Friday 28 August 2015



Lord Sebastian Coe, former sweat-buddy

Aye, there's nowt I like better after sixteen pints than a good sweaty work-out in t'gym, like, wi' a fine 'andsome man or ten,
(sings)  there ain't nothing like ay gangbang,
there ain't nothing like ay gangbang,
there ain't nothing like ay gangbang,
to blow awa-ay the blue-ues.

and marital confidante  of Lord William Miscarriages,

Ah.....well.... I simply say to you .....ah..... lay-deez-an-gentulmen of the ah, that my esteemed colleague, Lord Coe, has...ah... seen the photographs of my wife, wotsername's ......ah....uterus... and he can con-furm, from those images,  that I yam ay definitely heterosexual husband, definitely. 
And now that my good friend, the prime minister, 

HamFace and Fffffffion Uterus.

has graciously given me ay meal ticket for life - and I must say the food really is rather good and the per diem rate is not half-bad, although I expect to be given ay proper, well paid  job, as befits my status as ay boy-lover and friend of Madam Jolie and between us but mainly myself, we have managed to stamp-out rape or landmines or whatever it is - now that I am properly honoured for my selfless public service, perhaps these unfounded rumours about me will at last subside.  I only ever  shared  ay bed, mr tiny speaker,  with young Chris in order to save money. 

And because he is rather pretty. 
Or was. 
A bit old, now, to be frank.  
But we must not forget, as scholars and statesmen, 
that the Greeks to who we owe so much, well, not just now, they owe us so much, as ay matter of fact, 
but historically, the Greeks, who, let's face it, invented Conservatism,
 believed that significant gentlemen, such as myself,
 had a public duty to bugger the prettiest young men of the day, 
in order to initiate them into proper citizenship. 
Oh, they had wives, too, so the boy thing wasn't really a pleasure, just a duty. As it was with me. Even though I never did it.
But if I had have done it I would only have been being true to the British Parliament's Greek roots.
 And let's face it, mr tiny speaker, which of us would argue with  Mrs Thatcher, 
I mean Mr Aristotle?
As for the ...ah....non-scandal of my covering-up the Welsh Tory non-child abuse scandal,

well, if I had done something like that I certainly would not be in the House of Lords, would I?  
So fuck off, you can't touch me. 

Or, indeed, any of the noble, learned and degenerate colleagues, of which I yam now one. 
And one of whom would most certainly have been our late colleague in public service, Sir James,
had not a vicious campaign been mounted against him by poor people whom he had kindly groped, fingered and raped.

 today announced that doping would no longer be tolerated.

MPs and peers are there to do a job of work, he said,
 and too many of them are off their faces;  

drink, crack, whores, money, spanking, beasting, the place really has gone to fuck

 and after having won dozens of gold medals,
 brought the Olympics to London 

and helped get GayWilly elected prime minister
  I see it as my mission to clean the place up.
Sorry?  Wossat? 
Athletics? Not Westminster? 

But surely, if the lawmakers're breaking all the laws we need to start there, not with some Russian ladyman running around a track over and over again, up to his tits in amphetamine; I mean, come on, how much harm can that do, compared to the former foreign seckatry flogging-off his address book, 

or the Chancellor doing tax deals 
favouring his old school chums 

Yes, it is a great British product,
 flying the flag for Britain,
 creating jobs for British workers in Chinese sweat shops, 
a true  British success story.   
Tax?   What, on its earnings?
No, it doesn't pay any tax, why should it? 
 If you'll forgive me, that's what's wrong with this country.  
People who went to decent schools already do this country a great favour, simply by staying here,  the idea that they should pay taxes is frankly something from the Middle Ages. Or the nineteen sixties, anway.
Phew, anybody gotta line or two, for the next prime minister?

or the chairman of a select committe covering-up for a disgusting old pervert?  

Vaz:  I am probably the most important Asian in the country. 
And that's why you should believe me about the noble and learned Lord Janner. I'll be buggered if he was ever a beast.
My sister is very pretty, you know.
No, she's not for sale.
Not exactly.


And, continued an exasperated Lord Coe, the whole fucking shower of them have been fiddling their exes for decades and nobody ever does fuck all about it;  they just call it something else. 
I mean, all this bollocks about athletes cheating, of course they fucking cheat, that's how the entertainment world is. And nobody, Huw, gives a fuck if some cycling headbanger or some mad  greedybint sprinter is wired out of their gourd. 

 It's parliamen needs detoxing - drunks, druggies, extortionists, blackmailers, slags, pimps, ponces and child molesters -
not the sweaty end of showbusiness.

