of up to £20,000, jail sentences of up to 10 years and possible compulsory military service as Interrogators in Iraq.

Richard Head has the support of most of the Black Country and North Yorkshire and the backing of the charismatic puritanical clergyman, the unfortunately named Reverend Jesse Pants. The radical Labour MP told me that he filed the bill because he was tired of catching glimpses of belly buttons and small, furry animals over the lowered belt lines and raised hemlines of teenage girls on the streets of Brixton.
The bill would punish any woman caught wearing a short skirt with a fine of as much as £20,000 or as many as six months interviewing candidates for UK Idol. The fifty-seven-year-old MP took time out from his busy charity work for the Northamptonshire Young Lesbians Rehab Unit to talk to me.

"I'm sick and tired of seeing bare flesh on our young women," said the staunch supporter of the puritanical policies of the Reverend Pants, who advocates women should wear the burqa or the 'Muslim body bag' as one outraged opponent described it.

“The community's disgusted," fulminated the MP when I interviewed him at his home above a popular lap-dancing club in downtown Southport, Lancashire. "If parents can't do their job, if parents can't regulate what their children wear, then there should be a law against it."

When we asked him why the law only targeted women he rounded on me with a tirade of hysterical abuse against loose women who flaunt their sexuality in public.
"Unlike men?" I asked.
"Men don't shake their booty’s in public!" stormed the seething MP.
"What about construction workers who expose their buttocks"
"That's different!" he interrupted. "They have to wear low slung pants on account of the extra weight they're carrying."
"Extra weight?"
"Tools and er, um stuff.."

The move was greeted with howls of protest by UK mothers and their cheerleading daughters some of whom went so far as to bare their midriffs at a protest meeting in Blackpool. "That jackass has dropped this country back into the dark ages," shrieked Jessica Lopez (no relation), whose sixteen-year-old daughter, Janet (34-23-35), has been suspended by her hair extensions for six weeks for wearing an umbilical ring to school. "They are making our daughters feel like they're sluts when they are really nice girls just like Britney Spears."

"Boys are going to be horn-toads, anyway, whether girls are wearing a crop top or not," said another, anonymous mum.

Leading feminist and founder of Big Beautiful Babes against Brown (BBB&, Gabby Van Dyke, was steaming over the new proposals. "This is a cheap political trick to distract the attention of the British people away from the state of our economy and our girls and boys being killed or injured by those filthy damned Arabs in Eyewrack."

I think she could have a point.

The incumbent of St. Christopher’s a small church in Norris Green, Liverpool has stirred up a storm of protest over his allegations that the increase in cremation is nothing more than a cynical smokescreen to cover up a grave shortage of cemetery plots in the UK

The Right Rev. Harvey Botham told us that the problem was so acute that his parishioners were having to wait up to three years just to get on to the burial waiting list at St. Christopher's. "This is a national scandal!" protested the pugnacious parson. "Do people have to die before they can be buried? If the good Lord had intended us to burn our dead why did he make us out of 70% water?"

I asked the Reverend to explain.

"The Church cannot bury the critical shortage of cemetery plots by digging up anachronistic aphorisms from the Book of Common Prayer," he told us. "I am no longer prepared to keep silent about the vile practises of 'double parking' and 'stiff swopping' that have made my life a living hell. The Church's new 'ashes to ashes' campaign is the last straw."

"Double parking?" I asked.

"The Church describe it as 'stratified culture," explained the embattled ecclesiastic, "but whatever you call it, packing three stiffs into the same plot is dead wrong."
"And 'stiff swopping?"
"Digging up the deceased the moment the grieving relatives have departed and unceremoniously dumping the corpse in some industrial landfill, or using it to stiffen the foundations of a motorway flyover in Formby. I won't be a party to these grave deceptions any longer."

Monumental conspiracy
"These practices have been going on for years," continued the controversial cleric, "But no one will dare talk about it. Undertakers are making a fortune from burying up to five people in the same plot only to dump them after a few hours, or months, to make room for more. Make no bones about it," he added, "I shall not rest until I have disinterred this evil plot."

A spokesperson for the British Association of Funeral Directors, Mr William Hurse, was tight-lipped when I interviewed him at his offices in Yew Tree Grove, Eltham. "The Reverend Harvey Botham is a casket-case with an over-active imagination," explained the smooth-talking inhumationist. "Last year he claimed that two Nuneaton Nuns were topping up the poor box by displaying the charms of their novices on the Internet via a live webcam installed in their dormitory."

"Then you deny there is a grave cemetery crisis in this country?" I asked.
"Absolutely."
"Then the £200 subsidy you get from the Government for every body you don't bury has nothing to do with the dramatic rise in cremations?"

"No comment," retorted Mr Hurse.

"What about the Church's new policy of 'double parking?"
"Never heard of it."
"Stiff swopping?"
"Look!" snapped the surly mortician, "People are just more environmentally conscious now. Land is too valuable a resource to waste on the dead. The Church is simply responding to the Government’s new policy on environmentally sound sepulture."
"New policy?" I asked.
"Er I didn't say that. You didn't hear that from me. Sorry, I've got an urgent dentist's appointment, must dash."
We asked the Department of Health about the new policy the red-faced funeral director had been so reluctant to discuss.

"It is our policy not to discuss Government policy in relation to the department's policies on the policy of interment and the disposal of the deceased," commented an unidentified spokes person. No help there, then.

Dead shocking
A conspiracy of silence or a silent conspiracy? I decided to send our reporter to turn over the unsavoury underbelly of the British undertaking business.
Partly shaded by a six-lane motorway, Ever Glades Memorial Garden is typical of the dozens of British cemeteries he visited. Beneath the graveyard's verdant lawns, hundreds of bodies are double or even triple parked, or buried in the wrong graves.

"I feel like nobody cares," said Sarah, a winsome waitress from Epping who admits to being constantly depressed and preoccupied with death. "They double-parked Colin with that slut Monica from McDonalds. I mean how would you like it if your husband had to spend eternity between the thighs of a woman with silicone implants who never waxed?"

Her friend, Michelle Fifer, never found her husband. She says her search for him is destroying her second marriage. She can't sleep and has stopped having sex with her next door neighbour. In many ways Michelle and Sarah are similar: they are both women. Although they have new partners they refuse to let go of the one who died. They text each other, go for long walks, wash nappies together and complain about scratchy underwear. Although both mourning mums have received over £700,000 in damages from the owners of the cemetery, they insist that the luxury home and motor yacht they own in Marbella was a gift from an anonymous well-wisher.

There you have it. The crazed conspiracy theory of an eccentric English Vicar or the callous policy of an uncaring Government who will stop at nothing to rob its citizens even after death.

Authors of a controversial report, published today by the IAFF (International Association of Fish Fanciers), surveyed approximately 151,357 British males between the ages of sixteen and fifty-two who regularly ate fish-based products. Over two thirds of the men exhibited marked female characteristics such as periodic moodiness, low self-esteem and increased sensitivity to personal criticism. 66% admitted to indecisiveness and obsessive concern about their appearance, while more than three-quarters said they were very worried about their weight and broke down in tears if their authority was questioned.

The report has been given the seal of approval by the Ministry of Health who admitted to The Happening Place, that the findings had 'serious implications for future generations because anything more than a moderate change in a man's sexual organs makes it much harder to reproduce.'
Their fears were echoed by one anonymous Sales Manager from Stratford, who took time out from trying on his wife's underwear to talk to us.
"I knew something was up when I started having multiple orgasms every time I turned on the water jets in the Jacuzzi."
"But surely that's a good thing?" we asked.

"Not when your willy is smaller than a jelly baby and starting to turn inside out, it isn't," he sobbed tearfully.
His tragic story is not unusual. More than a third of the men surveyed had experienced a 57% increase in the size of their breasts, ninety-eight had begun lactating, and 9,463 had bought panty-liners. Of the remainder, over half were involved in long-term homosexual relationships, or had started hanging around public toilets.

"There is sufficient evidence of harm that the Government is considering restricting sales of fish and fish-products to women in order to control this devastating threat to male sexuality," commented Dr Michael Dabb, the Director of the Environmental Protection Agency. The agency, which monitors environmental pollution throughout the UK, said the sex changes were the result of fish being exposed to treated sewage which contained high levels of female hormones as a result of women taking the contraceptive pill.

The irony of the situation was not lost on the good doctor who added bitterly:
"We invented the fucking pill so we could have a whale of a time shagging women with impunity but now the bloody things are all over the place we're in danger of becoming infertile!"

"Sounds like a case of cod moving in a mysterious way to us," we commented.

"Very funny," retorted the doctor. "You'll be laughing on the other side of your face when every bloke is hung like a gerbil and can only get it up once a month to fire off a few blanks into his wife's panties."

"We thought they already did," we replied.

As we all know, we are all facing a global recession, but so bad is the downturn, that the Thong industry is in a state of collapse! And some analysts are predicting a tidal wave of unemployment in the Far East if not a tsunami of joblessness, as millions of Chinese are forced to seek alternative work as offshore phone sex operatives.

"This is a catastrophe," a spokes peperson for Anne Sommers Lingerie sobbed into her Macchiato when I interviewed her at the top of a huge mountain of unsold 'Teeny Weeny Strings'. "Sales have collapsed by nearly 200% in the past year and some of our stores may have to close if we can't get women's bottoms back into thongs."
"And how do you plan to do that?" I asked.

"Stop chavettes buying them!" snapped the spokes person. "It's the association with teenage chavs who flaunt their thongs that's caused this backlash among decent women."
"Chavettes?"

"Sexually aggressive, thong-wearing, 14 yr old harlots with filthy cigarettes dangling from their sneering lips who terrorize communities with their violence, swearing and droves of illegitimate kids," explained the spokes person. "One cannot go out any more without encountering gangs of these disgusting teenagers dressed in hooded tracksuits and Burberry baseball caps on every street corner, openly flaunting their thongs at complete strangers. Is it any wonder that ordinary women are sick and tired of being associated with these sluts and are looking for less revealing alternatives, such as the sensible cotton bloomers favoured by their grandmothers? Unless we ban the sale of thongs to these hooligans the whole lingerie industry will go down the toilet!"

Sadly, there is not much chance of a ban being imposed upon what some experts predict will soon be the dominant culture in this country, as a leading sociologist was at pains to point out us. "The insidious signs of chav 'culture' are all around us," boomed Professor Strungfondel. "Empty cider bottles and condom packets litter our streets, along with half-eaten burgers and discarded thongs. Short of enforced sterilisation, these vermin will continue to breed like rabbits, smoking, drinking, fighting and fornicating their way into every strata of society."

I steered the professor back to the subject in hand by asking him if he thought the drop in the sale of thongs was due to their association with chavs.
"No question about it," he shouted. "Any decent woman who wears one of these filthy things risks being branded a slut and a moron. At the height of the thong explosion, in 2003, sales of strings accounted for approximately 61.28% of all panty sales, but that figure has now fallen to below 10%. It is only a matter of time before thongs join split-crotch panties and suspender belts as a niche item only worn by sex workers, elderly clergymen and transsexual Reality TV show contestants."

The irony of this was not lost on 'D-list' celebrity, Clamidia Almada, a transsexual Reality TV show contestant who asked us not to reveal her name, but failed to send us the enormous cheque we demanded. Clami reminded me that thongs had first been worn by strippers and American trailer trash until they won respectability when Britney Spears flaunted one on stage. “Showing your thong is so five minutes ago,” said the former Big Brother winner.

"So what do you wear?" I asked.

"Well..actually I'm not wearing anything," he giggled.

I politely declined Clami’s invitation to verify her claims and beat a hasty retreat before the walking tit-scaffold could carry out her threat to 'slip into something more uncomfortable.'
The dramatic decline in the sales of thongs has also refuelled the concerns of many health professionals who have repeatedly warned of the dangers associated with the wearing of tight underwear. Top model, Elle Macpherson, 41, who launched her own range of sensible undies earlier this month, told me: “Thongs are not only uncomfortable but unsanitary and dangerous. Women who persist in wearing them are risking infection and infertility."

Her warning was echoed by Dr Butholin, a senior gynaecologist at the University of London, who told us: "There are now a number of recognised medical conditions associated with the extended wearing of thongs."
"Extended?" I queried. "You mean for long periods of time?"
"No, I mean extended. The material stretches and extends into the anterior annulus superficialis, causing irritation, infection and ultimately, death."

"DEATH!?" I exclaimed.

"OK, I lied about that. But gusset chafe is no picnic for the thousands of women who come to me, I assure you. Nor are chronic constipation, haemorrhoids, ring sting and rectovaginal thrush"
"Anal thrush, doctor? Is there such a condition."
"No, but telling women they have it is the surest way I know to get them to let me sedate them while I insert a very large, organic suppository up their puburectalis maximus."

"Organic suppository, doctor?"

"Well I call it a suppository so as not to alarm them when the suppository discharges its um, liquid contents."
"Are you telling me that having unprotected anal sex with your female patients cures them of these distressing conditions?"

"Well, no but it seems to put them off wearing thongs for a while."

I raise the question do pussies really need to be bathed?

Not always, in fact, most pussies only need to be bathed if they start to exude a foul smelling or harmful substance, or have a skin condition. I have never bathed my favourite pussy. Surely you can do a fine job of keeping your pussy clean with your tongue and fingers, and frequent bathing can actually dry it's skin and hair and cause more problems than it solves. But if you must do it, here's the proper way:

Pussy Bathing:

First, brush or comb your pussy thoroughly. Never wet a matted coat. Few modern short-haired pussies will have mats, but if any sticky substance such as hardened cream or chocolate is in the fur, carefully clip or comb it out before wetting. Wetting will only make such problems worse.

Use a gentle, natural shampoo for your pussy. Avoid lanolin, deodorants, pesticides, or citrus fruits. All these things are irritating or toxic to pussies, or coat their fur. I personally like some of the new products containing oatmeal, which taste really nice and leaves the skin of my favourite pussy feeling really soft and clean.

Have a pile of towels, and somewhere to sit while your partner or close friend holds your pussy. Use an empty shampoo bottle, and mix the shampoo with warm water, so when you apply it to your pussy it's warm, not cold. Cold liquids will make pussy flinch. Don't forget to lay a folded towel under your pussy's bottom to soak up any spills. This makes any pussy feel really secure.

I like to have the water running before I begin washing my favourite pussy. I let the towel get nice and warm and wet before sitting her down on it. Hold pussy firmly with your fingers grasping the fur if necessary. Then use a hand-held sprayer to gently wet her all over before finishing her off with a brisk rub down.

Warning: If you find this over-excites your pussy you are washing her too often.

A man who just died is delivered to a local mortuary wearing an expensive, expertly tailored black suit.

The female blonde mortician asks the deceased's wife how She would like the body dressed. She points out that the man does look good in the black suit he is already wearing.

The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband looked his best in blue, and that she wants him in a blue suit. She gives the blonde mortician a blank check and says, 'I don't care what it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing.'

The woman returns the next day for the wake. To her delight, she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly.

She says to the mortician, 'Whatever this cost, I'm very satisfied. You did an excellent job and I'm very grateful. How much did you spend?' To her astonishment, the mortician returns her blank check.

'There's no charge,' says the blonde mortician.

'No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit!' the widow says.

'Honestly, ma'am,' the blonde says, 'it cost nothing. You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband's size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice.'

'So I just switched the heads!'

All British women suffering from sexual problems, a general lack of desire, or who are simply tired of their husband's inability to find their 'G' spot, can now obtain free dildos from their Doctor.

One of Britain's most eminent consultants, Dr Gel Doe former professor of sexual dysfunction at The Sutcliffe Hospital, in Tunbridge Wells has gone one step further and is referring his patients to a London sex shop for a helping hand in exploring their bodies or possibly an entire fist. "Almost three quarters of all British women suffer from some form of sexual dysfunction, and vibrators are an enormous aid for women who want to get to the bottom of their problems," the charming consultant told me today.

"Don't you think that's their partner's job?" I asked.
"It's their partner's failure to do the job that's half the problem," retorted Dr Doe sharply.
"What's the other half?"
"There isn't one."
"Come again?"
"British men are just too damn small. Most of my patients are lucky if they come at all."

A bit harsh I thought!

Although three out of four British women now own a vibrator or shop regularly for courgettes and cucumbers the use of dildos in British medical circles remains controversial.

"Vibrators are a completely new concept for us," said Dr Marj Duracell, a spokeswoman for St Saphire Clinic in Staines. "We're trying to educate English women about the therapeutic uses of these devices, but it's proving an uphill struggle. Their association with sex shops and porn stars like Jordan is a tough nut to crack. They prefer the current medical implements used for dilating vaginas, and are frightened of uncomfortable things that look like a cross between a mobile phone and a toilet brush."

Her staff nurse, Sister Mary Curettage, nodded sympathetically, and added: "We've been showing women tiny, squidgy, pink things that do the same job and have introduced them to all the different sizes and shapes these things come in, but so far they've just not taken them up."

Although vibrators started life as a medical tool back in 1883, Dr Duracell says that the majority of her patients had never seen a vibrator until they visited Holland. "I find their lack of knowledge utterly astonishing," she said sadly. 'British women are living in the dark ages."

Since the British Goverment introduced the new scheme last month, US visitor numbers to London have soared by over 3,000 percent.

"It's something I never dreamed of purchasing before and I've been in England for 17 years," said Maria Lewinsky, a 32-year-old customer service manager working in a London supermarket. "Now they're freely available from my Doctor, I've got three and have another one on back order."
"Back order?" I asked.

"Yeah," replied the slim brunette shyly, "it's a twelve-inch, hard plastic deluxe vibrator with a jello-lubricated butt plug. My Doctor's having it flown in specially from Walmart, in California!"

Well there yer go!

A bloke not remotely connected with the Palace, but who once made the mistake of sleeping with Camilla Parker-Bowles, told DSS, that Prince Harry will begin studies for his Bar Mitzvah next week with Rabbi Gauddo Mammon of the Poundo Flesch Yeshiva in Maidstone, Kent.

Public opinion on the Prince's decision was mixed. "It really shows the sincerity of his apology, to convert like that," gushed Lady Tamara Snogworthy, a candidate for the 'D-List' Celebrity gameshow, 'I'm a Posh Tart — get me out of here.'

"I wonder if he'll look as sexy in pig-tails and one of those funny black hats?" Her concerns were echoed by the entire hockey team at St Lesbia's Catholic High School for Girls, in Tonbridge, several of whom had to be given mouth-to-mouth resuscitation after hearing the news.

