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Archive for the ‘Africa’ Category

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A huge minestrone soup well has been discovered in Utah, USA with enough reserves to give every human being a bowl of broth EVERYDAY for 245 YEARS!

The well was discovered by legendary oilman Tex McToughuts. When his big bit struck the pocket in the sub-strata which boffins assumed contained oil, a huge plume of minestrone jetted 2,500 feet in the air and was visible from space. For a bit.

Diced carrot and bits of celery landed as far afield as Senegal!

McToughnuts, a man so hard that he cheered when Bambi’s Mum was shot (citing the right to bear arms) was dumbfounded by the discovery.

“Ah don’t even like minestrone soup!” he told Gfb, “Ah always like Cream o’Chicken afore I go a lynchin’.”

soup_mctavish

However with the price of Oil plummeting McToughnuts is set to make millions. Soup expert Dorothy Broth-Breath told Gfb, “A barrel of West Texas soup is currently fetching $ 125. Don’t slurp!”

Fracking unbelievable.

Readers may recall the recent opening of a broccoli mine in Western Australia. Is there a link?

Probably not.

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We hope you remain as amazed as we at the previous lives of Agnes DuPont!

Hello People,

It is great to be here to share with you my previous lives.

Last week I was a Sperm whale for a few hours.

I know this because I am still very partial to plankton and shed a tear at the end of Free Willy 2.

I even swallowed a man in Asda! (I was looking for dental floss. The plankton gets stuck between the teeth you see.)

He is quite comfy. So don’t worry.

You may think I am a fantasist who eats cheese late at night……….I would beg to differ.

Call me Ishmael

Regards,

Agnes

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Hi Kids,

Christmas can be a tricky time for opiate users!

cupboard crackhead copy

 

My former dealer Dinsdale used to pack up shop and head off to the lovely island of Santorini to help an archeological dig over the Holiday period.  Always good to have a hobby don’t you think.

Anyway as my supply of Class A’s dried up for a few days I was forced to use my imagination as to what to snort, sniff, inject or smoke to attain an alternative level of consciousness.

So, if you find yourself stuck this yuletide in the search for narcotics heaven, here are a few ideas;

  • Snort a bauble
  • Smoke ground up tinsel (the hallucinogenic quality of tinsel has long been overlooked.)
  • Rob a neighbour
  • Place a large Turkey on your head and breathe its decaying fumes After 4 days the high is extraordinary!

Christmas Crack Pudding is lovely too.  Make sure it is locally sourced though.

Merry Christmas!

Peace and Love

Uncle Crackhead

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Recently we enquired about the cost of a Safari to Kenya. “Just for two mate, not the entire cast of Hair!” I replied to the quote the sweaty travel agent provided.

As we left, we bumped into our old friend and economy traveller supreme Contour D. Klepto.

“Sell me your teeth Fightback” was his opening gambit.

I explained my predicament. He handed me a copy of his latest book “Drug Trotting – Round The World On A Stuffed Rectum”.

Chapter 7 outlined his trip to Kenya’s Masai Mara game reserve!

Day 1 – Hyde Park London – London Balloon Festival – pinch dirigible shaped like Princess Anne’s head – float towards Kent Coast. Faisal, a Moroccan shoeshine, awoke in balloon’s basket with a start.

Day 1 – The Channel – Losing height – throw Faisal out – he lands in briny – his sturdy Fez takes most of the impact.

Day 3 – France – Shot down over Marseille by scrambled French fighter jets – a balloon the shape of Princess Anne’s head is easy meat for a Dassault 125. Land in Hummus factory on outskirts of City.

Day 3 – France – Find employment in hummus factory as chick pea skinner. My naturally powerful buttocks very handy.

Day 17 France – Cadge a lift on articulated lorry carrying three thousand hummus cartons bound for Italy. My rucksack contains thirty tubs.

Day 18 Italy – Hitchhiking – picked up by former German International Footballer – Gerhard Spanker. It was Spanker who won the last gasp moustache grow off with Gary Mackerel that sent England crashing out of the 1985 World Cup.

Day 18 Italy – Arrive at Silvio Berlusconi’s Lake Como villa – Silvio having a new head stapled to his neck – Spanker falls into arms of an 18 year old busty beauty who describes herself as a wannabee lab technician seeking a cure for Alzheimer’s. She answers the phone by speaking to a fridge door.

Day 19 Italy – Bribe a policeman, with three tubs of hummus to drive me to port of Brindisi. Policeman wants to meet a girl who is lab technician seeking a cure for Alzheimer’s. I know just the girl. Kind of.

