viernes, 19 de noviembre de 2010
Heyhabib: Yes Flashmonkey.
F: I've written a witty poem lampooning the headmaster, the teachers, the prefects: just about everyone apart from myself, really. Go and pin it to the refectory door.
HH: Oooh thank you, Flashmonkey! Was your toilet seat warm enough this morning?
F: I suppose so, but Mrs Flashmonkey wants the keys back. You're beginning to scare the children. Now, run along. Oh and here's a bob. Bring me back a couple of spam crumpets.
Headmodster: Did you stick this up, Habib?
HH: Yeah, what of it?
Hm: Look son, you're a bright enough lad and you're doing well with your A-levels, why do you want to hang around with that lot? They were expelled years ago. Now why don't you start hanging around with your old friends? I know they'd all be pleased to see you at the debating society.
HH: they're bland Sir, vanilla!
Hm: Oh well, 'whatever'. Now off you go and stop plastering the school with those poems.
HH: A- aren't you going to beat me, Sir?
Hm: (Sigh). Look Habib, corporal punishment was abolished in this country in the 1970s. And as far as I am aware, Nelson Mandela street Comprehensive has never permitted the practise of fagging. Now off you go to class. And if you see Flashmonkey, tell him I'm going to call the Community Police Officer if he doesn't stop hanging around the school gates.
martes, 28 de septiembre de 2010
“Now listen up! Some of you have been using the word 'Taff'. It may not be as offensive as the 'N' word but it's right here on my chart at number 67. In any case it upset my lil’ buddy and if she's upset I'm upset. AndbelievemewhenIsayyoudoNOTwanttoseeMEupset!
Now fuck off and play nicely you braindead cunts
miércoles, 8 de septiembre de 2010
Bootstraps the Barrister: Coo-ee everybodders. Just back from vac in 'La Belle France'. *sighs* LOL. Here's a phot of my fave resto.
Scherpiggsie: Your ….what?
BB: Oh, erm just a worker's cooperative canteen we visited on our fact-finding mission.
Scherpiggsie: What's that star next to the name then?
BB: Oh just some kind of Socialist insignia I should imagine...
Scherpiggsie: Socialistinsignia ; canteen; fact finding: Pah!! you've been on holiday, haven't you, you fraud?
BB: No really Scherpiggsie, marches, readings...
Scherpiggsie: Do you want me to call in Hank?
BB: Allright I've been on holiday! And why bloody shouldn't I? I worked hard to get where I am. I spend most of my time helping poor people and when I'm not doing that, I'm fighting the Fash on Comment is Free. Why shouldn't I have the odd fucking holiday you self-righteous twat? Fuck off!!!
Scherpiggsie: Remember kids: posh fuckers are everywhere. Keep'em peeled.
domingo, 5 de septiembre de 2010
That's funny, there's nodody here. Must be sleeping it off. I thought at least Anonboy would be here, telling us all about his latest coup. Oh, I know, follow me.
A suburban kitchen. The door is flung open and Anonboy (for it is he [or is it!!???]) enters, whooping loudly and flourishing the sheaf of photocopies he has just printed.
"Hey everyone, have a look at what I've just posted on Witterer!"
There is silence, broken only by the sound of one hand high-fiving then:
"Lovely dear! One egg or two?"
"Yeah, brilliant dad. I - am - so - like - wow. Who the fuck's kizbot?"
"Bugger the lot of you then, I'm off where I'm appreciated."
"Yeah well don't spend all day up there again. I've got homework to do."
Oh look, there's somebody! Well, not really somebody, it's only poor old 'no-mates' Martillo, 'hammering' furiously away to himself about - what is it today - philosophy! Oooh, get him! I bet that'll get them all talking to you - not! Anyway, they're slowly trickling in now, stepping carefully over your posts so they don't get any on their shoes. Before I follow them can I just ask, what's in it for you? And what happened to you? I remember when you were almost a near contender. I was there on the night of your greatest triumph. What was it you called him? 'Lick the boot' I think it was. How you all laughed at that one. And now nothing. Or should I say 'nada'? Oh wait! They've given you a job as a spam doorman. Some of them even leave you a tip as they hurry past you to greet their friends:
Cheers, Martillo. I'll leave you to fade away (at least it'll make a change from stomping and flouncing;0))
Hiiyaaaahhhh! Thwock! Haiii! Kerpow!
Ohmygod I don't believe it! Just in time for some Monkey Magic!
He is usually to be found with his faithful companion Sherpiggsy, thrashing the forces of darkness and people who aren't as funny as they think they are. Today, however, he fights alone. And why would he need any help when his victim is Martin de Tossa, who, apart from not being as funny as he thinks he is, is also rather less left wing than he imagines himself to be. Martin is torn to pieces by the flashing Monkeyfists and lies sobbing and bleeding at his tormentor's feet. Not literally, of course. Martin has suffered no physical hurt and is, within hours giving his ever popular lecture: "everything you need to know about Spanish Politics and Culture. Because I live there you know."
No, Monkeyfish's weapons are words, each one carefully selected and blended with others to produce the perfect lethal combination. Let's hope he doesn't waste too much of his literary genius on people like Martyn: he may need some of it for the follow-up to his highly acclaimed, his highly.... Well, never mind: he has a vocation. The shaping of young minds; that's what puts Spam on the TV dinner trays chez Monkeyfish. Let's see him in action, bringing his patented system of Harsh Home Truths to the classroom:
"...another petit bourgeois little moralist who hasn't got the brains or imagination to see how an insistence on certain modes of register, style and non-permissible areas of discussion curtails free expression."
His attentive but limited student, Charles, looks rather confused. Fortunately, today Monkeyfish is experimenting with A Modern Method. Teamteaching, it's called and his partner is Montana 'Mom' Wildhack. She injects a little all-American tough love into the lesson:
"God I despise you, you little prick."
At last it seems that even Charles has understood today's class. Run along young Charles! I hope to see you here one day, passing on what you have learned to future generations.
Hank! Hank! Where are you Hank?
The cries seem barely a whisper at first, indistinguishable from the breeze as it gently caresses the hair of a fallen hero
(to be continued...