As expected, loud protests were heard in other quarters. The British Pork Council has condemned the move, pointing out that a member of the Royal family and third in line to the Throne should set a better example in promoting, rather than eschewing, meat products made in Britain. "I mean," a short, fat bloke in a striped apron told us, "if he stops eating bangers with his mash, what kind of message does that send out to our kids?"

Rumour was rife that in order to fulfil Rabbinical law, Prince Harry might have to have the foreskin lopped off his spam javelin. Royal Physician and leading gynaecologist, Sir Helmut Smith Candy, was circumspect when The DSS tackled him on this delicate issue. "I could not possibly speculate about individual members of the Royal family," he intoned, "or indeed, their hangers on."

In the meantime, Prince Harry has cancelled his attendance at the opening of Mel Brookes' musical extravaganza — Yet Again The Producers — at the Royal Albert Hall, and will instead participate in singing the South Park version of the Dreidel Song at the Joseph Mengele Home for displaced Jews.

“God Save The Queen!”

That is what I always thought!

In a stunning legislative move by Mr Browns Government via , the High Court of the United Kingdom, banned the sale, advertising, or exhibition of any three-dimensional device used primarily for the stimulation of human genitalia!

The landmark decision makes sex toy possession an offence punishable by up to five years in prison and/or a £1,000 fine. Once the controversial law passed, United Kingdom’s Premier, Gordon-The Unelected, authorised dozens of simultaneous sting operations to rid the country of the phallic threat to British lifea threat second only to terrorism in these dangerous and uncertain times.

At Good Vibrations, an adult store on the East Side of Croyden, several undercover policemen witnessed the sale of not one, not two, but eighteen individual vibrators in less than an hour earlier this week. “Things were really buzzing at the store,” commented storeowner Gale McFarland from behind bars in Belmarsh prison for women. “None of us realised the hot men in trench coats were cops. We thought they were London metrosexuals in the market for some new butt plugs. When they asked to frisk us, we just assumed they were ordinary perverts,” added the 53-year-old grandmother of four. McFarland and her employees are eligible for parole in 2010.

As stunned United Kingdom women picked themselves up off the pelvic floor, 19-year-old Rita Millingham could be heard screaming at police raiding the Pleasure Plaza in the unfortunately named town of Ramsbottom. “You can have my Rabbit Pearl when you rip it from my cold, dead thighs!” She was later arrested and held without bail. Fred Phillips, who was shopping for a new inflatable doll to replace the old one he patched up with duct tape after an unexpected encounter with a hot muffler, witnessed Milligan clenching a 12 inch silicone willy between her thighs, 'as fiercely as a drowning woman would hold a bouy.'

The United Kingdom law may be rubbing women up the wrong way but it’s not the first of its kind in the world.

Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas in the US have similar laws on the books, banning the sale and/or advertisement of sex toys for women. South Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia are all considering joining them. But the new laws do allow a little wiggle room, according to Texas based attorney Jack Offalot.

“Devices are only illegal to own or sell if their primary use is the stimulation of female genitalia. In other words, if your vibrator performs other functions, it’s completely legal or own or sell under all state statutes,” he explained to The Happening Place Team,
“Let me get this straight,” I asked him over coffee at Starbucks. “It’s legal to own, sell and masturbate with ordinary household items, as long as they’re sold for other functions?”
“Correct. Many household tools, for example”
I was never much on DIY, so I cut him off. “How about vegetables? Cucumbers, pickles?”
“As long as you eat them afterwards.”
“Candles?”
“Tapered candles work the best.”

My mind was whirling with ideas. “A turkey baster?”

“It's the only way my wife gets a good stuffing on Thanksgiving,” he quipped. “Yet another thing to be thankful for. And of course, the electric toothbrush, a staple for any modern woman with a healthy libido.”

Despite the fact that the United Kingdom residents average the fewest number of teeth in the union, toothbrush sales have always been impressive over the years, which has perplexed many European marketing executives.

Some clever entrepreneurs have taken advantage of the loose wording of the law in the US by designing undercover vibrators, dildos disguised as normal household items.

One such designer, Smith and Wesson, has released the designs for their Colt 69, which will hit the store shelves later this year. Part handgun, part vibrator, the Colt 69 has a retail price of you guessed it £49.96, which includes a complimentary round of bullets and batteries.

“The inspiration for the Colt 69 was a woman named Sharon Wood, whose Louisiana residency restrained her from buying a Jessica Rabbit, Doc Johnson Pocket Rocket, or even a Wal-Mart brand neck massager,” a spokes person for Smith and Wesson told The Happening Plae. “One night, after her husband of 39 years belched his way to sleep after another premature ejaculation, she took matters into her own hands. Grabbing the nearest item as she lay in bed, which just happened to be her old man’s Colt 45 under the pillow, she masturbated herself into such a frenzy that she literally shot her load. Unfortunately she didn‘t survive to see the unveiling of our product, but I like to think that when this baby hits the stores she'll be smiling down at us from Heaven.”

All of which is bad news for the makers of the Swiss Sex Army Knife. The British-designed multi-function sex toy which we reviewed earlier this year, has not sold well in a America a fate that is unlikely to befall the Colt 69. In a nation where the gun is an enduring symbol of male pride, the Colt 69 is sure to be a winner because it’s a vibrator that men won’t be embarrassed to buy for their wives and girlfriends. Also, it has the endorsement of the NRA, one of the USA’s most powerful lobbies on Capitol Hill. They’re already lobbying Congress to allow the bypass of the customary seven-day waiting period for the weapon/sex toy. “I think it’s very clear to consumers,” added the spokes person, “That when vibrators are outlawed, only outlaws will have vibrators.”

The fate of sex toys in the our beloved United Kingdom was still largely up in the air as we went to press, but one thing is clear; the Colt 69 seems tailor made for a nation of chronic wankers who love their guns but are terrified of a 9 inch vibrating, plastic willy.

Tel’s Personal Problem Page:

*Some problems readers have sent to me are of an intimate nature. If you are of a shy, nervous disposition, please leave while your pants are still clean.

*NOTE FOR THE VERY DIM. Although every question on these VERY PERSONAL PROBLEMS pages is a genuine plea for help from some desperately sad person, my perhaps witty, literate answers are entirely satirical and NOT to be taken seriously!

1.
'Sara' (15), from Leeds, in the UK, asks:
Well i was so close 2 going out wiv this boy but he said he said mayb coz i got my m8s 2 ask him but he said no 2 them but he came up 2 me and he said if i asked him he wud say yeh this was over the phone so i went 2 him the next day 2 find i was 2 l8 2 ask him this happened sumer 2007 i still like him is there any point in waiting 4 him 2 finish with his other gf i really like him.

Answer:
No point at all, Sara. Let me try to translate the incomprehensible gibberish that passes for communication among you and your 'm8s' into passable English:

'I failed miserably to date this boy, because, like the dim-witted, gutless chav I am I got my friends to ask him out on my behalf and he refused. Later, he telephoned me to say that if I got up the bottle to ask him out myself he might consider my request. So I approached him the next day but he said I was too late. This happened nearly 12 months ago when I was 14. In the interim he has found a girlfriend and I have become even dimmer. Is there any point in waiting for him to ask me out on the off chance that he might dump his girlfriend for me?'

*No, none. Frankly, your only chance of scoring is to put on your prettiest belly-button ring, squeeze into a risible pelmet that barely covers your arse and hang around the bike sheds. If you're lucky the boy may just ask you out. If you're really lucky, a gang of your fellow chavs may rip your thong off you, spread your thighs as wide as the vacuum between your ears, and shag some sense into you before it's too late.

'Mojo' (14), from London, asks:
No matter how good things are going I just can't be happy. It feels like there's nothing I can do about it. Every day is the same old day; get up, go to school, go home, do homework, then sleep and then again for the next three years of my childhood. I have nothing to look forward to. Please help!

Answer:
Look on the bright side; you could be a 14-year-old Chav living on a sink estate who crawls out of the foetid pit she's sharing with the fathers of her three kids, feeds her latest 'littlun', collects her giro, goes home, downs a bottle of vodka, gets shagged by the landlord in lieu of rent and falls into unconsciousness. At least you have your homework to look forward to. On the other hand, you could put aside your self-pitying whining, turn your back on your self-obsessed existence, and bugger off to darkest Africa to help people with real problems. Such as where to find the next meal and how to escape the marauding gangs who want to rape your two-year-old child. Your choice, Mojo.

'Lisa' (45), from Calgary, in Canada, asks:
This guy I like, acts like he likes me one day, then doesn't the next. He will be distant to me around his girlfriend and nice to me when she is not around. Then he will act distant to me and she is not even there! It seems like it depends on what mood he is in. I am so sick of this guessing game. He knows I care about him and he shows he is interested in me. His body language, etc. I just don't know what the heck he is trying to tell me or whether he really is interested in me OR NOT!! I am so confused. Him and his girlfriend have an open relationship where each one can do whatever they please.

Answer:
Are you sure you're 45, Lisa? Frankly, I've known 14-year-old chavs with more sense than you appear to possess. Have you tried unzipping his pants, whipping out his willy and wrapping your lips around it? No, silly question. That would require imagination and initiative; qualities you clearly don't possess.

'Stu', from Preston, in the UK, asks:
Until recently I had an ordinary sex life. I now find I like to wank myself with my wife's dirty pee stained white knickers on my head. Is this normal?

Answer:
It is if she's in them. If not, you may find that playing with your wife rather than yourself will improve your dismal sex life.

'Charlotte' (15), from Limerick, in Ireland, asks:
OK, I'm lesbian and about a month ago my pussy started seriously irritating me, itching, and being quite sore, and now its caught onto my gf. I want to tell some one but I'm too scared. I just wanna know if u cud take a guess at wat might be going on? (please dont be nasty).

Answer:
The only nasty thing here is your girlfriend's dirty mouth, Charlotte. You might try swopping her germ-infested fingers for a squeaky clean willy. Sperm is sterile you know, unlike your girlfriend's filthy tongue.

'Billy' from Reading, in the UK, asks:
My girl friend won't let me lick her jazzy jeff. I like licking the furry muff but my little bit on the side won't let me taste her doner kebab. I've been with her for three years and never had a close encounter with her fanny. Please help, I'm worried in case there's something she doesn't want me to see.

Answer:
That would be the enormous load the bloke she's been seeing behind your back regularly dumps in her love tunnel, Jimmy. Unless you enjoy swallowing other men's cum I suggest you stick to grooming your girlfriend's pitch with your tongue.

Lucy' (27), from Birmingham, in the UK, asks:
I just don't know where I stand with my best friend. When we have a drink she's really lovey dubby and keeps kissing me and saying I love u and don't ever hurt me. There's something about her I can't put my finger on please wat can I do?

Answer:
Do you mean 'can't put your finger on' or 'won't put your finger on,' Lucy? Look, she's a lezza, you dozy slapper. Either let her into your knickers or tell her you don't play for the home team.

'Sandra.' from Leicester, in the UK, asks:
I've known this bus driver for about 5 years and my husband knows him but what my husband doesn't know is that I am having an affair with this man. We had sex only once but it was really good. I love my husband very much I have been with him for 10 years and married for 4 years. I need your help what should I do about this driver?

Answer:
Perhaps the best solution would be to divorce your hubby and marry the bus driver and have an affair with your ex on the side. No, hang on, that would be the same as the situation you're in now. Oh, bugger it, just carry on as you are; the 52% of married women who cheat on their husbands can't all be wrong, can they?

'Zoe' (23), from Brooklyn, NY, in the USA, asks:
My problem is that I can't have an orgasm from intercourse. This is probably way more common than people think? So I figured it was because the boys I fucked in the past were probably all just a bunch of selfish pricks, right? But I've been with three new people since and still nothing (besides getting some good hand jobs). Should I just wait until some compatible fuck-mate comes along, or is it actually possible to not be physically able to have an orgasm from intercourse?? Is it just the Clit??! Oh and I've been with many a varied dick size too. Big and medium.

Answer:
Let's not beat about the bush, darling. You're a slut. After that many partners your pussy is obviously as loose as your morals. Short of having a nip and tuck or using the back door, I'm afraid you're just going to have to buy larger vegetables.

An Australian guy istravelling around the Greek Islands . He walks into
a bar and, by chance, is served by an Australian barmaid.

As she takes his order, a Foster's, she notices his accent.
Over the course of the
evening they get chatting. At the end of her shift he asks if she wants
to come back to his place.

Although she is attracted to him she says no. He then offers to pay her
$200 to sleep with him.

As she is travelling around the world, and is short of funds, she
agrees.

The next night the guy turns up again. Again he orders Fosters and after
showing her plenty of attention, asks if she will sleep with him again
for $200. She remembers the night before and is only too happy to agree.

This goes on for 5 nights. On the 6th night the guy comes in again,
orders Fosters but goes and sits in the corner. The barmaid thinks that
if she pays him more attention then, maybe she can shake some more cash
out of him. So she goes over and sits next to him.

She asks him where he's from in Australia .

' Melbourne ', he tells her.

'So am I. What suburb?' she enquires.

'Glen Iris' he replies.

'That's amazing,' she says excitedly, 'so am I - whatstreet?'

' Cameo Street ' he replies.

'This is unbelievable.........' she says, her voice quavering;

'What number?'

'Number 20', he replies.

She is totally astonished. 'You are NOT going to believe this,' she
screams, 'but I'm from number 22! My parents still live there!'

'I know...' he says, 'Your Dad gave me $1,000 to give toyou'

HE WHO DRINKSAUSTRALIAN, THINKS AUSTRALIAN

During my twenties and thirties it was my goal to have sex with every physical type of woman on the planet!

“The Sacred Quest!”

I was proceeding from the belief that by sleeping with a representative of every kind of female body, and every category of appearance I would, in effect, come to know all women and that such an accomplishment would be good for my life education and my many failed attempts to understand the Woman.

Okay?

Of course, even to gather only samples from what, you realise when you get into it, is a vast assortment of sizes, shapes and physiognomies, would have meant putting up numbers comparable to Wilt Chamberlain’s. And being all of five-foot-six, more skinny than slim—and with a nose you would think must obstruct my vision—I’d obviously set my bar too high. But spurred by the promise of the literary rewards that even limited success would yield, I determinedly pursued my objective, and had it not been for a prostate gland the Cambridge School of Medicine will surely make a bid for upon my demise, I’d probably have been at it much longer.

Middle-aged now and long out of the game, I’m forced to concede that my art would have been better served by writing more and researching less. Still, the time spent on my project wasn’t entirely wasted. Collateral though it may be, I did reap one unanticipated and very practical benefit. While my collection of memories isn’t as comprehensive as I’d have wished (variations on the theme of plainness are more than adequately represented but girls who look like Nicole Kidman and Jennifer Connelly are conspicuous by their absence), the mental snapshots I've kept of the women I WAS able to cop have been more than sufficient in their quantity and variety to save me the price of a subscription to 'Jugs.'

And, indeed, I have been left with a story or two to tell.

Not least for the adventure it turned into, a hook-up I think of a lot was with a twenty something woman named Crystal who’d come to London just days before for the very first time from the Midwest on a month-long vacation.

We met in a bar. I was standing alone, checking out the action, when I heard, right behind me, the sound of a short, sharp fart—like a wooden match striking. Turning to look I confronted a sight only the word 'humongous' could accurately describe a female at least a foot taller than I was and approximately the width of the Great Wall of China.

She was smiling flirtatiously at me and, though taken aback by her appearance (not to mention her novel method of gaining my attention) and instinctively recoiling, I quickly recovered when I realised the unique opportunity she was presenting me with. Here was my chance to cross gross obesity from the list of body types I hadn’t yet explored.

In a brief conversation—during which it occurred to me that she’d be almost attractive if she just lost 300 pounds—Crystal told me she was a cashier at a Michigan supermarket (a career chosen, she readily admitted, for the substantial food discount it offered); that she had once played a Packard convertible in a high school production of 'Grease,' and that her parents had tragically expired in a suicide pact just weeks after her birth.

Then she invited me to her hotel room.

As we were leaving, I saw the bartender, who could not, of course, have been aware of my agenda, shaking his head in disbelief.
“That’s it,” he nudged the customer slouched in front of him. “Right there—that dude. That’s the definition of drunk.”

At her hotel, to which we necessarily took separate cabs, the first thing Crystal did was crack open, and devour, the complete contents of a pack of chocolate cookies. Then, from a utility-kitchen refrigerator, she retrieved and consumed (in exactly what order I don’t recall) a container of chicken wings, several packets of potato chips and an economy-size tub of cheese spread.

Finally she put a Barry Manilow tape into her boom box.

Now it’s not that I mind Barry Manilow all that much, but a more appropriate musical accompaniment to the night’s activities would have been the theme from 'Raiders of the Lost Ark.' The thing was—and my insistence that we leave no more than the bathroom light on was definitely a contributing factor—I could not for the life of me find Crystal’s love tunnel. I’d heard that this was a common occurrence with very fat women, and especially with very fat women under poor lighting conditions, but it still took a lot longer than I would have expected. What was compounding the problem? Simply put, Crystal’s body could have served as a Special Forces training ground for the field of hazards and challenges it presented. I’m speaking of the twisting climbs and sudden valleys, the crags, the craters and the amazing plenitude of gullies, ravines and bogs that I was, on my hands and knees, obliged to negotiate and traverse in my search for the motherlode.

A dismaying project to begin with, my progress was further impeded by an extraordinary number of ambiguous fissures and crevices that, not quickly identifiable, required time-consuming investigation and study. You wouldn’t believe how many deceptive nooks and seductive crannies I came across. In fact, at one point, when I felt for sure that I’d located and entered the secret cave, I discovered, to my chagrin, that I’d inserted myself into what was only a fold of fiercely perspiring epidermis. What’s more, I realized, when I looked up, that I was seriously lost in some apparently outlying district of Crystal’s anatomy.
You’re thinking that I had only myself to blame, that not to stop and ask for directions is typical of a man. Well, I swear, I was just about to when I heard what sounded like the swift currents of a babbling brook in the distance.

