Monday, 20 July 2009


From skymadeupnewsandfilth's Black Death correspondent,
Jayne Tits.


There is no need to worry, said the Plague Secretary today.

The UK is well placed to have a good plague, if we aren't seeing millions of deaths among the economically non-productive (formerly, hard-working families, the old, disabled and vulnerable) by Christmas, plans are well in advance to both deliberately infect people and withhold life-saving treatment. The prime minister will, hiding in the toilet, masturbating fenziedly and biting his nails until they bleed, demonstrate his strength in a crisis and prove to the nation that it is only by returning a NewLabour government that we will stop killing you. It is the right thing for the country.

Mr Bubbles continued by adding that he had plenty of mascara, more than enough to see him through any number of Crisis, What Crisis television appearances with his fellow-cosmeticists, beauticicans and slap-artistes, Messieurs Paxoman, BoultoLard and les Freres Dimbleby, the nation's favourite Chairmen.

I urge all cabinet ministers to apply their make-up carefully, the Death Secretary concluded; in Plague times like these the prime minister needs to see a pretty face or two, it's only natural.

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1 comment:

Verge said...

Dear Mr Ish, your email gets bounced back from gmail for some reason, but no matter, no reason not to say this here: ill-will at all, just assumed email equivalent of a blocked pipe. You mentioned in a blog post the other day nostalgia for the days (the ideal) of pamphleteering: I think you have to take credit for achieving just that. I print out Stanislav's finest for relatives - sometimes I keep a few things back from my mum, I must admit, but my father gets it all * , and could be heard cackling away over "it all shit is" last week: probably as fine a workout as the one he gets at his cardiac rehab P.E. class. An old and very dear family friend, now living in America where she teaches and writes, has also become a keen Stanislavian, and I can't imagine this is an unusual arrangement - the medium may have morphed, but the process seems similar, and if you were selling them for 50p a sheet at some scrivener's equivalent of a farmer's market every week, I'd be in the queue. One friend wondered if you'd ever thought of putting together a book - I told her I assumed you couldn't be arsed (or possibly didn't want to risk seeing Buster end his days in the workhouse after some bastard's libel lawyer had dipped his spoon in the cauldron.)

more good wishes to SBPoE from Monmouthshire (best part of Wales, so long as you give Newport a wide berth after dark and at weekends.)

* the wheel comes full circle: he's the degenerate fucker who left a copy of naked lunch lying around (possibly on top of a cupboard, it should be conceded) when I was an impressionable youth. Had me a sick sense of humour ever since.