Day 20 – Stowaway on the “SS Catenaccio” which is carrying a cargo of pita breads and pre-chopped dipping vegetables to Alexandria!

Day 22 – Alexandria, Egypt – use empty hummus pots to build false camel hump – lash myself to a Dromedary which is part of a Caravan bound for Ethiopia. Surprised nobody notices me.

Day 68 – Egypt/Sudan Border – Bad breathed male camel takes a shine to me. Worrying.

Day 75 – Northern Sudan – Male camel buys me Jim Reeves CD in bizarre courtship ritual. Very worrying.

Day 308 – Ethiopian Border – Bump into Bob Geldof and Bono – they are making ham and tomato sandwiches for (presumably) starving locals – Bono is a natural spreader – great wrist action. I tell them my tale – Geldof to set up Hump Hummus Aid.

Day 309 – Geldof tells me that Huey Lewis and The News have signed up to “Hump Hummus Aid” – Bono asks me to nip to his private jet and pick up a bottle of Mayonnaise as he is running low.

Day 309 – Land stolen Bono Boeing in Nairobi Airport. Bribe Kenyan officials with three thousand rounds of ham, cheese and crab paste sandwiches – and four hand finished Cornish Pasties.

Day 310 – Hire Masai Mara warrior to guide me on last leg of journey. The narrow Kenyan roads make manoeuvring Bono’s Jumbo awkward. Pick up a speeding ticket.

Day 312 – Make it! Watch Pride of Lions eat a Tzatziki magnate. Thank my lucky stars. Discover two other things. Lions love Cornish Pasties but struggle with the music of U2.

“Give us me fookin’ Jumbo back!” Bono cries from his spare jet.

Price Comparison

British Airways

Flights; London to Nairobi – Time 10 hrs 30 minutes

2 Week Safari Package – £2,650 per person

Tight Fisted Traveller

Time Taken 7,488 Hours

Travel Costs – Nil!

You Decide!

This is an old TFT tale. He is venturing to the Antarctic at the moment and will soon relive his tale in his new book “Fuck Me It’s Cold.”

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Hello,

Regular readers of my lies will know I recently joined the reincarnee’s dating agency, “Have We’ve Met B4?”  (www.previouslovepreviouslives.com)

I have met a lovely man! Called Lionel.

In his previous life he was  Julius Caesar and was building Hardrian’s Wall.

Today he works in a brick factory and has built a brick wall in his back bedroom. It’s lucky he works in a brick factory isn’t it!

He regularly pours boiling oil over passers by and on Friday crucified a man who was selling flannels door to door.  The Police have had a word with him about this.  As you would expect.

He explained the misunderstanding and bought a couple of flannels as a peace offering.

I’m going round for Tea tonight. Traditional dress.  I’m a bit worried.  My hammer toes aren’t really set off by a sandal. Still hopefully the inflatable Christian I have bought from www.slaughterthereligous.com should keep his mind off my pudgy tootsies.

I am taking a sherry trifle for pudding.

Agnes

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Aunty Bill - A Tin Opener Short

 

Dear Aunty Bill

I recently became a Father for the first time. Is it normal for your first born to be a Penguin?

Dense Des,

Des Moines, Boing Boing, Idaho, USA

Aunty Bill Replies;

Dear Des,

One of the side effects of global warming is the migration of animals from their natural habitats.

Recent cases have included a women from Sale who gave birth to a whale, a young lass from Ware who gave birth to a Hare and a lady in red who gave birth to a bed.

You’ll be asking yourself;  “How did my wife meet a penguin?”

It is likely that in its long migration from colder climes, little Pingu got lost, swam up your soil stack and bit your wife on the bottom as she was performing her daily ablutions.

This is how Penguins procreate and it is likely that he mistook your wife’s rear end for a mate.

Penguins make a great addition to any family. Their staple diet is sardines on toast so they are cheap and easy to feed. Just make sure that the bath water is not too hot when you put him to bed.

Bottle feed rather than breast.

All The Best
Aunty Bill

 

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As you know we are always being told to have 5 a day! I couldn’t agree more!

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I recommend a Marijuana, Vodka, Crack, Speed, Smack sandwich – on locally sourced Wholegrain naturally.

No butter as it is bad for the heart.

Peace and Love

Uncle Crackhead

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Sargent_Stench_MctavishHello,

As ex-special forces I can kill using trapped wind.

In my book – life behind enemy lines in Iraq – “It’s Not Invasion It’s Liberation,” – I recount a story of Death by Bloat.

