Thursday, 27 January 2011



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Fuckwit, airhead celebrities the world over are distraught at the news that their favourite host, Papa Nelson, was, at 92, not likely to live much longer. I am utterly gutted, said David Beckham, it was one the greatest honours wot I ever was given in my career as an advertising man. Mr Nelson gave me so many opportunities to be seen wiv uvver celebs and I simply can't fank 'im enough and I'm gonna call my next son after 'im, Horatio Beckham. Me too, screeched Mrs Beckham, a celebrity in her own right, I'm so to'ally and u''erly gutted that I'm gonna write a song about 'im, on my new album, which'll be out soon.

Naomi Campbell and Imran Kahn were too coked-up, I mean choked-up with distress to make a comment, although Ms Campbell's bruised spokeswoman said she would sue any fucking bastard and throw shit at them if they denied that she was Mr Mandela's secret grand-daughter and should, therefore,  inherit Africa off of  him.

In London, a spokesman for Lady Thatcher, who is also no longer partying, said the old boot was thrilled that she might outlive the nigger terrorist, whom, said  a simpering Sir Bernard Fag-Ingham from his mistress's bedside, she would've hanged and no mistake, bloody coon.

Since coming out of jail, Sir Nelson has had a distinguished career as a party-giver and will be much missed by the  international  jetset.

Plans for his funeral are well underway, David Dimbleby is to cover it for the BBC, whilst former US President, Spunky Bill, will make the graveside oration, if they pay him enough money. Killin' niggers  is plumb wrong, said Bill, earlier, unless they're EyeRackis, or Goddamned Afghanese or Somalese or PakiBastards, as they call 'em in Limeyland.  I will be honoured to speak at the funeral of Senator Mandela, a man who I was genuinely pleased to call nigger, I mean friend.

All over South Africa, ordinary people were hunkering down by the kraal, crying into their mealie beer, whilst the women get on with the hard work, as usual.

N'kose sikkelele Africa, sang disgraced labour clown, Pete Fingers Hain,  in the Pontypridd Labour Club, I truly loved him, he was the Father of my nation, not this one, my real nation, Africa, where I haven't robbed any banks..

And I shall write a book about my courage and vision, said former UK unelected prime minister, Mr Gordon Snot, I mean his, wossisname's, the darky.


a young anglo-irish catholic said...

I can't say where he works now, but I had dinner last year with De Klerk's private sekatary from back in the days.

He told me about sitting and watching six months of De Klerk and Mandela thrashing out the hand-over, one-to-one, to prevent the whole thing going up in flames.

Just amazing.

You've got the hand that to the old buggers. Mind you, the place is completely fucked ultimately.

mongoose said...

De Clerk was the one who turned it all around. A decent white man in Africa. A rare bird indeed on that benighted continent.

Nelson, bless his cotton wotsits, is now famous for being old, and not dead.

Woman on a Raft said...

Is Sir Elton bashin' the joanna agin for the big send-off?

call me ishmael said...

He's like Gorbachev, De Klerk, airbrushed.

Candle on the Veldt, Mrs WOAR, for sure.

Dick the Prick said...

Skymadeupnewsandfilth have been running an odd yarn about blick sood africans smoking the aids medicine - how fucked do you have to be before you reached for the lighter fuel? Yeah, SA could have been a damn sight worse but that ain't saying much.

Wrinkled Weasel said...

Oh please don't let him die. I could not stand another whole week of gushing tributes. The entire BBC would practically drown in jizz.

call me ishmael said...

The BBC has already started, mr WW, some poor hack outside the SA hodpital almost in tears, prepare for the worst when he dies. Wall-to-wall Archbishop Tutu.

Dick the Prick said...

I'd love to have a couple of pints with the Tutu.