Welcome back to the Six O Clock News from the PBC, with me, Huw Welshman.
That was Lord Seb Coe there for us. 
And we wish him luck with that, cleaning-up MediaMinster, bless.
Need his running shoes with that, I shouldn't wonder, look you, 
isn't it?  And a bucketful of speed

And next up is the elevation to the Great Latrine of State of veteran Aparetheid Campaigner, Lord Peter Orange. 

 Lord Orange......

Well, Huw, jest a minute, you should, if I may say so, get yer bleddy facts straight. It was myself end my parents who ectually ended apartheid in South Efrica, thet was before I came to England, to become a Welsh Tory MP working for thet great kaffir-basher, Tony Blair.  Christ, he knew how to hendle them niggers. Napalm, thet's the ticket, end Cruise missiles.

Et wes all finished with et thet point, et the time I left South Efrica. Oh, I know thet misguided commentators say thet et wes de Clerk end Mendela who sorted et all out, bet et wes me.

OK Lord Orange, we'll leave that there. But you have always said that you were dead against the House of Lords......

Well, again, Huw, you should get your bleddy fects right, I never said enything ev the fecking sort.
I have always admired the sterling work done by peers end I am heppy to join them in their selfless public servicer.  Got that?
I mean, come on, man, pull yourself together, we're both Welshmen, right?

 Some say, your Grace, that you are doing this for the money, that you can run a business, for instance, as do many peers, using the House of Lords as your business address and write you begging letters on official stationery  and have the postage paid-for by us and that you can entertain clients to slap-up lunches, largely paid for by us........

Ebsolute nonsense, Huw,
Ebsolute nonsense, I hev always lived modestly, exactly as do those great Welsh souls who regularly voted a careerist South Efrican ponce, like me,  into the greatest legislature in the world. Mind you, they've voted for two generations of Kinnocks, now, so thet proves something.

But no, I hev never claimed for enything to which I was not entitled. I em one hundred per cent in my determinsation to stop the Lords gravy train, jump on it, and order the driver to go Full Speed Ahead.

Northern Ireland? The Comfort Letters?
  Letting all those murderers off?
Well, Huw, I'm afraid that you demonstrate a failing common in ordinary people, who don't understend things properly.  When I made deals with serial murderers and torturers, I was acting in the very best interests of my own career, as anyone would.
Jeremy Corbyn?  Not to be trusted.  Did you know he ectually spoke to those murderous scum, my good friends, Gerry Nonce and Marty Kneecaps.  
No, vote for Yvette Cooper.  A prime minister, who looks like a boy in a miniskirt.  Jest the fecking ticket. Go down a fecking storm she would, with us old boys in the Lords.

Feck off back to South Efrica?  Why the feck would I do thet?
Made a fecking fortune here, I hev, eff you lot. 


Well, thanks for your time, Excellency,

That's OK Huw, my seckatry'll send you my bill.
And, don't be so formal, jest address me in future as My Lord.


This is skymadeupnewsandfilth with me, KayBully

 and it's over now to our Killing Innocent People correspondent, Martin Brunt.

 Martin, you've driven at least one harmless citizen to kill herself with your filthy bullying and threatening behaviour,  I mean, you told that old biddy a pack of lies, didanchoo? 

You made out to her that because some daft cunt  had mentioned her to the police she was bound to be  sent to prison, even  though that was all bollocks, wassenit? 
If you hadn't of frightened the old crow to a lonely death in a hotel room  she might still of been here now, right?

Well, thanks, Kay and thassright, she might've been still here if I hadn't messed with her head on national Murdoch TeeVee, like the worthless piece of shit I am.   
But what you gotta remember, Kay, is that this old cow was dissing Cilla'n'Gerry McCann, right.......? 

That's right, Martin, didn't she say something like they couldn't of been very good parents, leaving little wotsername on her own, in a strange room, in a strange country, while they went out on the very professional piss, with some very professional pisshead friends, or were they called colleagues.....?

 I think, Kay, that a quiet evening drink with colleagues is how  people like Gerry'n'Cilla describe going on the piss and leaving the tiny kids alone......

Yeah. And viewers should also remember that they're both doctors, wheras that old slag you drove to her death, well she was just nobody, and she would of died anyway, even if you hadden of come along when you did. 

That's right, Kay, they were doctors and doctors just...well.....I wouldn't say never......but very rarely do anything wrong....and Gerry'n'Cilla, they've maintained all along that neglecting their kids, when it's done by professional people, is achelly not wrong but achelly right.  And do you know what, Kay, as a crime correspondent, and an expert in people behaving in ways most of us would consider shocking,  I simply have to agree with Gerry'n'Cilla.  But even if I didn't, just look at the amount of work those two arseholes have brought to our industry, her and her scrawny, whiney Myraface, 

and him, the jumped-up Jock git,  

with his nasty, how-dare-you  bombast,  
the pair of them, touring the world on other people's money, paying off their mortgage.......