Here is an extract…..

“The Lethal Force Action Group were struggling. Sweat rash had laid Fungus Thompson out and Sniffer Tomkins and Jellytits O’Loon were  beginning to wilt.

Food supplies were running low. We were forced to lick eachother’s Athlete’s Foot for sustenance. On a good day I would give the lads access to my Veruccas. They are laden with protein.

My field training allowed me to make a tasty Athlete’s Foot/Verucca soup. To add flavour I used the chicken stock cubes and herb garland (Tarragon, Rosemary and Bay Leaf) I carry in my Ammo Belt.

The lads lapped it up!.

……………………………..Finally, after days of searching we came across the enemy compound. The Bad Lad from Baghdad was singing along to a Justin Bieber DVD warbling, “Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby” only in Arabic. ‘Cos he was an Arab.

I could smell soup. Vegetable soup. In less hostile times I would have volunteered my stock cubes and a dunk of the herb bouquet.

But I was here to serve my country, kill foreigners and find the gold bullion.

Gurkha Tenpin-Bowling reccied the compound and our one legged Sioux Brave, Itchy Scalp performed a rain dance (Footloose meets Dirty Dancing via The Exorcist).  I inched my way in. The Bad Lad from Baghdad was one mean looking compadre but had engrained gravy stains running down his shirt which lessened his evil visage.

I had to think. Fast. On my feet. I disguised myself as a bowl of soup. Well, more of a broth actually – but you get the gist….

soup_mctavish

The bowl containing me was placed on the table accompanied by lovely crusty bread rolls. Seeded.

I reconstituted myself and bamboozled the Bad Lad from Baghdad with cries of “Baby, baby, baby, baby” a la Bieber. He really was a Belieber judging by the posters on his walls.  I then used the trapped wind death grip on him.

The poor lad was a goner.

It turned out that he was not a Bad Lad from Baghdad, but Baghdad’s leading (only) Justin Bieber impressionist who recently had appeared on Iraqi TV’s “The Sunni and Shia Show” and was in town to sing at a local warlord’s surprise birthday party.

The bullion? No trace of it I’m afraid……….

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I had the morning off waiting for Curry’s to deliver the new flat screen TV. It’s got surround sound, radar, sonar and a missile launching system. Naturally they didn’t turn up.

The curly Kale diet was working its magic and I was on the pot reading The Sun.

The Yanks are going to start bombing Iraq again because although we “won” and “left a vibrant, pluralistic, democratic state” behind, it has all gone a bit tits up and some Angry Lads who think they are indestructible want to set up a Caliphate (whatever that is – thought it was a camping stove) – and suppress everything that lives there – even the wind if it blows too hastily.

Now a load of Ancient Christians are stuck up an Iraqi mountain (like Moses when he nipped up one to get a few do’s and dont’s – the one about not killing is always good for a laugh) – the Angry Lads want to kill them because their version of the same God is different – largely in choice of headwear it seems to me.

Then there’s the Israeli’s – same God – different head-gear again – slaughtering the innocents and creating more Angry Lads in the process.

Jesus was up a mountain – told us to be good – talk about stating the obvious! Then he was slaughtered – on a mountain.

Fuck it – going down the Stretched Testicle for a few pints.

At least me bowels are moving with aplomb.

But what is it with religion and mountains?

Go tell it my son!

I blame Buddhists. Bastards to a man.

Bob

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Hello,

I was in Tesco’s rummaging amongst the mangoes with a view to buying one for pudding later that evening.  As I popped a fruit into my trolley, I felt a tad woozy and a touch fey.

I had an insatiable desire to free my people from English tyranny!

The spirit of Joan of Arc, Maid of Orleans had entered me! 

Within minutes I was scurrying down the World Foods aisle in a hastily applied armour of Nan bread and fresh vegetables (some well beyond their best before date) with a baguette lance in my hand.

On I charged, scything down the enemy (Broad beans are handy in a fight).

I screamed, nay ululated,  invoking God to rid France of these English pigs.  I sped through the automatic doors, into the sunlight and trundled toward freedom, shattering their yoke of tyranny.

Sadly the trolley wheel locking device was activated and the lardy security guard, bearing his epaulettes proudly, ended my uprising.

The Magistrate deferred the sentence of burning at the stake to 120 hours of litter picking on the A13. I did get my pound back for the trolley though.

You may think I am a fantasist ………..I would beg to differ.

Mango anyone?

Sacre Bleu!

Agnes

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