Groping my way toward the sound it increased in volume until it was a deafening roar and I knew I was directly above its source. Reasonably confident that I’d located Crystal’s stomach, I paused to collect myself and survey my surroundings. In the absence of a compass I was looking for some sort of marker with which to establish my coordinates. When I noticed that the horizon ahead of me was blocked by an especially pronounced elevation in the terrain, I reasoned that I was likely facing north. With a cautious optimism I began, then, to crawl slowly backwards. You can imagine the rush I got when before too long my toes were caressed by a soft and lush foliage, and then bathed in the gentle bubbling of a warm spring.

I was at last at the pleasure grove.

Feeling like a world-beater, I was glowing with a sense of accomplishment and I have to confess that I indulged myself in a moment of pride. Relying on my instincts and wit, persevering in the face of exceptional difficulties, I had achieved an elusive goal lesser men would certainly have given up on. My triumph was short-lived however. After entering the promised land my mettle was tested again and again. Twice I was jettisoned (and risked becoming a ceiling fixture) by the astonishing power of Crystal’s pelvic motion.

It was really disappointing. Each time I was forced to go back to square one and I had to reach deep inside myself for the perseverance I wasn’t at all sure I possessed. But I hung in there and on my third expedition, with my eyes now accustomed to the dark, I was recognizing landmarks and proceeding with dispatch. Having reached the treasure chest within minutes, I managed to more or less to stay put this time, and with the tenacity of the Captain from the film Moby Dick, clinging to the back of a great whale in a high sea, those final seconds were every bit as exhilarating as the Splash Mountain ride at Disney World.

In the morning, Crystal, cheerily humming to herself (doubtless never before the object of such committed attention), seemed unaware of my odyssey. After eating a cake, and washing it down with a quart of chocolate milk, she asked me if she could take a Polaroid of the two of us naked in bed. (Should you ever come across this picture, I am in it.

That’s the top of my head, not a puppy, just behind her left ankle.)

Then she announced that she was cutting her trip short and returning home. There was no reason, she said, to remain in London now, because no big-city experience that she might imagine could possibly surpass her night with me.

Having completed my mission and worried she’d suggest that we get together again, I was enormously relieved by her decision and gave it my enthusiastic support.

But as I departed, her expression suggested she was slightly ambivalent about changing her plans; that she was thinking of something she might later regret missing. Not wishing to prolong the moment I chose not to ask any questions, so I’ll never know just what was on her mind. Yes, it could have been the Transit Museum or the Edgar Allan Poe Cottage. But I suspect that the most likely explanation for her puzzled look was forgoing the chance to discover a new food group!

I have 2 dogs & I was out this morning buying a large bag of Winalot in Tesco's and was standing in the queue at the till.

A woman behind me asked if I had a dog?

On impulse, I told her that no! I was starting The Winalot Diet again, although I probably shouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds, before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.

I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and the way that it works is to load your trouser pockets with Winalot nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry & that the food is nutritionally complete so I was going to try it again.

I have to mention here that practically everyone in the queue was by now enthralled with my story, particularly a guy who was behind her.

Horrified, she asked if I'd ended up in the hospital in that condition because I had been poisoned?

I told her no, it was because I'd been sitting in the road licking my balls and a car hit me.

I thought one guy was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard as he staggered out the door.

Stupid cow..........why else would I buy dog food??

Answers on a Postcard!

The right to wear religious symbols in school has been asserted by a fifth form pupil and practicing Jedi Knight at the High Court.

Kevin Baldcock, from Cannock, arrived flanked by senior officials of the UK Jedi Council to challenge his expulsion from Hedge End High School for refusing to remove his lightsabre during a geography lesson. The court heard that Kevin was sent home indefinitely after being found with the laser-based weapon under his cloak.

The counsel for Hedge End School argued that the decision did not breach Kevin's human rights. "This is not a headscarf or even a chastity ring, this is a lethal weapon more suitable for battling an army of Sith Lords on a moon of Endor," he said.

Judge Douglas Ramurbottom QC heard that the carrying of a lightsabre was an integral part of the Jedi religion, mainly used for symbolic purposes but also as a means of fighting the dark side.

At one point Kevin, 15, approached the bench and handed Judge Ramurbottom a handwritten note. Stepping back, he gazed hypnotically into the judge's eyes and was heard to instruct "This is the decision you are looking for". Judge Ramurbottom appeared momentarily bewildered before seeming to snap out of it and held the boy in contempt.

The result of the case will have serious implications for the Jedi community in the UK. Jediism has joined a long list of so-called "new age" beliefs systems that include Scientology, Ninjistu and Protestantism. Believers say it is in no way merely an excuse to piss around on the Census form.

Kevin's mother, Mrs Baldcock, appeared unsupportive outside the court. "We've been trying to get him out of this wicked religion for the past two years," she said. "He's become indoctrinated and regularly performs 'Jedi mind tricks' on his little sister. Poor thing doesn't know whether she's coming or going."

A decision is expected next week.

Many thousands of vulnerable would-be homeowners have been cynically targeted by what could prove to be one of the biggest financial mis-selling scandals of recent years, writes Tel Crusader, The Happening Place’s overworked Spin Affairs Correspondent.

The Government's much-vaunted HomeBuy shared ownership scheme has by all accounts sent dodgy pensions companies, purveyors of dot-com unit trusts and even timeshare touts into apoplectic rage that they do not enjoy the seeming imperviousness to financial regulatory sanctions which the Government and its minions evidently feel they do.

The Happening Place Team can sensationally reveal, as can any journalist who wants to do more than parrot Treasury spin, that the HomeBuy proposal documents are largely based on sketchy at best research (some of which was helpfully withheld until 2 weeks before the public consultation ended), mostly dating back rather conveniently 3-5 years ago to a time when the house price surge seemed unstoppable.

"It did strike me as rather odd," Crusader comments, "that the HomeBuy proposals entirely fail to mention that the property boom is now well and truly over, that any number of economic forecasts and indicators (including the ODPM's own) back this up, that many financially savvy homeowners have been 'helped' by selling up and getting off the property ladder rather than on it, and that waiting for prices to fall might in many cases be a rather good idea."

He added, "Well, better than buying a 50% share of a vastly overpriced, miniscule, depreciating new build rabbit-hutch with all the strings attached - even restrictions on one's choice of job - which HomeBuy can entail. But that's not exactly difficult'."

Of course, as any reputable financial adviser will affirm, it is nothing more than best practice to lure people into entering an asset class at the top of the market on the basis of flawed and years-out-of-date assumptions, especially something as illiquid as property. Few financial advisors, however, enjoy the privilege of doing so with the benefit of a sycophantic and dutiful media spin machine or of subsidising such schemes at taxpayers' expense.

The move has, however, been greeted with enthusiasm in an independent report from leading property developers Shysters & Hutchbuilders who currently have 100,000 "executive studio apartments" languishing on their books, a slew of bad debts from failed off-plan completions, and whose share price was set to plummet overnight on publication of their accounts and which would undoubtedly have fuelled the simmering economic "feel-bad" factor. They, perhaps understandably, have no objection whatsoever to the Government's far-sighted and benevolent munificence in endowing them with a virtually guaranteed (and subsidised) market for their wares.

A recent study has revealed that short, fat ugly women with red hair and greasy skin are more likely to develop heart disease as well as fail to score with guys, except at McDonald's on a Sunday, when they may get off with a short, fat bearded guy called Kevin.

Unless you're a tall, slim, gorgeous hottie, the chances are that you are already on your way to intensive care easy street in a coronary care unit. According to a report just published in the ever popular Women's magazine 'Microwaveable Meals in Minutes' the likelihood of women suffering heart disease increases by approximately 94.78 percent for every extra inch of flab.

The study of more than 1,947 British women aged between 25 and 55 found a clear link between height, weight, hair colour and the risk of developing coronary heart disease, as well as more serious medical conditions such as spots, genital warts, breast hair and thrush.

The author of the report, Dr Anna Rexia, told me "a short stature, red hair and obesity are statistically significant proxies for environmental factors which affect both the growth of the bones in the legs and also have a long-term effect on coronary insufficiency."

"Does that mean short, fat women with red hair and greasy skin are more likely to die from a heart attack?" I asked.
"In a nutshell, yes."
"You don't think it could have something to do with all the crap these fat, ugly women stuff their faces with?" I asked.
"Such as?"
"Cheese, microwaveable pizzas, burgers, chips, snickers that kind of thing."
"American women like Britney Spears and Paris Hilton seem to live on fries and cheese-based snacks and they're not short or fat, are they?"
"I guess it can't have anything to do with what you eat then."

Dr Rexia went on to tell me that similar studies have shown that the children of tall, dark, handsome men also face less risk of heart disease.

"Why's that?" I asked her.

"Because tall, dark, handsome men don't marry short, fat ugly bitches with red hair and greasy skin," replied the tall, leggy, blonde bombshell curtly.

The BBC, British Board of Classification has banned the complete works of William Shakespeare, following a manic family killing spree by a teenager who had witnessed several of the Bard's plays.

Schoolboy Douglas Agincourt, 16, was said to be "obsessed" with the works of the playwright, which include scenes of sex, mutilation and murder, including patricide, stabbings and poisoning.

Agincourt, said by friends to be a loner, reportedly killed fourteen people only hours after watching King Lear, followed by an abridged version of Hamlet. Agincourt plotted to kill his stepfather, stabbed a man through a curtain, tied an uncle to a chair and gouged his eyes out, before poisoning a vat of wine that was served at a family party. Nearly everyone, including Agincourt, died.

One of the few surviving members of the family, Horatio, 24, told The Happening Place, "He would spend hours watching and reading these incredibly violent plays. We tried to encourage him to do the things normal kids do, like play Grand Theft Auto2 or even Manhunt 2, but he was more interested in this violent filth. I'm glad they've seen common sense and are banning the lot before anyone else gets hurt."

A government spokesman said that Shakespeare would be replaced on the school syllabus by Harry Potter and, for younger children, the films of Quentin Tarantino.

Dear Management,

You will soon be receiving a writ as my client has filed for unemployment benefits as well as disability compensation. Disloyalty and disregard for ones' employer are not legal grounds for dismissal.
Unemployment benefits are therefore warranted, as Mr. P. Nis is incapable of extended periods of unemployment. The disability compensation is due to the skin condition and irritating discharge he contracted while in your employ, which will severely restrict his opportunities for future employment.

We are not surprised at your increasing dependence on robotics. We have it on good authority that you often outsourced Mr P Nis' duties to third world countries and non-union contractors, undoubtedly giving you unsatisfactory results, just as you will certainly experience with your mechanical substitutes, which are all made in China.

Mr P Nis recalls that during a brief labour strike your facility was quickly overrun with scabs. Rest assured that my client would never list you as a reference, and will adamantly deny ever having been in your employ. Working in the vicinity of that unkempt, odoriferous storage area you call your back door would not look good on Mr P. Nis' employment record!

Yours sincerely,
Mike Hunt

Sherlock was seated in his usual place by the fire enveloped by a cloud of malodorous smoke, turning the pages of The London Recorder in a desultory fashion.

"So, Watson", said he suddenly, "you do not propose to purchase a first edition of 'Spanking for Pleasure' after all?"
I gave a start of astonishment. Accustomed as I was to Holmes' curious faculties this sudden intrusion into my most intimate thoughts was both inexplicable and embarrassing.

"How the devil do you know that?" I asked.
He wheeled round to face me, a gleam of mischievous amusement in his deep-set eyes. "Now, Watson, confess you are utterly amazed," said he.
"I am gob-smacked, Holmes!"
"I ought to make you sign a paper to that effect."
"Why?"
"Because in two minutes you will say it is all so absurdly simple that even a tame rabbit could construe it."
"I am sure I will say nothing of the kind."

"You see, my dear Watson," he began with the air of a wizard addressing a class of particularly dim-witted chavs, "It is really not very difficult to construct a series of inferences each dependent upon another, yet each entire in itself, if after doing so, one simply knocks out all the central inferences, and presents the audience with the conclusion to produce the startling effect I have just demonstrated.

Now, it was really not difficult, by an inspection of the mushroom stains upon the thumb and forefinger of your left hand, to feel sure that you did NOT propose to purchase a first edition of 'Spanking for Pleasure."
"I see no connection."
"Very likely not; but I can show it. Here are the missing links of this very simple chain: 1. You have mushroom stains upon your left thumb and forefinger. 2. You only get these when you have been mushrooming. 3. You never go mushrooming except with Rupert Rogerbottom. 4. Rupert is a notorious old pornographer. 5. You told me three weeks ago that Rupert had bought a sack load of new porn and that it included a mint first edition of 'Spanking for Pleasure' which he had offered to you on condition that you made a firm offer for it within three weeks. 6. Your purse is locked in my bureau drawer and you have not asked for the key. 7. You do not propose to buy this piece of titillating trash."

"Well, spank my bottom! How absurdly simple!" I cried.

"Quite so!" said Holmes, not a little nettled. "Every problem becomes very simple when it is explained to you."

Run for your lives! and hide! In an attempt to quash any potential satanic uprising Mr Brown Prime Minister unelectable, has ordered that all babies born on the 6th June 2006 to be taken into custody for questioning.

"There is a clear and present danger to the security of this country, just as there was with Saddam," said the PM, "and as such we must take pre-emptive action by bringing these potentially evil infants in for interrogation."

The firsts arrest occurred shortly after 6.06 am this morning, when little Tommy Stevens was arrested at the Whittington Nursery under Anti-Anti-Christ Legislation and taken to Paddington Green police station in west London.

"I can confirm that earlier today a 23 month old Islington child was apprehended by a team of around 250 officers, most of them heavily armed and spoiling for a fight, at a north London nursery school," said a Met spokesman. "After a brief scuffle with the mother who we may or may not have shot during the incident, the infant was taken away to a secure location to be questioned and have its nappy changed."

The ex Liberal Democrat leader Sir Menzies Campbell was expected to condemn the hospital raids but unfortunately his staff couldn't wake him up.

Dear Sir,

We regret to inform you that as of this morning, your client's employment with our company has been terminated on the grounds of disloyalty, gross negligence, burglary, and utter disregard for his employer, worsened by the aspersions he has cast upon the good character of Ms Clit Toris and the disrespectful tone of your entire correspondence.

We usually take this opportunity to wish those who were once a valuable part of the company a profitable and happy future, but since Mr P Nis never was and we don’t, we would like to tender our very sincere condolences to his future employers.

Your useless client will be replaced by the employee you so inelegantly referred to as a 'robotic substitute' although he prefers the term ‘battery operated attendant.’ It is our firm belief that he will get the job done for the time being at least until we find a new employee, preferably one who is better equipped to satisfy the company's needs than your client.

Yours sincerely,

The Management
From M.Balls
Senior Partner, Scrotum, Hunt and Scrotum.

Well, after at least fifteen billion years in the job, God is finally stepping down, it was announced today.

Speaking from a tower above the Pearly Gates, St Peter told a stunned universe that God now felt he was too old to be the Supreme Being, and would be making way for a younger man.

Departing from his prepared statement, the 2030-year-old Apostle dwelt on some of the pressures that lay behind God's decision. "Life as the Almighty hasn't been a bundle of laughs," said the former fisherman. "Juggling the need to monitor everyone's behaviour on a twenty-four hour basis with his responsibilities as a single parent has meant that God has had very little sleep over the last few aeons. Now He feels it's time for a change."

St Peter went on to praise God's record as King of Heaven, while dismissing recent criticisms that His much-vaunted Omniscience was showing signs of breaking down.

"There are things we might wish He'd done differently," he conceded. "He could have wiped out Madonna before she got a recording contract. He could have made the Americans French, so they'd dress acceptably well and shrug their shoulders in quite an attractive way. But it's easy to be wise after the event. The fact is that since the Big Bang the universe has enjoyed a period of unrivalled expansion, due in no small measure to God's unique capacity for blue-skies thinking and vertical crisis management. Look at His track record. He had the heating working by the Fourth Day, and the lights came on soon after. Compare that with to day’s government or even Virgin Trains."

God is staying on as caretaker until a successor is chosen, and the process of finding the new man is expected to begin in earnest tomorrow. Jesus is hotly tipped to succeed, though Heaven-watchers caution against seeing his election as a done deal. Whispers of nepotism are already being heard in the celestial antechambers, and his closeness to George Bush and Tony Blair is likely to count against him with the rank and file. Doubts on that score have persuaded some pundits to tip the Holy Ghost, who, along with God and Jesus, is one of the core group of three known as the Holy Trinity. He wasn't available for comment, on account of being invisible, but was believed to be hovering somewhere near the reporters' enclosure.

Blessed Michael the Archangel - known as "Two Harps" - will not be standing. He sees himself as part of the old guard, and believes the old "God's rottweiler" tag is one he'll never shake off. These days the overweight bruiser is philosophical about his image, as he revealed when he strolled out of Paradise this afternoon to tell reporters to stop hounding him. "Frankly, it's been an annoyment and an imposition to me and my wife, and would be even if I hadn't told you about it before, so I don't know why you're asking me the question... Can we do that again?"

Earlier, when St Peter was quizzed about God's own plans for the future, he stressed that God intends to have an active retirement. "He'd like to manage Shrewsbury Town when the job falls vacant at the end of the season," said the Keeper of the Keys. "He knows quite a lot about football, having watched every FA Cup Final since the first in 1871. The Shrews are well known as the crappest team in the English League, and the fans are often heard saying, 'God help us in the play-offs'. And God listens, you know. He feels that with the right sponsorship deal and nicer shorts they could start the long haul towards the Premiership."

This news was not well received by the acceptably dressed Arsene Wenger. "If Goad is allowed to manage a food-ball tim, it could be ze end of ze Beaudiful Game," he declared, shrugging in quite an attractive way. "'Owever, even wan of 'eez miracles could not 'elp Shrewzbury."

The new God will be elected by a Convocation of Angels sometime next week. A column of white smoke will be the signal that they're thinking about it while sucking on a very large spliff.

Dear Management,

We find your demands ludicrous. You keep complaining about longevity and yet refuse to offer my client overtime or even alternate work hours. Don't complain about how long Mr P Nis works when you won't provide the proper rate for the job. Your request for candlelight violates your own safe working practices, as open flames are a health hazard, especially around the narrow and dirty rear entrance to your facility.

Since management provides no urinal and sitting down on the job is forbidden by your own regulations we insist the toilet lid remain up. In the spirit of compromise, you should begin to appreciate wet, yellow toilet seats.

