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Katie Hopkins

Little ray of non-publicity seeking sunshine Katie Hopkins is under a cloud at the moment. The Queen of mock outrage, who has a trombone for a kneecap recently visited a Food Bank in Devon with the aim of belittling “the feckless” scroungers who use it.

She lambasted a legless man for wasting the nation’s resources by buying trousers saying, “This is why the country is going to the dogs. If legless people can afford trousers then something is seriously wrong.”

A kerfuffle then ensued with a woman waiting at a nearby bus stop. For the #34 to Tiverton.

“My arse she’s waiting for a bus!” said Katie to the handily located camera, “She is probably a prostitute. She looks like one. And she is hanging about. All adds up.”

cowpatfarage copy

PHWOAR!!!!!

It was when Katie left the Food bank to assail a nearby roundabout for being round, that staff noticed a number of tins of marrow fat peas were missing.

An insider told Gfb newshound, Cindy Etch-a-Sketch, “Katie had just finished a frenzied sex session with Nigel Farage and needed to replenish her energy levels with marrow fat peas which you can only get at Food Banks these days. She will send a cheque to cover the cost. He is lucky. Katie normally eats the male after copulation.”

Duncan-Spliff 'avin it laaarge.....

Duncan-Spliff ‘avin it laaarge…..

If you have any spare tins of marrow fat peas why not send them to Katie!

 

 

 

 

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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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Oh, but how do drunk people get home?
I wonder
But…
How do drunk people get home?
My careening well…
Scars and scurf
And a long whole ago
….that pill in the morning in the clinic
that pill…
Hmm…
But how do drunk people get home?
I met the man with the box of frogs and had occasion to ask him
Feeling that the rain would stay off a while
as I sheltered under his hanging umbrella
He was too busy to answer
Much too busy,
The boxing of frogs and the herding of cats
Taking up
Way way too much of his time!
But it’d come to a pretty pass
If the only weavers of dreams left to us
Were to be the joke of the bank
(Their jokes are cruel)
And the many sellers of smoke
They there
Still there
There in the glam of the threadbare glade.

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I was in Tesco’s rummaging amongst the mangoes with a view to buying one for my pudding this 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 the yoke of Roman tyranny.

The spirit of Boadicea, Queen of the Iceni had entered me!

I applied Brobat Blue woad and with my wonky wheeled trolley chariot, I sought vengeance on the spotty youth oppressing me with her inability to locate the dried apricots in the Storeroom.

She was no underpaid wage slave of questionable literacy and numeracy skills but a Roman oppressor!

I rented the air with a cry of “Death To The Romans!”

The Romans formed a Shield Wall using tins of Kidney, Baked and Borlotti Beans. The cunning curs!

Sadly my uprising came to an abrupt halt when the wonky wheel of the accursed trolley chariot fell off and I skidded to a halt by the tinned fish shelf (Pilchards on special offer by the way).

Mango anyone?

Regards,

Agnes

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Aunty Bill - A Tin Opener Short

 

Dear Aunty Bill,

I love my next door neighbour. He is no oil painting (most people who see him have a gag reflex) but I cannot stop thinking about him and his train set. He has a scale version of London Kings Cross station in his back garden.

I was thinking of getting him something for his train set as a way to break the ice as it were.

What would you suggest?

Emily, Bashley

Aunty Bill Replies;

Dear Emily,

This takes me back to the days when I had a train set.

Dad was seldom home so we had to run round the garden making train noises and wearing baseball hats pretending we were Casey Jones.

My “Uncle Des” insisted we wore baseball hats and nothing else, he said it was more “authentic”. Never saw Casey Jones with his overalls off though.

Anyway, pigeons would be the ideal icebreaker for your train loving heart-throb. He can place them around his garden to add authenticity. Chuck in some stale bread rolls, a half eaten bag of Cheesy Wotsits and scatter vomit in the raised beds to provide a true diet of the London pigeon.

To add an even greater air of Dickensian squalor, ensure that some of the flock should have a missing leg, eye or even a wing that doesn’t flap properly.

Pigeons healthy and deformed, are widely available and will really set the scene. He will love you forever!

Coo Coo! Choo Choo!

Aunty Bill

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

Hello People,

It is great to be here (well for the time being anyway – goodness knows where I will be 5 minutes) to share with you my previous lives.

A few years ago I was a whale. One of the big ones.

I know this because I am partial to Plankton and always shed a tear at the end of Free Willy 2.

Only last week I 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……….I would beg to differ.

Regards,

Agnes

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