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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!

 

 

 

 

I am Barry Belcher. I am a Milkman. I am Psychic. I predict predictions.

These were my predictions for 2014.

1. December 2012 – Like The Mayans I believe the world will end on 21st December 2012.

2. 2014 – Feet will be bigger in 2014 by an average of 7.54% per toe.

3. July 2014 –   Nelson Mandela will finally depart the earth for a better place.

As you can see I was right about Nelson whilst NASA has confirmed that toes are 3.68% bigger on average this year.  The world did end in 2012 but most men have yet to notice due to internet porn.

I know you are agog with anticipation to learn of my predictions for 2015.

So, without further ado…….Milk Bottle of Mystery…….what does the future foretell?

1. Everyone will take pointless images of themselves. These images will be called Selfies.

2. Dallas will be reinvented as a healthy eating soap opera set in the elasticated waistbanded, masticated heartland of Texas. Sallad will be the year’s Breaking Bad.

3. Taylor Swift’s nasal passage will be the setting for the new Star War’s franchise. She will sneeze the Millenium Falcon into hyper-space in spectacular fashion! “The Empire’s Hooter” will be a box office smash.

Now it is time for messages from “THE OTHER SIDE” –

Elaine, Walthamstow

The cat ate it.

Barbara, Adelaide

Mum kept the receipt in case you didn’t like the blouse.

Liang Bo in Shanghai

Bo Bing thinks velcro fasteners would be a safer bet for you.

Well folks, the Milk Bottle of Mystery is being returned to the Crate of Destiny.

Until next time……….HAPPY 2011!

My Dearest food lovers. I remain in prison in Nice, awaiting sentence for truffle smuggling. My appeal has fallen on deaf ears it would appear although it would my truffle remains highly prized by La Randy Prison Gouveneur! Which naturally leads to a question about sprouts.

Joyeux Noel to you all.
Le Fanny Rougecrack
Dear Fanny,

Sprouts Fanny, sprouts? Why oh why?

On what’s supposed to be the happiest day of the year, why do we have to sit with a steaming mash of stinking green sludge on the dinner table? We never eat them any other time of the year. By the smells emanating from our dog during The Queen’s Speech, he’s the only one in the family who eats them.

Can you let me know how to jazz them up a bit.

Mary, Bromsgrove.
Dearest Mary,

Ever since I was force fed them as a little boy, I’ve had nightmares about the horrid little things. But all is not lost my dear. For I have created a recipe that will have the whole family crying out for seconds!

Using a food processor, finely slice your sprouts and set aside.

Add a little olive oil to a hot pan and add some smoked diced bacon.

Fry until the bacon is crispy and remove from the pan.

Tip away any excess fat.

Add chopped shallots, half a glass of dry white wine to the sprouts and chuck in the frying pan.

Simmer for a few minutes then add a half pint of chicken stock.

Simmer for a further 6 minutes.

Stir in a tablespoon of creme fraiche, add the bacon and serve.

Delicious!

Les Miserables Fanny (Hugh Jackman! What a dish!)

“Kiamn vi atingas perfektecon ĉiutagan kiel mi far, estas bone ..i havi defiojn. Pasintjare mi neniu estas antan la celo de faranta perfekta fromaĝo sur tost. mi atingita ĉi tiu celo. Mi lek miaj antaŭbrakoj ĉiutaga al rememorig min kiel mirinda mi estas. Fromaĝo Esperanto? Senĝena por mi!”

Translation;

(*“When you achieve perfection everyday as I do, it is good to have challenges. Last year I set myself the target of making perfect cheese on toast. I achieved this aim. If I can grill cheese then I can certainly teach the world to speak the same language. By Thursday tea time at the latest. Cheese to Esperanto? Not a problem for me!”)

Simon Cowell made the moon and created meat. Strangers suck his forearms.

He now wants the world to speak Esperanto.

rythmnsimon

The following is a sneak extract from the new series of Heaven’s Got Talent In Esperanto. Simon is judging God’s plate spinning act,

“Dio, la malfacileco mi havas kun via ago estas tio, ke mi ne povas vid granda mendado de telero spinners nunmomente. Certa, vi povas akiri koncerton sur Meditteranean kroz aŭ du sed sur nacia televido? mi hav miaj duboj. Mi vere kredi ke vi havas aĵon pri vi kvankam Dio. Mi havas okulon por ĉi tiuj aferoj! Mia konsilo al vi estas tio, ke mi vid vin pli kiel giganta koko prefere ol telero spinner. Don ĝi iuj penso, reven pli malfrue en la montr kaj RAV ni!”

Dio respond, “Vi estas tre saĝa Sro Cowell,” (Cowell kapjesoj en mecenateco) “Sed eĉ vi ne povus ĉefinstiginton Novajn Infanojn Sur la Bloka reveno, ni agnosku, ke, eĉ mi ne povus estas farita tio. Tamen, mi estos revenigi kiel koko! Susan Boyle estas seksalloga! seksalloga!”

Cowell “dir-is, ke mi estas ĝoj vi hav vid sento Dio.”

Translation;

Cowell, “God, the difficulty I have with your act is that I can’t see a great demand for plate spinners at the moment. Sure, you may get a gig on a Mediterranean cruise or two but national television? I have my doubts. I genuinely believe that you have something about you though God. I have an eye for these things. My advice to you is that I see you more as a giant chicken rather than a plate spinner. Give it some thought, come back later in the show and WOW us!”

