Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
Tag Archives: satire
03/05/2014Posted by on
Hi there! My name is David Wrongford and I’m here to tell you all about my innovative new dental routine.
Dental hygiene is important not only for dentists but also for the general wellbeing of society as a whole. I’ll explain my point via the use of an analogy about food: if you bought an apple, you wouldn’t set it down next to another apple that had turned rotten; instead, you’d finish it off before your greedy neighbour noticed it.
See? Makes perfect sense. Food analogies are good because food is tasty and most people will have consumed at least one bit of food at some point in their lives.
My dental routine starts off with three minutes of vigorous brushing, a process that practically guarantees drawing some blood from the stubborn bastards that are my gums. As the saying goes: old enough to bleed, yes indeed. Following on from that, whilst my gums are still screaming furiously at me, I give them a good kicking with the flossing cord – and by Jove do they kick up a stink! I did ask my dentist if there’s such a thing as barbed flossing wire but he said he didn’t know of any.
Finally, and this is my favourite part, we come to the pisté tea resistancé: the barfing. I select two fingers from my right hand, press the tips of them against the back of my throat, and let the magic of nature do the rest. Out come all those nasty bits of offal from the night before and all of a sudden my head will be spinning with delight and happiness. Don’t be shy or nervous about it, just let it all out. You ever seen a cow do a doo-doo? It just expels it’s nonsense as quick as a flash and carries right on with its business as if nothing happened. In fact cats are a bit like that as well and everyone loves cats.
If you find that a chunk of sweetcorn or a sliver of a noodle gets stuck in between your teeth, don’t worry: I like to leave it there as a final ‘up yours’ to my gums.
Lastly, be sure to ‘go naked’ with your fingers during the barfing stage; I did experiment with some protective sheaths a while ago but found that the rubber kills the sensation somewhat.
03/03/2014Posted by on
Last week mummy bought me a pet rabbit as a surprise for being such a good boy and because she said rabbits are really cute. The rabbit is really funny and likes to run around in circles and I have named him Playboy after seeing a picture of a lady in a bunny costume on a magazine that daddy sometimes takes with him into the toilet. For some reason he always spends a long time in there and comes out all red faced and has to go for a sleep-sleep afterwards.
I put the rabbit on my bed and he started doing lots of poos that look like raisins and then he started eating them probably because raisins are really nice. I decided to copy him and did a poo on the bed and tried to eat it but it tasted like peanuts and got stuck in the roof of my mouth. When mummy came in and saw me she started shouting and said a word that began with ‘c’ but definitely wasn’t ‘cute’ which is what she says to the rabbit and I did a cry.
Yesterday I let the rabbit out and he was running around and did a big wee on the carpet that smelled like Sugar Puffs but he didn’t try to eat it which was weird because Sugar Puffs are the best ever cereal. I wanted to give him some of my favourite juice but mummy told me not to and then I tried to see if he wanted to play on my Xbox but he started biting the controller and now the joysticks don’t work properly which means all the angry people do swears at me when I play online which makes me do a cry.
Seeing as its winter I thought he might be cold so I gave him some of my clothes but I accidentally dropped my belt on his head and he stopped moving and now mummy says we have to take him to the vets for a special injection. I remember when I had a special injection at school and they gave me a sticker to wear afterwards so I hope Playboy doesn’t mind if his fur gets all sticky.
02/26/2014Posted by on
Last night, during a conversation with my buddies, I was astounded when I discovered that something I had always taken for granted as being the holy, heavenly truth had been taken away from me:
In 2006, scientists decided that Pluto was no longer a planet.
I felt as if someone had reached deep inside me and ripped my heart out. Pluto has been a part of our democratic culture ever since my science teacher first pointed at a poster of the solar system and told the class, repeatedly, that Pluto is a planet. It was something that everyone accepted as the truth and no-one had any reason to think otherwise.
Of course these days the teachers seem more interested in having sex with their pupils than giving them an education, which is directly responsible for the current situation where everyone’s favourite celestial body is Jupiter – as clear a indication as any that the liberals are poisoning society. Liberals are naturally attracted to anything that is big, centralised, and has the kind of gravitational pull that impinges on everyone’s freedoms, so it stands to reason that they’re behind this particular outrage.
Me? I always favoured Pluto, that little guy at the back minding his own business as he slowly worked his way up in the world. He was a pioneer, a maverick who had to make do with what little scraps of radioactive warmth were left after all the fat lazy planets who sit there doing nothing had taken their bites first. I know for a fact that Saturn doesn’t do shit except flaunt and wave his rings around like a big pussy, biding his time until he can jump on the gay marriage bandwagon.
Just what sort of message does all this send out to our kids? It tells them that no matter how many lawns they’re willing to mow each summer and no matter how many unpaid intern positions they decide to try their hand at, some fat pervert who calls himself a scientist can just come along and take it all away from them.
It’s pure horse shit.
09/27/2013Posted by on
People often say that Posh Spice, AKA Victoria Beckham, is nothing more than a clothes horse, which I think is unfair. If anything, she’s more like a giraffe.
Frank R, France.
Fool your neighbour into thinking he left the oven on by setting fire to his house when he’s out. The look on his face when he learns the truth will be priceless.
Geoff B, Worcs.