We seriously doubt the existence of the person you call 'Ms Clit Toris'. Our client has repeatedly assured us that despite the most diligent and exhaustive search he has not been able to lay his hands on her. Unless she is the hooded dwarf his co-workers claim to have encountered when polishing up your door knocker. Frankly, if you expect Mr P Nis to work with this person, you should have chosen someone who doesn't spend all their time crouched in the basement, trembling like a frightened midget.
We find your reference to robotic substitute workers asinine. Hiring mechanised workers violates my client's contract, even if they are able to work longer hours at greater depths without tiring.

Your assertion that Mr P Nis caused an epidemic within your facility is ludicrous. Whatever infections arose are the sole responsibility of management. Mr Nis did not, as alleged, draw unemployment benefit during the time your facility was closed. He moonlighted at a fudge packing plant until your crisis was over. Thank you for that tip by the way.
Since we have provided full rebuttals to all your previous arguments, I will not repeat them. Of course management must pay for all protective equipment because management requires it. It should be noted that during Mr P Nis' moonlighting to several firms, as well as several that were not so firm, you have insisted on protective equipment, despite the fact that he was in no position to make any deliveries to either of your entrances at these times.

Your insistence that my client should work your normal business hours is patently absurd given that your facility is closed for several days every month. When Mr P Nis has attempted to make deliveries during these periods he has been summarily rebuffed. On the one occasion he did manage to make a forcible entry, he emerged covered from head to bag in a disgusting substance it took him several days to wash off. If you are not open for business 24/7, Mr P Nis has no other choice but to moonlight in order to provide for his loving wife and family.
We therefore still demand the rise, and not of toilet seats. We're already covered the toilet seat issue and don't intend to revisit it.

Yours sincerely,

Mike Hunt

Why is it we choose from just 3 plausible candidates for our Prime Minister and fifty for Miss United Kingdom?

Why does a round pizza come in a square box?

Can you cry under water?

If your feet smell and your nose runs, are you built upside down?

Why don't you ever see the headline "Psychic Wins Lottery"?

Why is "abbreviated" such a long word?

Why is it that doctors call what they do "practice"?

Why is lemon juice made with artificial flavour, and dishwashing liquid made with real lemons?

Why is the man who invests all your money called a broker?

Why is the time of day with the slowest traffic called rush hour?

Why isn't there mouse-flavoured cat food?

Why didn't Noah swat those two mosquitoes?

Why do they sterilize the needle for lethal injections?

You know that indestructible black box that is used on airplanes? Why don't they make the whole plane out of that stuff?

Why don't sheep shrink when it rains?

Why are they called apartments when they are all stuck together?

If con is the opposite of pro, is Congress the opposite of progress?

If flying is so safe, why do they call the airport the terminal?

What disease did cured ham actually have?

Does the Alphabet song (A,b,c,d...) and Twinkle Twinkle little star have the same tune? and ....Lastly,

Why did you just try singing the two songs above?

Oh and remember that If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you!

Dear Sirs,

We were most disappointed to learn that your client, Mr P Nis, rather than humbly accepting our offer, has threatened to take legal action if his demands are not met.
Your letter claims that Mr Nis could work an entire eight hour shift if requested to so, but that such a request has never been made. Management disagrees on both counts. What your client defines as work is actually only a very small part of his job. As his job description clearly states, Mr. P Nis’ job is to make deposits, both his and the company’s, in a timely and satisfactory manner. Doing so requires such deposits to be fully packaged and prepared for delivery, a process* that may take several hours and involves meticulous attention to detail. Rarely does Mr Nis fail to deposit his own load but it’s the company’s load that is frequently overlooked.

*Note. This step in the process absolutely cannot be skipped and is commonly overlooked, particularly by workers with large packages. You client would do well to take a tip from some of his co-workers whose packages are smaller than average. Sometimes working by candlelight assists in these matters, as well as making thoughtful gestures around the shop, such as lowering the toilet seat or offering to prune the shrubbery around the main entrance. Acts such as these can help create a more pleasant working environment and improve communication, resulting in greater productivity and customer satisfaction.

Any freelance work that your client may or may not undertake is in strict conflict with his contract with our company. The admission of any sort of moonlighting would result in Mr P Nis' immediate dismissal on the grounds of disloyalty. Please instruct your client that if he wishes to change companies, he is more than free to do so, but only after he has worked out his two week period of notice. Your client's commendable eagerness to bend over backwards for management suggests that he might find a better outlet for his skills in a fudge packing company.

You might also advise Mr P Nis that thinking is not a prerequisite for his job. In fact, if he was paid to think he would be part of the management team. Instead, your client has gone out of his way to completely ignore the one person who is in a position to gauge his real performance-Ms Clit Toris. Ms Toris is a vital part of this organisation whose avoidance by your client has seriously compromised the company's productivity. Mr Nis may claim that he can never find Ms Toris, but rest assured, she is well aware of him and his neglect of her feelings has not gone unnoticed.

If Mr Nis were paid to think, he would know that his experience and advanced age only diminish his value as a worker. A younger, more upstanding employee with less experience, who is able to handle Ms Clit Toris could do double the work in half the time. Mr Nis needs to be reminded that he is not irreplaceable. In fact, management have had to employ a substitute to complete several jobs he was unable to finish in less time, at a much lower cost—the mere price of two AA batteries. For what this ‘fill in’ lacks in personality, he more than makes up for in reliability. Nor does he require medical assistance to rise to the challenges presented to him, never goes on holiday and leaves no mess behind him-or in front.

Your client’s allegations of substandard working conditions are completely unfounded. The foul discharges you speak of only occurred when Mr P Nis mistakenly tried to deposit his load in the back door instead of the front. To add insult to injury, he then proceeded to the front door anyway, thereby contaminating the environment with a contagious infection which shut down the entire facility for several weeks, during which time your client selfishly collected unemployment benefit whilst the company’s stock plummeted.

Consequently, management are not willing to meet any of your demands at this time. Our position in regard to your client's complaints is as follows:

1) Management is required by contract to only cover half the cost of protective equipment. Any further costs fall on the head of the employee.2) The company is not open all hours. We close our doors at regular business hours and not a minute later. (Rare exceptions are when your client offers chocolate or flowers).
3) We will clean up the mess your client complains of when he starts putting the lid down on the company toilet.
4) A raise at this juncture would be, like your client; premature and ineffective.

Yours sincerely,

The Management
From Mike Hunt.
Senior Partner, Scrotum, Hunt and Scrotum.

Have you ever wondered where and how yodelling began?

Many years ago a man was travelling through the mountains of Switzerland.

Nightfall was rapidly approaching and he had nowhere to sleep. He went up to a farmhouse and asked the farmer if he could spend the night.

The farmer told him that he could sleep in the barn.

As the story goes, the farmer's daughter asked her father, 'Who is that man going into the barn?'

'That fellow travelling through,' said the farmer. 'Needs a place to stay for the night, so, I told him he could sleep in the barn.'

The daughter said, 'Perhaps he is hungry.' So she prepared him a plate of food for him and then took it out to the barn.

About an hour later, the daughter returned. Her clothing dishevelled and straw in her hair. Straight up to bed she went.

The farmer's wife was very observant. She then suggested that perhaps the man was thirsty. So she fetched a bottle of wine, took it out to the barn, and she too did not return for an hour. Her clothing was askew, her blouse buttoned incorrectly. She also headed straight to bed.

The next morning at sunrise the man in the barn got up and continued on his journey, waving to the farmer as he left.

When the daughter awoke and learned that the visitor was gone, she broke into tears. 'How could he leave without even saying goodbye,' she cried. 'We made such passionate love last night!'

'What?' shouted the father as he angrily ran out of the house looking for the man, who by now was halfway up the mountain.

The farmer screamed up at him, 'I'm going to get you! You had sex with my daughter!'

The man looked back down from the mountainside, cupped his hand next to his mouth, and yelled out.....

'LAIDTHEOLADEETOO'

Dear Management,

As the legal representative for Mr. P. Nis I am appalled at your unacceptable response. Mr. P Nis has an exemplary record of discharging the duties assigned to him. Far from being the idle clock watcher you infer, he is extraordinarily flexible in delivering his loads on time and often before they are even requested.

He has, in fact, never been asked to work an entire eight hours, but would gladly do so if the task was worthy of such effort. Unfortunately, my client reports this is unlikely under the present management. Mr P Nis is not alone in working in short, intense bursts and then hanging around the workplace. Hanging around is not the same as falling asleep on the job. On those very rare occasions when he has been asked to repeat a job at short notice, P Nis has never failed to rise to the challenge.

The charge that he is using performance-enhancing drugs at work will be addressed in a more direct manner later, but I can assure you that the medication he is under, usually Vitamin V, has in fact been prescribed by his physician to clear up the unfortunate rash on his head.
Your failure to recognise the value of visiting other locations whilst at work is most regrettable and clearly demonstrates you have no understanding of the part research plays in the discharge of Mr P Nis' duties. While Mr P Nis may occasionally stray onto the premises of your competition, he does so only to learn how others perform their tasks in order to improve his own skills.

Mr P Nis vividly recalls the recent back door incident, but maintains that he only attempted to make a rear delivery because a large load was blocking your front door at the time. He has asked me to inform you that your rear entrance was not only excessively narrow, but will require copious lubrication to permit the passage of the very wide loads he is accustomed to handle. Fortunately for you, the overall cleanliness and aesthetics of your back door are not conducive to frequent deliveries of such size.

Not always following orders is known as initiative, which is quite important in this occupational field. My impression of Mr P Nis is that he often takes control of the entire unit, acting in ways well beyond the imagination of management. Granted, he sometimes exercises this control against management's wishes, but it is the very unpredictability you rail against that is Mr P Nis' greatest asset.

My client is experienced enough to know when a job is finished. He also knows when management is being unreasonable. He knows this from previous employment and from his occasional visits to other, similar facilities. I contend that he is acting responsibly by withdrawing his labour if the job is taking too long as the tools he employs can easily wear out if they are exposed to the hazardous conditions of the shop floor for too long.

Please do not complain about the mess. It is in my client's job description to deposit materials in the receptacles designated by management. After deposition, the material becomes the responsibility of the receiving unit. It is hardly his fault if all the available receptacles are full, leaving him no alternative but to dump his load wherever he can find room.

Your accusation that my client is not complying with health and safety regulations by wearing protective clothing simply doesn't stand up to scrutiny. Mr P Nis was forced to remove his plastic safety boots because management has consistently failed to address his complaints about the difficulty in remaining in his work place due to the slippery condition of the floor.

Your derisory offer of a few pats on the head in lieu of granting Mr P Nis a rise is as insulting as it is regrettable. Given his outstanding performance record one would think copious kisses would be in order. Instead, we are seriously considering legal action. Working conditions in your facility have become appalling, even unsanitary, and the aesthetics are not conducive to successfully discharging my client's onerous duties. He reports that recently there are foul discharges from both doors, and that he has developed an irritating discharge himself. What's more, the unfortunate rash on his head has also inexplicably worsened.

Our demands, therefore, are as follows:

1) Management to pay for my client's performance enhancing medication.
2) Management to provide full employment opportunities at all times.
3) Management to clean its facilities, improve the aesthetics and cut back the shrubbery that is impeding my client's entry into your premises, particularly in the vicinity of the back door.
4) Management to grant the rise as requested.

Yours sincerely,

*The Happening Place... Latest update http://thehappeningplace.blog.co.uk/

Dear Mr P Nis,

After careful assessment of your request and consideration of the rather limp arguments you have used to justify your case, management regrets to inform you that your request for a rise has been rejected. We feel that although some of your arguments are valid, extenuating circumstances hinder management from giving you any more rises than you routinely receive, for the following reasons:

You rarely, if ever work a complete eight hour shift, and when you do you’re either under the influence of drugs or demanding to work during non business hours—such as the middle of the night after you wake up to go to the bathroom. You fall asleep after the briefest of work periods and have been observed nodding off on numerous occasions before the end of your shift, thereby forcing management to complete the task in hand. Furthermore, you do not always follow orders.

You refuse to remain in your designated work area and are often seen loitering around dark, dank places of ill repute. Just two nights ago you were seen attempting to gain unlawful entry to the company’s back door in the hopes of doing God only knows what, despite the fact that you have been told time and time again that the rear entrance is only used for putting out the trash. Underhand attempts such as these to drop your load in restricted areas are futile and waste valuable company time you should be spending elsewhere.

You do not take the initiative. You need to be constantly pressured and stimulated in order to begin work. When you do eventually finish a job—on those rare occasions you do not bugger off early before management is completely satisfied—you have the unpleasant habit of leaving your workplace rather messy, forcing us to either suffer an unclean environment or clean it up ourselves. Once you leave for the day, we don’t see you again until the next morning, usually before the office has even opened. This commendable ambition is appreciated and many in the company consider you a real go getter when the mood takes you, but unfortunately your spunk is often misdirected or fails to attain its goal at all.

You don’t always observe safe working practices, such as wearing protective clothing, as required by company regulations. Ignoring such rules leaves management wide open to a range of hazardous conditions, including many that could result in unpleasant discharges of toxic waste into the environment or even halt production altogether.

Your unpredictable temperament, coupled with your regrettable reliance on performance enhancing drugs means that your output is hopelessly unreliable at best and completely fails to meet management targets at worst. If that were not enough, many in management have long suspected you of terroristical activities, as you are constantly seen entering the premises carrying two suspicious looking bags.

However, management is prepared to overlook these shortcomings and demonstrate our appreciation of your employment. In short, Mr P Nis, we are willing to supply you with a few additional strokes of encouragement in lieu of a rise. We firmly believe that such positive reinforcement will lead to better and long lasting performance with no need for further encouragement.

Yours sincerely,

The Management
From Mike Hunt.
Senior Partner, Scrotum, Hunt and Scrotum.

Dear Management,
I, Mr P Nis, hereby request a rise in salary for the following reasons: I do exhausting, hands-on physical labour. I work at great depths and plunge headfirst into everything I do. I do not get weekends or holidays off. I work in a damp, ill-lit environment with poor ventilation at very high temperatures. My work constantly exposes me to possible contagious diseases.

Yours sincerely,

P. Nis esq.,

Cycles Control Sexual Attraction

A study conducted by London University Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of face a woman finds attractive on a man varies according to where she is in her menstrual cycle.

For example: If she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged, masculine features.

However, if she is menstruating or menopausal, she tends to be more attracted to a man with scissors lodged in his temple and tape over his mouth while he is on fire.

No further studies are expected.

Sign in here!

http://thehappeningplace.blog.co.uk/

A mannequin, who has not been identified until her relatives can be notified, was discovered half undressed, face down, on the floor of the Hardware department, on the sixth floor. The enterprise of her attacker was not lost on Mr Mason, who told The Happening Place Team "As the elevators were switched off for maintenance over the weekend, the rapist must have dragged her up twelve flights of stairs from the Lingerie department on the Ground Floor. Frankly, I'm surprised he had the energy to mount her, much less modify her."

"Modify her?" we asked.

"Er...he'd drilled a large hole between her legs with an electric drill."
'Cassandra,' as she is known to her many admirers in the store, is the fifth victim in the rapist’s four-week sex spree. The only evidence left at the scene were a heavily soiled pair of grey boxers and a used condom. When we expressed surprise at the use of a contraceptive on an inanimate dummy the store manager's jaw dropped with a strangled gasp. "Where have you been? London isn't Los Angeles you know. We take safe sex seriously here. You do wear rubber gloves and a facemask when you're submitting to the monthly conjugals? British men expect it you know."

The attacks began three months ago after local retailers noticed a customer blatantly groping semi-naked mannequins at several fashionable shops in London's Oxford Street. On each occasion the man escaped before he could be apprehended. Although there is no doubt that dropping your trousers and rubbing your willy against plastic women, is sexually inappropriate, it remains unclear whether or not it can be classified as rape.

Two of the rapist’s previous victims have described their attacker as a man in his middle 30s with a receding hairline and an extremely small penis. Unfortunately, since their description applies to almost every thirty-something man in England, the perpetrator has not yet been caught. However, the DNA collected at the scene of his most recent victim is being tested and may lead to the identification of a man in his middle thirties with a receding hairline and an extremely small penis.

The hunt for the elusive rapist threatens to strip the crotchless panties from the debate on rape raging in pubs up and down the country and expose the festering yeast infection of Britain's sexual hypocrisy.

Some consider the Mannequin Rapist an innocent victim of modern sexual marketing which has swept demure, fully clothed store dummies out of shop windows and replaced them with anorexic, thirteen-year-old nymphets flaunting postage stamp sized thongs and see-thru bras. Others insist that he’s mentally ill and could be reintegrated into decent society—or possibly even Parliament—after a short, sharp shock to his genitalia.

And still others suggest that the only therapy that could cure him is a rabid feminist armed with a pair of blunt scissors. Unsurprisingly, the middle-aged bloke we interviewed plying a glassy-eyed teenage girl with Bacardi Breezers in the Cockwell Inn, was unsympathetic to our suggestion that the Rapist should have his bollocks lopped off.

“Those plastic lolitas are gagging for it," the 52-year-old misogynist opined with a suggestive leer at his scantily-clad companion. ‘I've seen the way they dress, flaunting themselves in public with their provocative poses and skimpy outfits.

Fuck me, some of those mini skirts don't even cover their arses and the dummies in shop windows are even worse!" He talked fast, his voice slurred with drink, or possibly the prospect of getting into his companion's tracksuit bottoms. "It’s disgusting how these filthy sluts show their pert nipples through the thin, clinging fabric of them skimpy tops they’re whoring,” he added as he massaged the rising bulge in his trousers. “One little tart wasn’t even wearing any knickers!”

His attitude is symptomatic of the confusion which surrounds contemporary female sexuality which has blurred the line between plastic dummies and women who strive to lokk like them. But no matter how much plastic women are made of, can skimpy clothing, or the lack of it, ever justify rape? Women may answer in the negative, but the correlation between the number of mannequin rapes and how few clothes they were wearing when they were attacked, suggests that the bloke in the High Street considers anything in a short skirt who can't or won't say no, fair game.

According to police records, a mannequin is 600 times more likely to be assaulted if she models lingerie than if she is working for a DIY store. We spoke to one female mannequin modelling fire-resistant overalls while holding an electric drill in one hand and a hammer in the other. The closest she’s ever come to being raped, she told us, was when a butch dyke slipped a hand into her back pocket and gave her buttocks a squeeze.
“I nearly dropped the hammer,” she giggled.