 On other people's money...
the mortgage....?

That's right, Kay,  they paid off their mortgage from the charity dosh and said that it was part of the hunt for wotsername...

How's that, Martin?

Well, Kay, thassright,
 how IS that? 
Well, my sources tell me that they said that if they didden have to pay their mortgage, they could travel the world looking for wotsername and being on Sofa TeeVee.

And have they found her?
What?  Found wotsername? 
No, Kay, they haven't?
So are they gonna pay back all the dosh 
that poor people gave them?

Are they fuck, Kay, are they fuck...
they'll sue you if you even suggest it.
They'll probably even sue this bloke, Ishmael,
who's writing this.

And that old bloater who you drove to suicide, 

anybody pay-off her mortgage?

I don't have any firm information on that, Kay, at this time. 
 But I would bet my granma's tits  that nobody did.

And her kid, I'll bet she never left him all alone at night, abroad, and then blamed the cops for anything? Thought so.
Alright, we'll leave it there.. 
 But what's your take on the killings of journalists, people just like ourselves, only not as famous or as good or as well paid, obviously, working for some hick redneck nigger-roastin' station in Virginia, with about four hundred fat, stupid  viewers.  And that's on a big news day. 
Whaddayamake of that?
Y'know, the bimbo and the fat guy....?

Well, thanks, Kay and thassright.
 It is a dark day for skymadeupnewsandfilth and indeed for all of us in MediaMinster.  Worst day, in fact, since the death of Diana. Maybe even worse.  Maybe even worse than France. Colleagues in MediaMinster are wearing tee-shirts saying:  Je suis le bimbo et l'homme  grosse.  That's how bad it is, Kay....

Except that nobody really gives a fuck, right?

Not really, Kay, thassright, not really.
 I mean, I'm a crime correspondent.  And if somebody like me, somebody in the business, if they never even heard of these two losers then it's hardly a news story at all, is it,  rather like the one they were covering, when they got topped.

Got no legs, then, Martin?

Yes, thanks Kay, and thassright, 
no legs at all. Won't run.
 A day or two and we'll be back to Corbynising. He must have a transexual boyfriend or a drug habit......  

That's right, Martin, they all do.
And if he doesn't, we'll just make 'em up, right?

Thassright, Kay, 
 that's why they call us skymadeupnewsandfilth.

That was Martin Brunt for us there, outside some court or crime scene, for no reason at all, apart from him being a crime correspondent. 
 Even though he isn't. 
And everybody hates him.

Stay tuned.  

We'll be back in less than  ten minutes with the business news demonstrating all the proof  you need that George Osborne is the best chancellor ever. 
Yeah, that's right, 
even though the best part of him ran down his mother's leg.
Be right back.

 Don't go away. 

Oh, and President Obama'll be doing that thing he does:

My fellow motherfuckers.
Amerka's the greatest nation ever.  
Under God.  Standing up for what's right. 
Spreading peace. 
Civilising the whole world.
And blowin' each others fucking heads off.
An' th'ain't nuthin I can do about it.
Congress won't let me.
An the dumb sonsafuckingbitches themselves, 
they won't let me neither.
When I'm done with this shit
I'm gonna take all my bribes
from the military and the banks
and move my ass to Limeyland.
Anywhere gotta be better than this crazy shithole, 
where you can't walk down the fucking street without some member of lawnforcement, the KuKluxKlan
or just some plain, everyday shitbrain psychobastard
just walking up to you an' blowin yer fuckin' ass away.
An' you ain't never even set eyes on him.
He just slots you cos he feels like it.
Land of opportunity.
At least when I murder Amerkan citizens
I do it from a drone-terminator,
all nice and clean,
an' I don't get no blood or brains or guts all over m'shoes, 
not like these nutjobs, they got no self-respect.
An' I don't get caught, neither.
In LimeyLand it's mostly lawnforcement murders people on the streets.
An' at least over there they kinda  speak Amerkan.
What? Kenya?
With all them poor, crazy niggers, half-dressed in fucking animal skins
 with Goddamned bones in their fucking noses  
and a hundred metal rings round their motherfuckin necks,
so's they look like half-man-half-fuckin-giraffe,
all smiley and shufflin' around barefoot 
an' singing fucking hymns to Jesus, like backward infants?
You mean that Kenya ?
You think I should retire to that shithole? 
Never gonna happen, buddy.
Africa fer the niggers, that's what I say,
unless they got oil,
in which Uncle Sam gotta duty to go civilise 'em.
Spunky Bill, back in the White House?
Yer shittin me, right?
Even Amerkans ain't that stupid.
Are they?