God; “You are so wise Mr Cowell,” (Cowell nods in munificence) “But even you could not mastermind New Kids On The Block’s comeback, let’s face it, even I could not have done that. However, I shall return as a chicken! Susan Boyle is sexy!sexy!”

Cowell; “I am glad you have seen sense God.”

Saluton!

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

Hello Folks,

Well we are back from our trip “Down Under”. I enjoyed Australia. We stayed in the resort of Wollombonggongerianty. The town’s slogan was, “Playground For Functioning Illiterates”.

Oz water swirls in a anti-clockwise direction! Watching a floater bravely battle for survival in an unusal direction fascinated me for several hours.

“Magnetic Pole”, Bruce our taciturn concierge told me. He still mourns the death of Bon Scott.

So ever the one with a scientific mind, when I returned home I sought to place a spoon Geller like, on the forehead of Zgbniew Zzzzzgmrboniak, our local Polish builder. Safe to say the spoon fell off.

Magnetic Poles my arse.

I am back at work.

I was involved in a repossession.

Sir Amethyst Yeast-Gravel had failed to pay his Council Tax. The poor old chap is potless. Should take a leaf out of my cousin Terry’s book and consider armed robbery as a career option.

Anyway before I took possession of goods to the value of what Sir Yeast-Gravel owed, his noblilityness kindly allowed me to use his facilities.

You could tell he was posh because of the a copy of Horse and Hound as the in-store reading material.

I like horses. Legs, Necks, Tails. They’ve got the lot.

Couldn’t ride a horse though. Suffer from Stirrup Ankle.

But at least the water in the bowl swirls in the direction it should. Bloody Australians taking liberties with my evacuations. You can tell a lot about a country by the way it treats its sewage.

My Dad used to say to me, “Your stool is your best friend.” I don’t have a clue either.  Strange man was Dad. He thought he was 3 parts human and 1 part pigeon.

Bob

 

Aunty Bill - A Tin Opener Short

Here To Help – Here To Care

The Milk Of Human Kindness

Aunty Bill,

My mum sold me to the milkman in order to buy a shoe horn the other week.

Do you think she is trying to tell me something? I weigh 87 stone and recently ate our roof by mistake. It made a healthy alternative to cheese in a sandwich.

Yvonne, Winchester

Aunty Bill Replies;

Dear Yvonne

The shoehorn is merely a metaphor for shoe horning you out of the door and out of her life (although at 87 stone she’s got a job on her hands and will need a bigger horn or lots of smaller ones).

At least she sold you to a milkman.

Milkmen (and women) have over the years demonstrated a deep affection for fat people. Before the days of the milkfloat, they could be seen across Britain pulling the wagon while milkmen jumped on and off delivering the nation’s favourite drink.

Hopefully he will put you to work and you’ll see the pounds fall away and be in a position to replace the roof over you dear old mum’s head which you so thoughtlessly ate.

Chink! Chink!

AB

As regular readers will know, each year Fanny writes the same story from a prison cell in Nice, awaiting sentence for truffle smuggling. Despite the ongoing advances of Le Prison Gouveneur, she remains in good spirits (100% proof vodka).

Dear Fanny,

My wife left me this week because she found out I’m quite fond of dressing up as a quiche. This didn’t go down too well at our daughter’s nativity play and wifey chose to leave me.

Anyway, the problem is I’ve got a 32lb turkey defrosting for the big day and I’m at a loss as to what to do with the leftovers.

I’ve decided to wear a crabstick on New Years Eve!

Paul, Upper Ramsbottom.

Dear Paul.

As I write from my cell I can’t help but think of you in your quiche and what a fine sight that would be.

Unfortunately I’m resigned to spending my Yuletide in the company of miscreants. Alas all is not lost as my cell mate, Marcledreuxleix, has brewed a rather fine batch of hooch made from fermented snail urine, scrotum shavings and leftover hard boiled eggs. Mmmmmmm…………..

Boxing day Turkey, Ham, Leek and Tarragon Pie.

Combine cooked leeks, a splash of white wine, half a cup of chicken stock.

Add your leftover turkey and ham, simmer then add creme fraiche and chopped tarragon. Heat and serve topped with a (shop bought puff pastry) crispy, golden brown pie lid.

Scrummy

Merry Noel!

Le Rougecrack

new oily

Hello Oily

Pubic hair topiary is all the rage this year in North Devon. What is your view on “The Brazilian”? Sambatastic or are you a bush guy.

Aged Elsie, Bideford

Oily Replies;

Elsie,

I spent a summer on Copacabana a few years ago and filmed the real Brazil in my documentary ‘City of Thongs’. (Did you know that Queen Victoria wore an early prototype, a kind of hair shirt for the arse – which historians claim explains her permanent miserable gurn).

Armed with such fascinating historical facts I wandered the beach interviewing, oiled up thong clad  ass shaking women. The results were…..well, exhausting.

The question I ask society at large in this wonderful piece of “Deep Throat” journalism is a simple one: is the thong all it’s cracked up to be?

Oh and by the way Elsie, I found your false teeth. Not sure how they got clamped there without me noticing overnight. Let’s stay off the rum in future!

Oily

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.”