One anonymous mannequin wearing only a see-thru matching Prada bra and panty set posing provocatively behind a window in Knightsbridge, told us that not a day goes by when she isn’t accosted in some deliberate or accidental way. “Usually they pretend to trip and catch themselves against my buttocks, some slide a cold finger very slowly across the seam of my thong. Once, a smelly Italian faked a fainting spell just to reach out and take hold of my breasts for support. But we’re ladies, so we don’t react or pull away. If it were up to us, we’d slap them, but that would be bad for business. So we just grin and bare it—quite literally.”

Grinning and baring it, however professional, only adds to the soaring problem of Mannequin abuse. If a mannequin refuses even to step away from an offending shopper, the chances are that she’ll keep her lips sealed as well. A straw poll of fifty random shoppers conducted in London's Oxford Street during our researcher's three hour lunch break, found that nearly 92% of men and 69% of women don’t consider an assault rape unless the victim clearly says no to her aggressor.

Since most mannequins lack a larynx or functioning lips, it is no wonder many of them just grin and bare it. One mannequin, who can speak, but elected to talk through an interpreter as she only has a smattering of Ukrainian, told us she'd been repeatedly abused, adding tearfully: "If I could open my mouth properly, it would only invite some disgusting pervert to shove his throbbing manhood into it."

The Happening Place team was shocked to discover just how little sympathy store dummies get from women. As one clinically obese cocktail waitress with red hair and spots snapped at us: “Why should I care? They have the best job in the world. All they do is stand there, the most expensive and beautiful clothes clinging to their perfectly proportioned bodies, flaunting their pearly teeth, deep tans and pert boobies. They get ogled at all bloody day long for doing nothing. I work my arse off for twelve hours a day only to have some wanker ask me if I eat the leftovers to stay so slim."

“Would you ever consider sexually assaulting a store dummy?” we asked her.

“Fuck off! If I sat on their faces I’d crush their pretty little heads.”

Two other ladies, carrying a few extra pounds along with their shopping, were equally scathing in their condemnation of the morality of plastic women. “I’m not jealous or anything,” said Tamara Tompkins-Snogworthy (38), “But have you noticed how tiny their waists and bottoms are?” Her sixteen-year-old daughter, whose naked, bulging belly testified to her fondness for pizza and chips, agreed, adding, “The rapist is a sad sicko—no doubt about that. But can you really blame him for not being able to control himself around some of those mannequins? It’s a good thing that Ann Summers had a sale on thongs today because I needed a new pair once I got out of there.”
“How about male mannequins?” we asked.

“Oh, they’re so dishy,” they chortled in unison, suggesting that the double standards in our society that label sexually aggressive women as sluts and their male counterparts, as studs, have not been lost on the mannequin community.

“So why aren’t randy women running around raping male mannequins?” we asked.

“Because it would interfere with shopping,” snapped the mother.
In an endeavour to probe the complexities of a mannequin rapist’s mind, we interviewed Jack Barby, 41, currently serving three years in Pentonville prison after raping an astonishing thirty-four mannequins during the record-breaking Christmas Shopping season of 1992.

The first thing he told us from behind his very own window was: “I didn’t think of myself as a rapist. I preferred to call myself a mannequinizer. I loved everything about them: their cold, deeply tanned, slightly oily skin, their smooth, hairless bodies, their aloof unavailability and synthetic smiles that cried out to be wiped off their simpering faces."

When we asked Barby to tell us about his first time, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “It was an ordinary day. I was shopping for lingerie for my wife, who later divorced me, probably because she never got the lingerie. I couldn’t decide on red camiknickers or a black teddy. Nearby a store dummy was wearing the camiknickers, so I asked a sales assistant to hold up the black teddy, to compare the items. Before you could say 'buy one and get two free', the shop girl dropped her knickers, we ducked down behind House wares and I took her roughly from behind while she was munching on the mannequin's Lady lips. From then on, I got a massive stiffy whenever I passed a store dummy.”

“How were you finally caught?” we asked him.

“There are only so many mannequins you can grope before the security guards start to notice. But I was having such a good time; I never saw them coming, which is more than I can say for the dummy whose eyes were wider then her legs by the time I came all over her Dolce & Gabbana thong.

When the guards slapped the cuffs on me, my first thought was that Madeleine she was my favourite wanted to play rough. Well, I got my wish all right when I was sent here. Only it wasn’t with a store dummy but a hairy arsed arsonist from Peckam called 'Bob' who shared the cell with me. I never saw him coming until I felt a hot, burning sensation between my cheeks. It was then I realised how Madeleine must have felt when I raped her.”

Barby, now a born again Christian, realises that he suffered a severe lapse when he succumbed to the slippery temptations of hard plastic. But he’s tackled his problem and is moving on with his life. He works as a plastic injection mould operator during the week and busies himself cataloguing his collection of designer thongs most weekends. Over the years he's had ample time to reflect on the selfishness of his past behaviour.

“Just because she dresses in a sexy, satin crop top and arse-grazing pelmet doesn’t mean she's gagging to be taken from behind to the tune of 'Santa's coming to town' belting out over the store intercom. Just because she didn’t say no or push my hand away when I reached into her sheer silk panties, doesn’t mean she wanted sex. It just means she was made of plastic and couldn’t talk or move her limbs."

"You've just described the average British woman after ten Bacardi Breezers and a night on the town with her giggling mates," we commented.
"Have I?" asked Barby. "Bloody hell! You mean I could have raped real women and got away Scott free?"

"Thousands of other blokes have."

"Does the Mannequin Rapist know that?"

"Apparently not or the stupid fucker wouldn't still be terrorizing London's mannequins."

*Membership..join "The Happening Place team"

This Government is in a dilemma
And now it’s up to Mr Brown
To avoid anymore blockades
By bringing the petrol price down.

So if arrogance were a virtue,
Gordon Brown would be a saint.
But it isn’t,
And he ain’t.

The Conservative Party has claimed victory in "the mother of all local By-election battles". Winning "a staggering" 45% of the vote, compared to Labour and the Liberal Democrats' "abysmally low" 30% of the vote, the Conservative "leader" hailed the result as "fantastic".

"This is a spectacular result for the Conservative Party," said Mr Cameron. "We really kicked some bottom last night, and I'm not bullshitting about that either. We are so going to win the next general election. Mr Brown will be shaking in his plimsolls right now."

The Prime Minister's ever-loyal official spokesman said that he "isn't shaking, but any shaking would be down to stress or alcoholism, not Toffy Nose the ever so friendly snob over there".

In total, the Conservatives gained 807 seats fewer than the 1,200 gained under Michael Howard and made no significant gains in Scotland and Wales, meaning that they are still the third party there. Despite the gains made in the last local elections by Mr Howard, the party still crashed to a massive defeat in the general election two years later

The party's new official spokesman, former Iraqi Information Minister Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf, was perhaps the most optimistic to comment.

Although still learning the ins and outs of the British political system, Mr Sahaf was able to say that the Conservative Party would never surrender, the Liberal Democrat infidels would be crushed and Labour voters were committing suicide on the doorstep of Conservative Central office.

Political commentators agree that the result is surprisingly positive for the Tories. "Cameron is so crap I thought they'd go backwards," said Guardian columnist Craig Ramurbottom. "Any gains are a big achievement for him."

It turns out that the British Apathy Party are celebrating this morning after over half of the country voted for them with their feet in last night's English, Scottish and Welsh By-elections, giving them one of their biggest shares of the vote yet. Record numbers of people didn't vote in Scotland and Wales and the turnout in England was also low, bolstered only by postal voting.

"This is a huge victory for the British Apathy Party," said its leader, George B Standing, when we rang him up after he failed to arrive for an interview. "It goes to show that people are turned off by mainstream politics and increasingly are turning to parties who care as much about politics as they do like us!"

Membership of the party, however, remains at zero. "It's not because people don't believe in our cause," explained Mr Standing, who he himself has not bothered to register as a member. "It's because they're apathetic. They don't care enough about apathy to do anything about it."

However, despite the support the party has, it put up no candidates in yesterday's elections. "We thought about it," Mr Standing continued, "but then we thought no it might be raining, and we knew East Enders would be on. Nobody could be arsed really."

Official celebrations, consisting of each of the party's members "watching TV and eating pizza like they normally do on a Thursday night", continued until they gave up and went to bed.

Riots and demonstrations have taken place across the country today in protest at the poor turnout for yesterday's May Day protests.

The May Day protests have traditionally seen thousands of people march on London to throw bricks at McDonalds and fight with police. However, this year the turnout was only 70% of last year's and just 700 people were involved in street battles with police.

"It was very disappointing," recalled mental hospital worker Steven Ramurbottom. "So that's why we launched these protests today. We've got to teach these people a lesson."

Instead of marching on London and breaking the windows of multinational corporations, protestors turned on the homes of "people who weren't there but should have been". Council flats in Hull and Liverpool were among the targets, as was a small farm in Dorset. Police said that several people were injured and at least 150 arrests were made.

Greg T Haddock QC, a "thoroughly anti-capitalist" lawyer with houses in Kensington and Mayfair and a yacht in the Bahamas, told protestors threatening him with baseball bats that he supported their aims. "I understand and sympathise with your cause," he cried at protestors while cowering under his BMW. "But violence won't help anybody, least of all me. Would you mind getting off my begonias please if it's not much trouble?"

People across the country took part in a nationwide intelligence test last night. The research, which was conducted by the BBC, tested the IQs of over 16,000 people.

An over-excited Anne Robinson and an as-smug-as-ever Phillip Schofield told viewers that, of all the football supporters who registered, York City fans were the most intelligent, while people living in Leicester were likely to have the highest IQ scores. The government has denied suggestions that York City fans living in Leicester will be banned from working for the Transport Department.

Producers reportedly asked Prime Minister Gordon Brown to appear on the programme, but he declined. A spokesman for Mr Brown said that he was too busy, but had he appeared he would have "knocked the other contestants out".

Some of the results were more worrying, though, as approximately 27% of people who took part failed completely and were put into the "thick as pig shit" category. A researcher at the BBC told The Happening Place Team that they had all tripped up on the "Who do you vote for?" question and answered "Conservative".

It turns out that British women suffering from sexual problems, a general lack of desire, or who are simply tired of their husband's inability to find their 'G' spot, can now obtain free dildos from their Doctor. One of Britain's most eminent consultants, Dr Gel Doe former professor of sexual dysfunction at Frank Hopkins Hospital, in Sunderland has gone one step further and is referring his patients to a London sex shop for a helping hand in exploring their bodies or possibly an entire fist.

"Almost three quarters of all British women suffer from some sexual dysfunction, and vibrators are an enormous aid for women who want to get to the bottom of their problems," the charming consultant told The Happening Place Team today.

"Don't you think that's their partner's job?" we asked.

"It's their partner's failure to do the job that's half the problem," retorted Dr Doe sharply.
"What's the other half?"
"There isn't one."
"Come again?"

"British men are just too damn small. Most of my patients are lucky if they come at all."
Although three out of four British women now own a vibrator or shop regularly for courgettes and cucumbers — the use of dildos in British medical circles remains controversial.

"Vibrators are a completely new concept for us," said Dr Marjory Stopes, a spokeswoman for St Sapho's Clinic in Staines. "We're trying to educate English women about the therapeutic uses of these devices, but it's proving an uphill struggle. Their association with sex shops and porn stars like Jordan is a tough nut to crack. They prefer the current medical implements used for dilating vaginas, and are frightened of uncomfortable things that look like a cross between a mobile phone and a toilet brush."

Her staff nurse, Sister Mary Curettage, nodded sympathetically, and added: "We've been showing women tiny, squidgy, pink things that do the same job and have introduced them to all the different sizes and shapes these things come in, but so far they've just not taken them up."

Although vibrators started life as a medical tool back in 1883, Dr Stopes says that the majority of her patients had never seen a vibrator until they visited Holland. "I find their lack of knowledge utterly astonishing," she said sadly. 'British women are living in the dark ages."

Since the British Government introduced the new scheme last month, US visitor numbers to London have soared by over 3,000 percent.

"It's something I never dreamed of purchasing before and I've been in England for 17 years," said Jessica Lewinsky, a 32-year-old customer service manager working in a London supermarket. "Now they're freely available from my Doctor, I've got three and have another one on back order."

"Back order?" we asked.

"Yeah," replied the slim brunette shyly, "it's a twelve-inch, hard plastic deluxe vibrator with a jello-lubricated butt plug. My Doctor's having it flown in specially from Walmart, in California!"

*Ahh Ive been replaced!

Interview With Sid the Vibrator.
The Happening Place Team.: "Good evening, Mr. Vibrator. Thank you for agreeing to this interview."
Mr. Vibrator: "Please, don't be so formal. I've seen you naked. Call me Sid."
The Happening Place Team.: "Okay Sid. We're sure our readers are keen to know where you're coming from. Where were you born?"

Sid: "I was made in China by a rubber corporation with a thousand other vibrators. We must've looked quite funny; an assembly line of little soldiers wearing helmets, ready to fight the war against horniness. From there we were shipped to England. Damn lucky for us; they cut the heads off vibrators in Saudi Arabia, you know. America's not a lot better; it's no fun spending your life up the bottom of a 300-pound trucker from Texas. And no one ever wants to go to Russia because it's hard to stay hot in such a cold climate. Once in England we were divided up and shipped to different places. Most of us went to sex shops, some to schools and the unlucky buggers went to Catholic priests.”

The Happening Place Team.: "Fascinating, Sid. Do you like your job?"
Sid: "Love it. Who wouldn't? Sure, some days are harder than others. We vibrators can have headaches too, you know. But for the most part I wouldn't trade my job for any other."

The Happening Place Team.: "What's the most difficult part of the job?"
Sid: "Shopping for shoes, I'd say."
The Happening Place Team.: "Some have called you heartless womanisers who travel from woman to woman with no real commitment. How do you respond to those accusations?"
Sid: "Do womanisers generally make women happy? Because we always make women happy, and keeping women happy is an uphill job, let me tell you. Sometimes, it's a real bummer, but what the hell, somebody has to do the dirty jobs, right?"

The Happening Place Team.: "Er, right, Sid. Is there anything you don't like about being a vibrator?"
Sid: "We've all heard the horror stories, about how unsuspecting vibrators are lured into bed some nights never to be heard of or felt from again. And the baby stories — please, don't leave us lying around if your baby is teething. That happened to my Uncle Arthur. One day Sharon left him lying on the coffee table. The next thing you know the baby was using him as a dummy, sucking him off like he was a lactating breast or something. Art was so mortified he committed suicide in the toilet. I mean what a humiliation for a bloke called Art Penis!"

The Happening Place Team.: "Is there anything you're really afraid of?"
Sid: "Being an agnostic — with Buddhist leanings, I've always feared the church handling me. I had a cousin that happened to. One minute he was minding his own business hanging next to a tube of KY Jelly at a posh sex shop in the King's Road, and the next he was taking turns walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death with two very curious and liberated nuns. It wasn't all bad, though. He got Sundays off."

The Happening Place Team.: "Any final words to our readers?"
Sid: "Don't neglect us. If you leave us in the bottom of the wardrobe to gather dust, don't complain about your pussy itching when you finally require our services. Here's another thing most women don't realise. If our batteries run down, we're not completely useless. Just talk dirty to us. Hell, we love that!"

The Happening Place Team.: "Thank you for your time, Sid, you nasty little cum guzzler."

Sid: "You're welcome. Now turn that bloody tape recorder off, drop your knickers and turn me on!"

Dedicated to "SideJump"

*Membership, Join "The Happening Place Team"

A shopping centre in Liverpool has banned the wearing of clothes as part of a crackdown on anti-social behaviour.

The New Strand shopping centre said it had received dozens of complaints about youths wearing clothes. "Many of the complaints came from our more elderly visitors, who felt very intimidated by the sight of these youths," said Charles Ramurbottom, the centre's manager. "We didn't take this decision lightly, but we're sure that our new code of conduct will make customers feel more comfortable."

Mr Ramurbottom was encouraged by a local expert in "sartorial criminology", Professor George T Codpiece from the University of Bootle. "Our researchers spent almost a year watching over 500 hours of crimes being committed on CCTV," he told The Happening Place Team. "There was a common theme among all of them: they were all committed by people wearing clothes. A ban is the only solution."

One week on from the introduction of the ban, and anti-social behaviour in the shopping centre has reduced dramatically. "Whereas before we would see several incidents a day, ranging from graffiti to petty arson, under the ban we've only had one incident of inappropriate behaviour, but we'd rather not talk about that one," said Mr Ramurbottom's head of security, wearing nothing but a belt around his waist for his radio.

When asked what effect the ban had had on trade Mr Ramsbottom refused to say, adding that it was entirely normal for the place to be empty around lunchtime.

Late news
The Strand's only remaining eating establishment, Mr Muffin's Coffee and Donut Emporium, has had to close following a series of unfortunate accidents.

The Home Secretary, Jacqui Spliff, today banned the sale, possession and use of condoms after designating them as weapons of messy destruction. The move follows an attack on Prime Minister Gordon Brown yesterday in which he was hit by condoms filled with custard thrown by protesters in the Commons gallery. Mr Brown was shaken but not hurt.

A Downing Street official told me that the PM had been examined by a team of doctors and that their opinion was that he would be back to normal in a few days. They denied a rumour that he would require psychiatric treatment to overcome a sudden fear of latex.

Effective immediately, the sale, possession and use of condoms anywhere in the UK, except for parts of Glasgow and the whole of Braintree, is illegal, and anyone caught in possession of one will be subjected to an on-the-spot fine of £500 for a first offence and £5000 for a second offence. Subsequent offences will incur a prison sentence of not less than six months.

Mrs Spliff, speaking from outside the stationery cupboard in which she now spends most of the day, told reporters that while these measures may seem harsh, they are necessary for public security. No one had realised until now, she said, that condoms could be used as a weapon, but she had moved quickly to address this newly-recognised problem. "I want the public to know that we will take any action necessary to protect them from condom attacks," she said. "In this case it was just harmless protesters, but next time it could be terrorists chucking condoms filled with sarin, radioactive waste, or who knows what."

Craig Ramurbottom, spokesman for the Amalgamated Union of Makers of Condoms and Other Novelty Items, told me that the government's move was disastrous for the industry and would lead to massive job losses. He pointed out that a condom is every bit a part of a traditional British night out as twelve pints of lager and a vindaloo. "My members are going to stand up and be counted,"

he said. "I can guarantee they will have a stiff resolve."

We get to hear a lot about the three 'R's these days: Reading, (W)Riting and (A)Rithmetic, but very little about the three 'I's without which these skills are about as much use as a broken pencil. The three 'I's: Instinct, Intellect and Intuition, taken together make up what we call 'Intelligence'. Much more interesting than the three 'R's and we might even learn something that will help us to write better stories!

The first thing I'd like to chat about is Intellect. What is it? Where do we keep it? Where does it come from? Where does it go to in the end? Do we have any intellect at all? 'We do!' you'll probably answer, 'but she obviously doesn't, or she wouldn't ask such silly questions!'

OK, so let's consider the first question: What is it?

Personally I haven't the faintest idea what it looks like. It might be triangular, square, oblong, or even round — like a hollow circle! From time to time I've noticed that some people do possess some intellect sometimes, but this happens so rarely that I wonder whether intellect exists permanently or only manifests spontaneously under special circumstances of dire need?

I believe there are now even special tests that will tell you how much intelligence you possess (if any). I don't know about you, but I remain sceptical that an ability to fit different coloured blocks into different sized holes proves anything worthwhile. Whatever these tests prove it is not intelligence!

According to one dictionary I consulted, intelligence is defined as 'a readiness of comprehension; as in the intelligence of a dog'. Among its definitions the OED lists 'quickness of understanding, sagacity (of a person or animal)'. Hmm. Do dogs think? Some people get very shirty when it is said that animals think, forgetting that they themselves are only one step above monkeys. These are the people who will tell you that animals don't and cannot think, but merely respond instinctively to stimuli. Well, I don't know about you, but I have met plenty of higher animals at parties who respond pretty instinctively when they are asked: "What's your poison?"

I think the difference between Instinct, Intellect and Intuition is one of degree, not of kind. If thinking and acting upon thoughts means intelligence, then animals certainly have it. We all know stories of dogs running through the smoke of a burning home to warn their master. And we've all seen a cat stalk a mouse, planning its attack with the same meticulous thought as a general gives to his campaign strategy.

But does thinking alone make intelligence, or do we need speech, or at any rate, language too? It is said nobody can think without putting their thoughts into words. Silently talking to oneself; always a bad sign! Others say that we think in pictures, not words. I'm not so sure about this; it may be true, but only partially so. Naturally, thought and language are closely connected, as psychologists tell us, but isn't that also true of thoughts and actions without words? Or even action without many words, like the conversations many Americans have:
Jennifer: "Yeah?"
Brianna: "Yeah?" (thumps Jennifer).

Now was this an example of intelligence at work or merely instinct?

I often wonder how much difference there is between an animal hunting for food and an American waitresses seeking fame in Hollywood. Is a gold digger really that much more intelligent than a dumb animal? And who derives more intelligent pleasure, the dog gnawing his bone, or the waitress from her fame assuming she acquires any? We seem to be getting deeper into a maze of questions as we go on. Let's try again!

For the biologist an amoeba is just as admirable as a whale. If the whale is called the higher animal of the two we only mean that he's a more complex creature. For this reason we could assert that our waitress' intelligence is of a higher order than the dog I mentioned. So what we're talking about is a difference in degree, not in kind. One of my University professors defined intelligence as a 'capacity for learning', but I should say that the student who is able to learn a given lesson better, or more quickly than his fellows, does so on account of their better memory, not their superior intelligence.

We all know that the great neural centre in us is the brain. But we also know that the size of the brain does not make its possessor more intelligent than someone with a smaller brain. Nor do the number of convolutions in the cerebrum matter. Some scientists say that intelligence is the ability of an organism to adjust itself adequately to new situations, but doesn't this rather come under the heading of 'adaptability'?

It's also been said that our endocrine glands are responsible for everything we do or cannot do. Other scientists maintain that genes play a similar role in determining what degree of intelligence we possess, if any! For these reasons I don't think it's likely that science alone will ever succeed in defining intelligence, much less where it comes from!

It seems to me that the amount of intelligence a person has comes from a source which science has yet to discover. It is plainly not transmitted through the parents as a glance at our friends and relatives will quickly show! Can people become more intelligent as they grow older? Well, yes, I think they can, provided they learn from their experiences and are able to retain the memory of what they've learned.

If that's true, then might not intellect be a natural development of instinct and intuition a higher form of intellect? We all know that the greatest minds have made many of their discoveries intuitively; that is to say, without conscious thought. They may have worked out the details of their discoveries intellectually, but the original idea came to them in a sudden flash of inspiration. We all know what happened to Sir Isaac Newton when the apple fell on his head!

This may finally give us a clue as to what intelligence really is and where it comes from. Might it not be made up out of the accumulated experiences of our previous incarnations and preserved by means of our souls?

Although it is seldom possible for a child to give full expression to its thoughts, except in the case of those rare prodigies who enter life with special gifts and a body capable of demonstrating these talents in an exceptional manner from a very early age. I believe that each one of us has complete memory, complete intelligence and complete conscience from birth exactly as when we ended our previous incarnation.

Only we have to wait many years, adjusting ourselves to new conditions and new times before we can use these inherited qualities. According to the stage we reached during our previous evolution, as a younger or older soul, so we will have more or less intelligence; the sum total of all our previous experiences, to which we are free to add according to our willingness and capabilities.

So, have we answered our four questions, namely: What is intelligence? (accumulated experience through our previous incarnations); Where do we keep it? (It is retained in the soul's memories of its previous lives); Where does it come from? (It comes from the facts we learned in connection with the experiences we had in previous lives); Where does it go to in the end? (It is added to the memories already contained in the soul which become more complete with each new incarnation).

I leave you to use your intuition to think that over and hope you won't allow your intellect to insult your intelligence by instinctively rejecting all this as arrant nonsense!

Fertility clinics across the UK have warned that they may soon be forced to stop their sperm donation services if British men continue to have unrestricted access to online pornography.

The Westminster Assisted Neonatal Clinic (WANC), used to have between 1,750 and 1,900 registered sperm donors, but now only two members make irregular (and increasingly small) deposits. Staff at the clinic have blamed the free availability of American pornography on the Internet for the shortfall in donations, complaining that, as one anonymous nurse put it to The Happening Place Team: "British men just aren't coming as often as they used to."

This grim picture is being repeated all over the country as one fertility clinic after another closes its doors and packs away its test tubes. "Supplies have practically dried up," Dr Peregrine Cockburn—the director of Sperm Watch, the government's fertility advisory council—sobbed into a petri dish when we interviewed him at his clinic atop a Gay lap-dancing club in London's Wardour Street. "Only this morning we had to turn away two tearful lesbians because we didn't have sufficient stocks. Had it not been for the generosity of one of my quick-thinking staff who took matters into his own hands by making a personal donation during his lunch break, we would have had to turn away even more infertile women."

"Wasn't that a little unorthodox?" we asked.

"Under normal circumstances I wouldn't countenance a male filing clerk inseminating three desperate women doggie-fashion in the waiting room, but it got the job done," commented Dr Cockburn wryly.
Under the strict guidelines laid down by the NHS, British donors are only allowed to father ten children. Staff at WANC, which provides help for childless couples throughout southern England, are concerned that once the two remaining donors reach their ten-pregnancy limit, there will be no one to replace them. "I won't beat about the bush," Dr Cockburn told us, wringing his hands. "If we can't find anyone to fill their shoes, pretty soon we'll be reduced to advising young lesbians to have sex with men. Once we do that who knows where it may lead? Why, the very fabric of our decent, caring society could break down irretrievably. It simply doesn't bear thinking about."
"So, what's the alternative?" we asked him.

"We've suggested to the government that we start importing sperm from America."
"And what was their response?"
"Oh, they're banking on it as the solution to our sperm shortage, particularly as it won't cost them a penny."
"Why's that?"

"President Bush has assured the Prime Minister that American semen is a fair trade for the British spunk our brave lads have shown in their support of the US liberation of Iraq. In fact, I believe some wags in the Labour Party are unofficially calling it the 'Sperm for Spunk' programme."

Most Health Service managers have hailed the news as 'a real shot in the arm for the ailing British fertility programme'—or possibly a small prick between the thighs. Junior Health Minister, Lesley Dyke (32), took time out from inserting pictures of Mr Brown kissing smiling babies into election leaflets, to explain why. "It was clear to us that unless we got to grips with this sticky problem British women wouldn't have a leg to stand on and once that happened our entire fertility programme would simply fall over."

When we expressed surprise that the government had chosen to import sperm from America, the minister's pretty eyebrows shot up in stunned disbelief.

"Where have you been?" she gushed. "Sex is now practically illegal in most States—except between staunchly Republican, heterosexual couples over thirty who are members of a fundamentalist Christian sect. America is practically drowning in unwanted joy juice. I'm told there are practically millions of healthy young men over there who haven't a chance in hell of getting any and regularly dump gallons of the stuff onto their computer keyboards or into the dirty knickers of British schoolgirls."
"Dirty knickers?" we asked.
"Er, I'm told some British women, um er, sell their used panties on the Internet," replied the Minister, blushing furiously as she hastily crossed her slim legs.

Some gynaecologists have expressed grave concerns that importing American sperm may introduce undesirable genetic traits into the British gene pool, such as an addiction to Big Macs, reality TV shows, designer coffee and the inability to talk in complete sentences. Others fear that the tidal wave of religious fundamentalism and chastity surging across America could completely sweep away the traditional British values of teenage pregnancy, vandalism, binge drinking, mindless violence and unprotected anal sex.

One sceptical Health professional, whose possession of a framed photograph of Tony Blair being buggered senseless by George W Bush with a giant pretzel, bore eloquent testimony to his rabid anti-American sentiments, thundered: "If we're not jolly careful we could spawn a whole generation of teenage girls who have unprotected sex in bus shelters with droves of men in the mistaken belief that they can't get pregnant if they drink two cans of Red Bull beforehand and eat a microwaveable pizza afterwards."

His bigoted attitude has been echoed by thousands of worried British women, many of whom have resorted to placing advertisements in local newspapers and telephone boxes in their desperation to find a sperm donor. Stacey Gussett (47), was typical of the dozens of would-be mums we spoke to. "Look, I don't want my daughter piercing her belly button, wearing a baseball cap and talking in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, OK?"
Another woman, who has been waiting for a sperm donor for twenty-three years, asked to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals by her American neighbours. "I don't think the government have thought this through properly," said Karen Catchpole, of 47 Cockwell Gardens, Ealing. "I mean it's all very well bringing in sperm from America, but what British woman is going to risk it when there's a 50-50 chance the baby will grow up into a horrid, common slut like Angelina Jolie or Tara Reid?"
"Why only 50-50?" we asked.

"Well—Britney Spears is American, isn't she and look how she's turned out."

As we went to press the first consignments of American sperm were being delivered to a secret address in central London not a million miles away from 10 Downing Street, from where they will be shipped or possibly swim to fertility clinics across the country. We understand that Mr Browns wife is taking a keen, personal interest in the 'Sperm for Spunk' programme—possibly, as one disgruntled dyke put it to us: "because she is married to a runt who is no stranger to possibly taking a load of American jism up his bottom from a clueless, Texan arsehole just like his predesessor".

International music expert Craig Davids yesterday uncovered a sinister side to the lyrics used by Tony Blair in his 1997 election campaign. According to aides working at both Number 10 and the White House, Mr Brown and Mr Bush have performed the song "Things can only get better" by D:ream as a duet in front of their wives.

Mr Davids, speaking exclusively to The Happening Place Team, said, "Once in the possession of the knowledge of the true context of these lyrics, I can see what they really mean. It's really quite worrying." After sucking on his pipe, Mr Davids continued: "The lines that make the most sense to me are 'And I can't see the world's formed trees/You set them alight, burning the bridges as you go/I'm too weak to fight you' - they really sum up Mr Brown's attitude to Bush and his environmental policies."

The Happening Place Team has reproduced D:Ream's lyrics below for your viewing pleasure. They would have included the actual music, but they're even more likely to sue me for that.

D:Ream - Things can only get better
You can walk my path
You can wear my shoes
Let her talk like me
And be an angel too

But maybe
You ain't never gonna feel this way
You ain't never gonna know me
But I know you...
Teach you now that

Things can only get better
Can only get, can only get
They get on from here
You know, I know that
Things can only get better

I sometimes lose myself in me
I lose track of time
And I can't see the world's formed trees
You set them alight, burning the bridges as you go
I'm too weak to fight you
I got my personal health to deal with
And you say

Walk my path
Wear my shoes
Talk like me
I'll be an angel and

(CHORUS
Things can only get better
Can only get better
Now I've found you
(That means me)
(Will you teach me now)
Things can only get better
Can only get better
Now I've found you

And you and you...
You... show me prejudice and greed
You show me how
I must learn to deal with this disease
I look at things now
In a different light than I did before
I found the cause
And I think that you could be my cure
And you say

Walk your path
Wear your shoes
Talk like that
I'll be an angel too

(chorus)

Things can only get, can only get
Things can only get, can only get
Things can only get, can only get
Things can only get, can only get

(chorus)

There was disturbing news for opinion pollsters today as the results of a new survey were published.

The research, conducted by market research agency MORI-OR-LESSI, found that only 23% of people questioned would participate in surveys. This is a huge reduction from last year's result of 43%.

Meanwhile, in a similar poll conducted online, researchers found that a surprising 89% of respondents would willingly vote online. Of the remaining 11%, 6% said they would never participate in an online poll, and 5% were undecided.

The news comes at a particularly irrelevant time when MPs are still deciding on holiday destinations and the party conference season has yet to begin. According to expert analyst Doug Ramurbottom, this means that the research will have no real effect on the world and is only being reported because nothing more interesting has happened. "In fact," he told us, "the researchers were probably just wasting their time."

My God, the government today announced a package of new measures designed to make the country more environmentally friendly. Ministers were keen to show off their green roots, which they had done especially last night.

However, the measures, which include targets for cutting car use and pollution, were denounced by experts as being "completely useless" and "pointless as usual". Douglas Up.urbottom, a campaigner for Greenpeace, the RSPCA and Alcoholics Anonymous, said in a statement, "The government has no idea how to cut greenhouse gas emissions or how to reduce fossil fuel consumption. The nearest any of them have come to a wind farm is John Prescott and that was fuelled by eating binges and throwing up!"

Despite this criticism, officials are keen to get the ball rolling. None of the measures, though, are likely to appeal to motorists, who will face yet more restrictions. One of the first to be implemented will be the banning of the building of new petrol stations, followed by restrictions on the activities of breakdown services, and then mandatory bus lanes on all roads with more than one lane - even ones with no buses. Motorists' organisations the RAC and the AA declined to comment, on the grounds of utter shock and disbelief.

A rather dizzy Kevin T Mullet MP, speaking after riding his day-hire bicycle into the back of a bus near Westminster, told us, "We are determined to make this country more anti-motorist to piss off the American tourists even more." He added, after being prodded in the back by an aide, "Err more environmentally friendly, I mean. We're not anti-motorist. Really!"

When asked what he was going to do to cut greenhouse gas emissions, Mr Mullet ran away from our reporter spluttering, complaining that he needed to get away from the traffic fumes.

Critically acclaimed news satire Blog “The Happening Place” today "categorically denied" rumours that it is to merge with NASA. "It has been widely reported in the tabloid press that NASA have requested a merger with our Blog," said spokesman Kevin T Mullet at a press conference in the Democratic Republic of Congo today. "But, because of our support and admiration for Ann Widdecombe and the BBAWC NASA felt unable to formalise any links between us."

"However," Mr Mullet continued hurriedly after being threatened with a spear, "I can confirm that negotiations have taken place between us and the Democratic Republic of Congo. No further information is available at this time."

Mr Mullet's revelation prompted widespread speculation that the famed news satire Blog will soon begin diplomatic relations with Congo for the first time. As one resident put it, "either that or buy a load of bananas." Congo is seen as a key part of The Happening Place’s strategy to become a world player and, eventually, "make some money".

Marketing analyst Kirk Douglas Ramsbottom Snr, of Internet marketing specialists Ramsbottom and Otheroles, told us that the strategy makes sense. "Having had a quick glance at their Blog, it seems to me that they are predominantly occupied with British news satire. It is obvious, then, that they should try to appeal to an audience in Congo." Negotiations are expected to conclude later this week.

No10 Downing Street aides have today privately confirmed to The Happening Place Team that Mr Brown Prime Minister un-elected intends to hold a referendum on the most pressing issue facing modern Britain.

Douglas Ramurbottom, speaking on strict condition of anonymity, told our reporter: "It's been all over the Daily Mail now again, so we can't possibly ignore it any more. With a matter of such importance, we've decided that the British public must be consulted, and so Mr Brown has decided to go to the polls and announce a referendum on whether David Beckham really had been doing some European integration on the sly."

Leaders of the main political parties have reacted warmly to the hints that a referendum may take place. A spokesman for the Liberal Democrat Party, who was unable to speak directly to our reporters due to a mysterious bout of anaemia and twin puncture wounds to the neck, said that the Liberal Democrats "welcomed" the proposal, adding that they "would request an extra penny in the pound on Max Clifford's income, to pay for a better education for Sun journalists, enabling them to cope with words of more than two syllables".

David Cameron, speaking from the new Conservative HQ in his Westminster Penthouse, said, "Obviously we have been calling for his referendum since we suspected there might be some votes in it, and at last the Prime Minister has given in to our demands. The Conservative Party is opposed to anything cooked up by those Frenchies, as the garlic gives me awful trouble. I must go and have a good lie down now though, as I think there was rather too much Brandy in my last pudding".

The media has reacted to the news with its customary restraint and unbiased reporting. The Daily Mail led with "Tell that trollop where to get off our Beck’s: how foreign affairs can drive your house price down", the Sun reads "Sleazy Senorita wants her box ticked", and the Beano has run with the story "European constitution may be ready in June (if Gnasher would just let go of Belusconi's leg)".

Last night David Beckham's solicitor issued a statement on behalf of the star, reading simply "**** off".

The Serious Organised Crime Agency (SOCA) made its first arrest this morning, after identifying Ex Prime Minister Tony Blair as the 'Mr Big' responsible for running an alleged 'cash for honours' racket.

SOCA, dubbed Britain's FBI, brings together more than 4,000 police and customs and immigration experts with a remit to target organised crime such as money laundering, ID fraud and corruption.

Home Secretary Tony McNulty said: "This is £400 million well spent. SOCA offers us the chance of an initiative to ignore the 'Mr Smalls' and all of the graffiti, thugs, yobs, vandals, anti-social behaviour, burglaries, druggies, drunks etc. that affect people's everyday lives. Our surveys show that people are fed up with hearing of all these little stories on the news and would much prefer big stories involving real baddies!"

SOCA, one of whose responsibilities will be to harass individuals who try to demonstrate outside Parliament, has already interviewed a number of people suspected of receiving 'honours for cash', including: Sir Hugo Drax, Lord Francisco Scaramanga, Lord Goldfinger, Lord Sir Lady Marchioness Bush, and Ernst Stavro Blofeld MBE. A number of British companies are also thought to be under investigation, including SMERSH Political Lobbying Ltd and SPECTRE Double Glazing.

DC Dibble Mullet of SOCA said: "We've had our eye on 'Mr B' ever since SOCA was formed on Saturday, and decided to make our move this morning. We have so far collected 55 bags of cash, two bags of 'gongs' and a number of registered envelopes bearing names and addresses from all around the UK. Underneath 10 Downing Street we also found a huge underground cave with: a submarine, a Space Shuttle, a 50 Giga-Watt laser, and several AA maps of Iran."

On hearing news of Mr Blair's arrest, Conservative leader David Cameron said: "Crikey, is there a back door out of here?"

Would you believe it?

The Canadian government has given the go-ahead for a mass seal cull, despite the protestations of environmentalists, animal rights groups and Paris Hilton. Sealers armed with clubs and shotguns will confront the animals on their own turf. Casualty figures are expected to be high, especially amongst the seals.

Guidelines stipulate that most seals should be shot rather than clubbed to death, but experts say that the animals are unlikely to favour either method of extermination. According to Professor D Blade, a seal expert from landlocked Austria, many would rather not be killed at all.

John Efford, the Canadian natural resources minister, argued that this was ludicrous, saying that the seals were almost definitely in favour of a cull. He explained that since the animals did not have the intelligence to start wars in order to control the population, they needed outside help from a superior species. If people did not go in and stabilise the numbers, the seals would eventually run out of room in the small country of Canada.

Many US celebrities have taken to wearing T-shirts proclaiming their opposition to the cull.

Society girl and intellectual Paris Hilton has even threatened to stay out of the limelight if the cull goes ahead. She told DSS: "I'd give every seal a gun if it was possible. I'd like to see the animals defend themselves. But it just wouldn't work.

I don't think a seal would be happy to shoot a human, unless it was defending its kittens that is!"

The government in Iran yesterday announced that it has "apprehended and incarcerated" Dumbledore, the Hogwarts School headmaster, because "his sexuality is contrary to shari'a law", according to a government press release. Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has taken the position that "there are no homosexuals in Iran", a country of some 70 million people.

Efforts by humanitarian groups to contact Dumbledore have thus far proven unsuccessful. He is rumoured to be imprisoned in Tehran's notorious Evin prison, a gruesome instrument of repression that Iran's Islamist leaders inherited enthusiastically from the hated and deposed Shah. "Hey, the Americans torture, why can't we?" said an official with the prison in a press conference before he was hustled away by big, dangerous looking men with guns.

Dumbledore's sexuality has been the subject of speculation for many years. "He never mentioned a girlfriend," noted a childhood acquaintance who declined to be identified. "And those capes and hats he always wore," the friend added. "It was all a little too Liberace for me, don't you know." The friend added "Dumbledore was always playing Celine Dion CDs whenever I visited. Of course, I didn't think anything of it at the time."

International reaction to Iran's move has been mixed. "I'm encouraged that Iran's policies regarding Dumbledore's disgusting and deviant conduct seem to parallel our own," said Condoleezza Rice, the United States Secretary of State, at a press conference. "But we're still going to bomb the hell out of those bastards, of course," she added hastily.

A spokesman for Gordon Brown, when reached for comment by the DSS Team, stated that the prime minister "was avidly consulting the very latest polling data and would shortly have a cogent and exceedingly popular response that enhances his electability". The spokesman added "by the way, the prime minister most certainly would have won that election he never called; he simply didn't want to burden the treasury". Several commentators dubbed the latter observation "at best a non sequitur".

James Whale, in his quixotic bid to become the mayor of London, stated that "as far as Dumbledore is concerned" he opposed the position of the European Union on the issue, "whatever that position might be". DSS confirmed that the EU had taken no position on the Dumbledore controversy as of press time.

Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez condemned Iran's action, "but only because that asshole Bush seems to support it," Chavez noted in his weekly radio broadcast. "I condone swish behaviour only to the extent that it pisses off that bloody git," he added.

Gay activists reacted with unremitting hostility to the Iranian action. "Dumbledore was a Nancy made good, and the power structure simply can't handle that," noted Sir Elton John. "I hope Dick Cheney bombs Iran back to the Stone Age, if they're not already there," the renowned musician added.

Repeated calls by the DSS Team to Harry Potter went unanswered. However, a source close to the accomplished wizard stated that Potter was "highly concerned about recent developments in South Asia". The source indicated that unless Potter could reach an "expeditious resolution to the unfortunate misunderstanding concerning Dumbledore" with Iranian president Ahmadinejad, Potter would go "all Voldemort on his ass".

This morning according to a radio report, a senior school in Kent was faced with a bit of a problem.

A number of girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom. That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints.

Finally, the Head Teacher decided that something had to be done. She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the Caretaker. She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the Caretaker who had to clean the mirrors every night.

To demonstrate how difficult it was to clean the mirrors, she asked the Caretaker to clean one of the mirrors. He took out a long-handled squeegee, dipped it into the toilet and then cleaned the mirror.

Since then there have been no lip prints on the mirror!

All those who say we will destroy Planet Earth believe in their own lie
In a thousand centuries from now the birds will sing on the trees
Though humans may have been wiped out by some incurable disease.

What we do to our Earth to our own selves we do
And that the World will always be around only happens to be true
We are a part of Nature and off of this Earth we live
And from her we only take and take and to her nothing give.

For this Earth we live off of few of us seem to care
We pollute her rivers, lands and seas and with smoke make foul the air
That we need Mother Earth more than she needs us seems obvious to me
Life would survive and flowers would bloom without us though, don’t you agree?

Those who say that Humankind will destroy this Earth are forgetting one thing
That the Earth will survive we'll only destroy ourselves and without us birds will sing
Mother Nature has been around forever and she will never die
She was there for thousands of centuries before birds even knew how to fly.

Take the Blinkers off, look around

Tell me what you’ve found,

religious leaders raping child

so called mothers and fathers killing the innocents

sleeping babies with arms chopped off

small boys chased and drowned

by the one person that should protect them?

This is your religion, take a good look,

this is only the modern face

do know your religion has murdered millions

throughout the ages of history

take off the blinkers mate

I'm still sure you cannot see,

Lie for lies

stay with it and your mind dies.

Our Boy the Soldier
How great a man he must be
To be joined in the fight to
set another part of the world free.

Our Boy the Soldier
So very far away
We will all be waiting with open
arms on your coming home day

We are coming to that time of the year when hopefully Colds and Coughs become less prevalent. A Cough is a defensive, protective reflex.
It may signal the presence of a problem in the respiratory system and may serve to eliminate the condition, which is stimulating the cough as occurs with an infection in the lower airways. However, when a cough persists and no longer serves this function it becomes a concern to both patient and physician.

The prevalence of chronic cough (persisting for more than 3 weeks) in non-smoking adults varies from between 2-23%, depending on the study performed, i.e. it is very common.

Coughing? Take some chocolate

An ingredient found in chocolate may be a more effective remedy than current medicines for persistent coughs, according to a new study in the November 2005 edition of The FASEB (Federation of American Societies for Experimental Biology) Journal.

What did the study show?

The study showed that an ingredient of chocolate called theobromine was more effective at stopping persistent coughs than the leading cough medicine codeine.

How was the study carried out?

Ten healthy volunteers were given theobromine, codeine or a placebo at different times. A placebo is a substance that doesn't contain any medication. The volunteers did not know which of the three options they were taking.
The volunteers were then asked to inhale a substance called capsaicin.

What is capsaicin?

Capsaicin is a substance that comes from capsicum (American pepper plants). It irritates the membranes that line all body passages that are in contact with air, such as the windpipe. Capsaicin is used in science research to cause coughing.

How did researchers compare the effect of theobromine with codeine and placebo?

The researchers measured the levels of capsaicin needed to make the volunteers cough. Volunteers took either theobromine, codeine or placebo. They then took capsaicin to find out how much they needed before they started coughing.
What did the levels of capsaicin show?
Volunteers needed to take more capsaicin after theobromine than after codeine or placebo.

The level of capsaicin needed to cause coughing was about one third higher in the volunteers who had been given theobromine compared with placebo.
Those who were given codeine only needed slightly higher levels of capsaicin than those given the placebo to cause a cough.

Did theobromine have side-effects?
No. The volunteers who took theobromine had none of the side-effects normally caused by other cough medicines.

What side-effects do other cough medicines have?
The majority of cough medicines have very few side effects. Codeine and cough medicines that contain antihistamines may cause drowsiness, constipation, difficulty passing urine, dry mouth or blurred vision.
Check with your GP or pharmacist before taking cough medicines. People with diabetes should avoid cough medicines that are sugar based.

Why is theobromine better than other cough medicines?
If research confirms that theobromine does not cause drowsiness, then there may be no limits on when theobromine can be taken. For example, people who take codeine must make sure their reactions are normal before driving or carrying out any jobs that need them to be fully alert, since codeine may cause drowsiness.
The researchers suggest that the lack of side-effects may mean that theobromine could be given at higher doses than other cough medicines.

How much theobromine did volunteers take?
The volunteers were given a dose of theobromine that was equal to the amount of the ingredient found in a 50g bar of dark chocolate or two cups of cocoa.

Why does theobromine put a stop to coughing?
Theobromine suppresses the activity of the vagus nerve, which causes coughing.

What did the study conclude?
The researchers concluded that theobromine is a promising new treatment, which may form the basis for a new type of medicines that can relieve or prevent coughing. More research is needed to fully understand these findings.

Should I eat chocolate if I have a cough?
Who needs an excuse to eat some chocolate? According to this study though, theobromine, which is a key ingredient found in chocolate, may be effective at stopping persistent coughs.
This was a very small study and more research is needed to fully understand the findings. If you have a persistent cough, you should speak to your doctor before switching your cough medicine for chocolate.

What can I do to help relieve a cough?

•Sip hot honey and lemon drinks.

•Don’t smoke and avoid smoky places.

•Use extra pillows at night to raise your head.

•Inhale steam, e.g. from a bowl of hot (but not boiling) water.

•Take a hot bath or shower to expose your chest to steam & devour a large bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk.

Can’t wait to get a cough!

Hi everyone,

I just wanted to share with my online friends the fact that I have just found out that my ebook about Back and Neck Pain is going to be published!

You are very welcome to download an e-copy here- BOOK

Have a Good Day!

Following on from my previous report on the destruction of a Gnome vice ring in Cranbrook Kent, we have received a series of shocking photographs of scantily clad, teenage girls shamelessly cavorting with gnomes in broad daylight

The photographs—all of which are too disturbing to publish in this country—were delivered to my office in a pizza carton by an extremely short, bearded man wearing a red hat with a thick, foreign accent.

Frankly, we at Gnome Alert are not surprised by this development in the ongoing Gnome crises. Despite my repeated pleas for vigilance and resolute action, our European neighbours have steadfastly refused to recognise the evils of international Gnomery. Some have even voiced their support for the Gnomish ringleader—the self-styled 'Papa Smirf Floyd'—who was arrested by police on Friday. What will surprise and shock every right-thinking Briton are these disturbing pictures of so-called 'gnome love.' Make no bones about it, if this continental vice is allowed to gain a foothold in this country, no teenage girl will be safe.

Foremost among the decadent reactionaries promoting this filthy practice are the Italian members of MALAG—the Movimento Autonomo per la Liberazione delle Anime da Giardino— a radical alliance of self-confessed 'gnome lovers' based in Italy. We have little doubt that the we cannot publish emanate from this or similar organisations in Europe.

MALAG—which loosely translates into English as the 'Independent movement for the Liberation of the Spirits of the Garden,' is a shadowy organisation, thought to have links to Italian Freemasonry and the sinister 'Gnomenati'—a secret society steeped in vice. It is misguided supporters of Gnomery like these who are actively encouraging the budding flowers of English womanhood to embrace 'the spirits of the garden.'

Our worst suspicions were confirmed on MALAG's Italian website, where we found several images of Snow White engaged in a variety of intimate acts with dozens of grinning gnomes. This dangerous organisation openly boasts of their love for the gnomes who saddled this innocent young waif with seven of their bastard offspring. What's more, they brazenly advise young girls to: 'run naked through the woods and fields to experience the delights of gnome love at first hand.' As these shocking images show, the girls who succumb to this vice soon become addicted to the fairy-tale 'magic' of 'gnome love'.

Once hooked, they quickly lose their natural inhibitions and will perform the vilest of acts with as many as five gnomes at a time. I asked an expert on aberrant teenage sexual behaviour, Professor Hans Grimm, from the University of Leipzig, what drives these teenagers to such depths of depravity.

The black eyes of the short, rotund academic widened as he leaned forward excitedly.

"It's ze call of ze primordial sexual instinct which is most active during ze years of early puberty in young girls."
"Not boys?" I asked
Professor Grimm stroked his snowy beard. "Nein. Ze male lacks ze imagination to roll naked in a pile of rotting leaves in ze middle of a fairy-tale vood vile fantasising about being taken roughly by a troupe of midgets in big, pointy, red hats. Ze characteristic red hat of ze common garden gnome—gnomus domesticus—is, of course, ze classic phallic symbol of fertility und quite irresistible to a romantic young woman in oestrus."
"How pointy?"
"Very...und long und stiff und shiny."
"Golly! And the fairies?"
"Vivid sexual hallucinations caused by the ingestion of amanita muscaria—ze so-called 'magic mushroom."
"Not Bacardi breezers and spliff, then?"
"Nein."
"Um...gosh, professor. You make it sound almost exciting..."

"Vell it is, if you're a fourteen-year-old girl viz no legitimate outlet for ze powerful urges surging through ze body at this difficult time of sexual frustration."
"So we were wrong to insist that all our gnomes wear big, pointy red hats—I mean, it's just inviting trouble, from what you say?"

The professor snorted derisively and fixed me with his penetrating gaze.
"You vill find that you have made a number of grave errors of judgement in his handling of zis Gnome crises. As have zose gnomes who discarded zair hats inzat silly protest . Without them zey have as much chance of scoring viz a hot young cutie as a balding, middle-aged political extremist on ze make."
"Astonishing, professor," I commented. "Thank you so much for talking to us."
"Ze pleasure voz all mine, young lady," oozed the smooth-talking academic as he kissed my hand gallantly. "Vud you like to take a short stroll in ze woods viz me later? Ze bluebells are quite enchanting at zis time of year."

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Run for cover!

Now before I begin I would like to say a few words about our nation, the English nation. A nation which has been bred on the green and rolling pastures of this sceptic isle, under the winding hedges, inside the bus shelters and behind the bike sheds of the fairest corner of this world over which God has given us everlasting dominion.

We are a nation who has shown ourselves to be destined to lead lesser races. We espouse the virtues of sportsmanship and fair play, tolerance and forgiveness, live and let live. Yet we are also a nation who will, when we think we can get away with it, stab our very best friends in the back and put our own grandmothers on the game to make a few quid.
I tell you, bothers and sisters, we have much to be proud of…
…much to be proud of indeed.

Our language is perhaps our greatest gift to the world. Taken up with alacrity by the gallant Scots, the guttural Welsh, the totally incomprehensible Irish and our charming American cousins across the water. It is a simple language—a child can speak it—my surly, teenage Son excepted; yet it is also the language of Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth and Archer. Is it any wonder then, that when we had civilised the peoples of the world and deemed them ready to stand beside us in the family of nations, that it was English that they chose to replace their strange heathen babbling?

As a busy philanthropist I have travelled widely both in Kent, and sometimes even further afield. And in all my travels I have never met a foreigner who did not understand English, either immediately or, in some cases, after it had been shouted at him and punctuated by few kicks up the bottom.

But I am not writing here to list the achievements of the English.

…No I am here to tell you of a threat—an insidious poison, which is eating at the very fabric of the civilised world like a flesh-eating, poisonous thing.

A world, which we, the English, have done so much to create. This is a threat more deadly than Al Qaeda, more evil than an Iranian Ayatollah, more mendacious than the French and more cynically self-serving than an American Republican Senator who has just accidentally shot a Democrat lawyer. I speak, my friends, of the humble garden gnome.

I can understand your shock. I know you all have gnomes in your street, perhaps even in your own gardens—friendly little fellows with wheelbarrows full of plants cradling quaint fishing rods in their gnarled hands. I know, I have seen them too. But I am here to tell you this is what they want you to think. As they hold their ‘Keep off the grass’ signs and beam their rosy-cheeked smiles they are planning nothing less than the overthrow of English society as we know it.

How can a few gnomes threaten us?’ I hear you ask. And I answer, God bless you. You are the Englishmen and women that I love—the people I am so very proud of. Your tolerance of the gnome in our midst is, at the same time, the defining virtue of the English character and our greatest weakness. I say yes, embrace the lonely stranger, the weak and the oppressed. Feel in his pockets; see if he is worth turning over for a few bob. But I say also take care he is not a snake in the nest or a cuckoo in the woodpile.

How many gnomes are there? Do you know? I have discovered there are already two gnomes for every man woman and child in England. Where are they all? You ask. Brothers and sisters—they are all around us! In every garden, by every pond, watching and waiting with their little gnomey eyes and their rosy, gnomey cheeks.

Do not be fooled by their whimsical smiles. This is not a time for complacency. We must act. Look what happened in Zurich; they left it too late and the cuckoo clock monopoly was lost, the Gnomes of Zurich took it all. We cannot risk the same thing happening here. I heard only this week of a poor girl was abducted by no less than seven of these freaks of nature.

This innocent waif was subjected to the most appalling depravities during which every conceivable perverted act was perpetrated upon her nubile person. Over a period of no less than six months she suffered unimaginable torments during which she was only allowed out four times a week to purchase vitamin pills, viagra and double strength red bull—which the plucky maiden forced her captors to swallow.

By her enterprising actions this quick-thinking girl was eventually able to exhaust these gnomish fiends and return to the bosom of her family and pet rabbit, but not, I hasten to add, without paying the terrible price of unwanted, teenage pregnancy! Yes, dear friends, her captors had saddled this lovely vision of budding womanhood with not one, but seven unwanted offspring! Septuplets which will forever afterwards place an almost unsupportable strain on a welfare system which is the envy of the civilised world!

Have no fear, dear friends, the gnomes will face the full force of the law as soon as they have gained sufficient body mass and had the complacent smiles surgically wiped off their faces.
Is this an isolated incident? Would that it were good people, would that it were.

I have asked Special Branch to monitor the activities of some of the Gnome ring leaders and I am able to reveal that increased politicisation within the Gnomish culture is set to unleash a tidal wave—if not a tsunami—of inconceivable horrors upon our society. Where once a Gnome was happy to hold a ‘Keep off the Grass’ sign or perhaps sit cheekily fishing beside a ‘No Fishing’ notice, I now have evidence of a new, radical Gnomish sect that will stop at nothing to achieve its evil ends.

I am, this very afternoon, ordering that all gnomes should wear an identifying red hat so that we can all see them wherever they are congregating. Gnomes will report weekly to the garden pond so that their movements can be closely monitored.

I beg you, brothers and sisters, not to take the law into your own hands. These simple measures are enough. Show these Gnomes good English tolerance one more time. Stop in the pub on the way home, have eight pints of ‘Olde Wifebeater’ and talk about the Gnomish plot. Then, if you still feel like kicking the shit out of them—well try not to get caught.

Good day people of England. God bless you. God bless the Queen. “Hurrah”

There will inevitably come a day believe me, when some misanthrope, posing as a friend, drags you to The Opera. Don't panic ... unless Wagner composed the opera, in which case playing dead will help you match the mood of the music.

But even if you have the relative good fortune to see an opera by one of the clique composers -- Verdi, Rossini, or Puccini - - you will have to prepare for your ordeal. 4 years at the Royal Academy of Music or perhaps 6 years chained to opera-oozing headphones should suffice. Or ... you could just read this guide?

WHAT TO WEAR:

Clean and pressed evening attire should be worn to any opera performance ... with the possible exception of "opera under the stars." Why dress up to spend an evening scrunched in the dark in seats apparently designed for pygmies? Good question! So you won't embarrass your escort during intermissions ... in the unlikely event he or she makes it back from the bathroom.

WHAT'S GOING ON? :

Chances are, the opera won't be in English. I know -- it's shocking. But even those relatively nice composers had the audacity to favour Italian. (You know how rude and inconsiderate foreigners can be.)

Although this can make it tougher to know what's going on, there's no need to panic. Most opera companies thoughtfully provide translations in pamphlets called libretti. Not only do libretti provide helpful plot clues, but they can be tossed at the stage in the absence of fruit.

Additionally, many opera companies project English translations onto screens throughout the performance, providing a handy excuse not to look at the singers.
But thanks to new Euro legislation, such opera aids will soon be unnecessary.

Starting next year, all operas will be required to comply with "The Uniformity Opera Plot Act" a/k/a "Leave No Opera Hater Behind," which I've reproduced here for your convenience:

Whereas, Opera is an elitist art, which shouldn't be funded by the National Lottery or the National Arts Council; and
Whereas, Nobody understands it.

Now, therefore, all opera plots shall be as follows:

ACT ONE: Man and woman meet and fall in love, and everything is hunky-dory.

ACT TWO: An obstacle to man and woman's happiness rears its ugly head. It may be another man, another woman, one or more parents, a terrible misunderstanding, a war, or a dread disease. This obstacle shall make both of them (and the audience) miserable for an interminable period of time.

ACT THREE: The suffering man and woman bemoan their tragic circumstances at the top of their lungs for at least one hour. Right before the final curtain, the soprano (i.e., the very large woman who's given you a terrible headache) dies. The entire audience cheers and she takes many bows, mistakenly thinking the cheers are for her singing ... and not her death.

HOW TO SCORE BROWNIE POINTS:

Your evening won't be complete unless you impress your date. To create the illusion that you are an educated opera buff, simply memorise these insightful observations: (Note: You needn't understand these comments. Nobody does.)
a) I've heard better high C's.
b) His vibrato sounded wide, don't you think?
c) Beethoven should have stuck to symphonies.
d) She's no Callas.
e) He's no Pavarotti.

HOW TO BEHAVE:

You're nearly ready for your opening act. Just master these etiquette rules and let the overture begin:
1. Singing along should be limited to the loud parts.
2. Yelling, "Your voice is crap, you lousy Tart!" is discouraged ... unless you're in Italy.
3. Using the conductor for target practice is frowned upon ... except by the musicians.
4. If you must chew gum, masticate in rhythm.

WHEN CAN I LEAVE?

The opera isn't over until the fat lady sings ... and sings ...sings…sings and sings ……..Sings and sings!

That smile is beautiful with all its charm
Something to give but does no harm

A smile is a frown only upside down
It has a good feeling, just look around

A smile is a flash that cannot be sold
It has everlasting pleasure we are told

A smile is like the sunshine at its very best
Some wear it all the time until they lay down to rest

A smile is valuable like silver and gold
But it cannot be bought just always on hold

A smile is nothing till someone gives it away
Just try your best to receive it some day

A smile is like a statue that enriches the mind
You cannot steal or throw away but not hard to find

A smile is for the rich also for the poor
The benefits are the same till there is no more

A smile is for everyone with its action so true
It creates happiness in the home for me and you

A smile is a smile as known to mankind
Stand up in front and smile not stand behind.

It appears that a new dialect of English is emerging as a result of abbreviated words commonly used in text messages sent over mobile phones. While cell phones have had text messaging capabilities for years, text message responses didn’t really catch on until the mid-1990’s.

However, their popularity since then has dramatically increased. Especially in Finland where a staggering 78% of the population has mobile phones. Last March, 864 million messages were sent in the US, up from 372 million during the same month the previous year.

The truncated messages range in nature and complexity from simple phrases such as RUOK (Are you OK?) and CUL8R (See you later) to more sophisticated passages such as TonlyThingThtLOksGOdOnMelsU (The only thing that looks good on me is you).

Symbols other than letters allow for adept expressions, such as the screaming face which reads as follows:

(:-!)

Books on text messaging shorthand have been high on the UK’s best seller lists and companies such as Coca-Cola have been using the new lingo as a marketing tool “Tel yr M8s tht Fanta Tastes GR8”.

Last year in the UK more than 1000 people sent marriage proposals via txt message on Valentines Day as part of a Vodaphone promotion. But as far as I am concerned with regard to our English Language it has to be “Nil Satis Nisi Optimum”.

Her funny jokes
make me laugh
Her sense of style
makes me smile
when talking to me
she make’s me blush
I can't believe
I care this much!

I seem to have this little fantasy
and its coming from my heart
and I’m wondering if
you'll like to take part
I have this feeling
that’s growing deep inside
its a funny little feeling
and I’m not sure where to start
so if you can help me out
I’m sure that you'll agree
that this funny little feeling
is starting with you and me. x

Broken and Battered I return to you
My time spent in battle is finally through
My country served proudly, I stood the test
I fought side by side with our nations best

I am a soldier, honest and true to the cause
My British heart beats without pause
Any time any place any where
This soldier will stand tall and be there

I love the UK and will protect her at all cost
I fight for the old, the young, the weak and the lost
I fight for an ideal that is greater than I
I don’t complain, or whine or ask why

But for the time being I am home with you
My duty served my task is through
But I’ll be watching, over there and over here
And I’ll be putting a hand to my ear

But if ever this soldier is again called to fight
I’ll lace up my boots and do what’s right
Look out world the Devil Dogs are on hand
Ready to fight in the air, on the sea or on land

I don’t like it when people judge me I don’t like it when people fight.
I don’t like it when ignorant people always think their right.
I don’t like it when people criticise me when I make mistakes.
I don’t like it when people take advantage of me and just take, take, take.
I don’t like it when I trust people and they stab me in the back.

I've been lied to so many times it's hard to keep in track.
I don’t like it that I'm so attached, I don’t like it that I care.
I don’t like it that I love people who are never there.

I don’t like what emotions do to me they twist me up inside.
They make me want to run and find a place to hide.
People don't know me so they really shouldn't talk.
If you have a problem with me then just calm down and take a walk.

I don't like it when people talk about things they don't know.
They always hold things against you; they never let it go.
I can deal with anything that comes my way.
I'm a true fighter that never runs away.

I don't walk away from people I fight them face to face.
I fight them with my intelligence, poise, and grace.
I don't play with people so they shouldn't play with me.
Don't try to get under my skin mate, you wont like what you see.

You are saving it for marriage because premarital sex is a sin.

What they're doing is wrong, tell them to go jump in the lake.

Every day I listen to my heart
Mapping a path for our possible love start
My head speaks and so does my heart
Feelings of mine for you wish not to depart

There are millions of gadgets
Spread across the planet
None of them can measure the way
My heart feels about you each day

Woman, Listen to my heart!
Will you be my sweetheart?
Woman, Listen to my heart!
Our heartbeats shouldn’t be beating apart

Heart to heart
We can build us bridges of love
Heart to heart
We can sing our songs of love
Heart to heart
We can trust in this thing called love

Each day I listen to my heart
My heart has constantly infinitely spoken
Each time it beats for you a work of art
Only you can heal parts that are broken

Woman, Listen to my heart!
Will you be my sweetheart?
Listen to its instant drumming
Glisten to its constant humming
Woman, Listen to my heart!
Our heartbeats shouldn’t be beating apart

Tell me is war and torture all that is left?

of a world full of people who claim to be deft,
at making peace, and healing the earth,
when taking life seems to start at birth,
when I was young it was war, war, war,
war with myself, and the entire plethora,
of man, machines, pollutants and fishing,
but they are still here,
there is no point in wishing,
that they were all gone, and our world is alright,
just keep watching the news every night,
it seems so mad, it cannot be sane,
that the world keeps on fighting,
and the words of this poem remains the same.

Hey, why does mankind hate people based on religion and race?
Is it ignorance, education, or governments deciding our place?

For people are people regardless of the colour of their face.
And the love in our hearts is an example of God's grace.

European people are the most powerful people under the sun.
Asians, Blacks, and Jews are constantly under the economic gun.

But people should not be exploited because of the colour of skin.
White people must reject racism for a world of love to begin.

But are not Blacks, Jews, and Asians also guilty of racism?
For some of their religious leaders are advocates of separatism.

Now all people, whites, Asians, Jews, and Blacks, live on earth.
For racism will show God how much our souls are really worth.

All people will die and their bodies will stink becoming dirt.
And the devil will have the souls of all racists to forever hurt.

For Love is the most powerful force throughout the world.
Conquering all obstacles and causing racist minds to whirl.

We can't take money religion family or hate when we die.
But we can take love, and send it back to those who will cry.

For only love will cure any grieving and lonely heart.
And cause a no-good son or daughter to give life another start.

People are just human beings regardless of their ethnic pride.
So people should try to constantly look spiritually inside.

So forget about religion racism and discriminating government.
Because only Brotherhood will eliminate all bills and the rent.

They say a True Soldier is tough indeed
standing tall and strong when there is a need
Yet a Soldier also feels sadness and sorrow
Sometimes not looking forward to the events of tomorrow

If a Soldier is wounded in battle
the nerves of his buddies it does rattle
When news reaches friends and family at home
how their worries and minds begin to roam

Yet a wounded Soldier feels inadequate at best
stopping him from much needed healing rest
A wounded Soldiers wonders will he ever be alright,
trusting in God that he'll make it through the night.

If a Soldier is wounded far beyond repair
the loss and pain felt can not compare
The Cost of a Soldier is set so very high
they assure our freedom will always apply

Believe me to stand beside a Soldier and walk through his pain
will humble a civilian, no longer to complain
Love, patience, trust and hope is what a Soldier needs
to get them through some very messy deeds

God please watch over our Military today
as they work to keep our freedom everyday
For the wounded and the families of Soldiers lost
Just Bless them with abundant love, for we know not the cost.

I guess the way I see the world,
It's all a lonely road,
A road that I've been on,
For too long, so I'm told,

She was on a journey,
On this lonely road of mine,
But I was hidden deep,
And me, she could not find,

I thought I heard her call my name,
As I lifted my head,
'My search is now complete,
Please come with me, ' she said,

'you’l find the second time around,
Is easier, you'll see,
Before I looked for you,
I had to search for, me',

And as we left the road,
I took a look around,
I thought I'd see myself,
But I was no where to be found,

Oh Mate, how I need to get close with you
To undress you in an urgent rage
To rip your clothing straight off you
And bring me deeply within you.

To mount my woman
To ride my dream
For you to come to me with speed

How I need to get close with you right now
No one else will fit the bill
You are the one how knows just how
To cause a quiver and send a chill

You are not that far for me to come over

To you right now and get close with you?

This is my five-letter word poem.

And it goes something like this:
STUFF IT!

You want to be it?
Don't know how to do it?
Just tell it
Like it is.
Only you can do it.
If it's from the heart,
It's a start.
If they don't like it,
Hey, no sweat,
Never mind.
STUFF IT!

Life's too short
to waste time on idiots.
Bigots
Who criticise all the time.
Anal retentive!
Everything's relative.
Profanity, Vulgarity,
Telling, spelling,
Subject, reject,
Hey lighten up, baby!
This is poetry!
It's free,
Meant to be,
Not to please.
So tell them,
Like me:
STUFF IT!

You're in love.
Happens to the best of us.
When it works,
It's bliss.
If not,
It hurts.
Can't miss.
And worse,
It's really hard
To say
STUFF IT!

Life seems vain.
You're in pain.
Want to open veins.
Get run over by a train.
Blow your brains.
Don't think I don't know it.
I get it.
I've been there before.
Sometimes life's a bitch.
This is how I got out of it.
I told myself
'They won't get me,
STUFF IT! '

Chances are,
If your reading this,
You got curious
And couldn't resist.
A word has only the power you give it.
So don't hate me for using it.
Blame yourselves if you fell for it.
Then again,
STUFF IT!

You don't like me personally?
Maybe?
That's it isn't it?
Well That's too bad, baby.
Because you know
That with a shrug
I'll have the excuse I need
To repeat myself,
One more time,
You guessed it:

S-T-U-FF IT!

It's right how the ones who show you the most love,
Are often the ones who say it the least

It's right how the ones who tell you they love you the most,
Are often the ones that hurt you the most

It's right how the ones who beg for forgiveness,
Are often the ones who least deserve it

It's right how the ones who mess everything up,
Are often the ones who make you feel guilty

It's right how the ones who are the happiest,
Are often the ones who've known the most heartache

It's right how those hearts can always mend themselves,
If you give them enough time and space

It's right how this life just keeps going,
No matter how hard you may beg it to slow down.

It occurred to me that if all the world were paper,
And all the sea were ink;
And all the trees were cheese and bread,
What should we do for drink?

If fryers had no baldpates,
nor nuns had no dark cloisters,
If all the seas were beans and peas,
What would we do for oysters?

If there had been no projects,
Nor none that did great wrongs;
if fiddlers shall turn players all,
What should we do for songs?

If all things were eternal,
And nothing their end bringing;
if this should be, then, how should we
here make an end of singing?

You know it is often said that all bad
poetry
is just one poem:
"Oh I'm deep and in pain
and it's raining outside."

Whereas mine tend to go:
"Heck I'm shallow, I'm
drunk
and I just took a shower."

Obviously this often leaves me several raindrops
short,
for readings.

That is unless I come
straight from the dentist,
through
a Tornado
Which is still only

Two out of three!

Tell me what do you say to a young woman
who addicts you to Lollyices

and then abandons you
after putting metal rings
where rings don't
belong
and other rings where
rings under absolutely no
circumstances
ever belong?

Well,

I've switched off
my fridge so I can't buy the
Lollyices.

Just One look, that’s all it took me and I want desperately
to take your
breath away for a dirty weekend.

When I glimpse down your blouse, my
heart pounds
like two deaf cats tap-dancing on an old Belfast sink.

This isn't just love, for when my soul falls into your eyes
I know that on the
great sweater of life,
I've found another fuzz-ball like myself.

Yes someone who wouldn't look at a print
of Da Vinci's "Last Supper",
and
ask what a table like that would cost,
today.

Someone who knows that
love
isn't what you have to do
if you can't find your TV Guide
anywhere.

Now we all want to save our children from, shall
we say,
our
own "ineptitude d'amour"
and endless, Laurel and Hardy love lives.

We rightly hope our kids can remember their first loves
without disturbing mental
images of dirigibles
diving into the earth while horrified crowds
scatter;
ending in a monstrous thump of flame.

Yet we won't tell them
how we undid ourselves,
or give them practical advice, like:
"try not to
put an elbow into anybody's cheekbone,
because it's sex, and you can't
say:

"I'm sorry, I was thinking of something else,
just for a moment"
or tell her
"Christ, dear, I was concentrating on Lawn Bowls",

while she's lying there half-stunned.

The day we first met, I only wanted love
and did not care how it was spelt.

I allowed you to bring your runners into bed,
for better traction,
I kissed you while your hard eyes
glittered in the moonlight.

Then we would make love, and light our
cigarettes with just
our fingertips.

As I had found out,
exactly why it's called
a "headboard".

Obviously we were equals,
because we had a chess clock by the bed.

Then when you asked to have my children,
I said yes, because my ex-wife
sure doesn't want them.

But then you left!
And all because I said I'd like to
marry you.

If I could bring a date?

Quote:

Woody Allen.

The last time I was inside a woman was when I went to the Statue of Liberty.

Look we both know
the
opposite sex
is grief's retail outlet

And that you won't spit on my
grave,
in case something grows

Having now taken that fly off my
neck
I wore when I heard your husband say
he wouldn't hurt one,

Now
we're both angry as cornered pacifists
because forever didn't last
long
enough for me to get
my shoes and socks back on.

I'll admit - that
when I cooked,
and we were short of vinegar
I just used Streak Free Glass Cleaner.

Oh, without the Ammonia!

You know I want my epitaph to say:
"He died a
silly, silly way."
such as, upon the stone,

"Alas, dearly
missed -
his heart exploded in a dream -
where Barney,
the Purplest
Dinosaur,
was beating him for gambling debts."