Is anyone else jealous of homeless people? It’s socially acceptable for them to get drunk during the day, and most of them seem to have a personal guide dog to help them across the busy roads.
Susan S, Surrey.
“The cat sat on the mat,” sang my five year old niece as she skipped around the garden. Yet I don’t even own a cat. It says a lot about modern society if children are being encouraged to tell such outrageous lies from a young age.
R Flops, Belgium.
Is anyone else worried about the ever-increasing encroachment of CCTV cameras on our lives? Last month I went to Disney Land Florida for the first time, yet when I arrived there was a map with a big arrow saying “You are here.” It’s the way they’re so blatant about it that scares me most.
S Patel, London.
Fool others into thinking you’re blind by randomly bumping into people and saying “Sorry, I’m blind” whilst wearing a pair of cheap sunglasses.
Terry W, Hull.
Banging two halves of an empty pistachio shell together is the perfect way to make people think that a herd of miniature horses are galloping up behind them.
Frank T, Bolton.
04/06/2013Posted by on
Has anyone else noticed how hippos are like old people? They’re constantly smiling, don’t seem to have many teeth, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they were prone to pissing themselves after getting lost in the supermarket.
Frazzle R, Bolton
I once put my microwave on for three hours, the highest setting I can put the timer to, just to see what would happen. Five minutes before the end there was a power cut along my road, so I never found out.
John W, Lancs
A candle is the ideal ornament for fooling guests into thinking that you’ve got a pet rabbit, provided that it is brown, shaped like a rabbit, and surrounded by half-eaten carrot ends.
Bob L, Woolton
Alcoholics: Remember that you go to the bar for a drink, and the urinal when you need a piss, rather than the other way round.
Jack D, US
Last week whilst cutting my toenails, I suddenly thought of the song It’s the End of the World as We Know It by REM. Five minutes later, next door’s cat was hit by a car. Has anyone else suffered a near-miss premonition of Armageddon like that?
I recently learnt that DVD stands for Digital Versatile Disc. That’s all well and good, but if you snap one in half you are left with sharp pieces of plastic lying around. There’s a fine line between versatile and dangerous, and these guys crossed that line years ago.
Talking of near-misses, a bee flew right into my face whilst I was relaxing in the garden the other day. Thank heavens I wasn’t a pilot trying to land a passenger-laden Boeing 767 airliner at the time.
01/03/2013Posted by on
Christmas was quite stressful for me this year, as I wasn’t sure if Santa knew how much of a good boy I’ve been. Back in the summer, I accidentally fell on a snail whilst practicing the Moonwalk in the garden. I was so upset that I crieded three times afterwards, and helped mummy with the shopping all week afterwards. I even had a go at making my own sandwiches at lunch, but I cut my finger and got blood all over the kitchen floor. I only did one cry that time, and mummy even let me have one of my favourite dinosaur plasters to help make it all better.
On Christmas Eve I brushed my teeth twice, and then sung Kumbayah to my teddies before going sleep sleeps. Santa usually puts my stocking at the bottom of the bed, so when I woke up and it wasn’t there I did another cry until mummy came in and showed me that it had fallen on the floor during the night. We then went downstairs to open the big presents, and I was so excited that I put my dressing gown on inside out! As the presents were handed out, mummy let me have one of the chocolate decorations after I promised that I wouldn’t be sick like I was the year before when I tried to eat the mistletoe.
I think Father Christmas might need to get some new helpers, as one of my presents was a strange blue candle that made a buzzing noise as if there was a giant bee trapped inside it. I asked mummy why it was called a Rampant Rabbit, and her face went bright red like happens when she gets cross if I don’t tidy my room and she said that it must have been given to me by mistake.
My other presents were much nicer, and I got Bugs Bunny slippers, some crayons that smell like chewing gum, and a Harry Potter wand that breaks if you bend it too far.
11/29/2012Posted by on
I don’t care what the advertising blurb says; a Starbucks gift voucher would make a really crap Christmas present.
John G, Manchester
Shoppers: fed up with tax-dodging supermarkets getting free advertising at your expense? Simply turn your ‘complimentary’ plastic carrier bags inside out next time you pack your groceries up. That’ll teach the robbing bastards.
Sarah F, Bolton
I don’t know about anyone else, but I find the misspelling of the word ‘Sods’ highly distracting. Not only that, it sets a bad example to young, impressionable children and future generations will look back on this as time of decadence and illiteracy.
Dave, English teacher at Highbury secondary school
To the driver of the number 60 bus who decided to drive off, just as I got to the bus stop after sprinting 50 yards to get there on time: you’re a wanker.
Adam R, Rochester
A well peeled baby carrot serves as an ideal prop to fool people into thinking you are eating a human finger from a distance.
To the English teacher complaining about the misspelling of the title, I think you’ll find it was used as a way of keeping the alliteration consistent.
Michael C, England
If you’re bursting for a shit mid-way through a long shift, simply rush back to the depot as quickly as you can.
Driver, number 60 bus
10/01/2012Posted by on
Hi, my name is Mandingo Manning and I’m an egg enthusiast. Eggs are actually kind of weird if you think about it, ‘cos they’re just globes of goo that have fallen out of a hen’s arse. It’s not like you’ll ever see a farmer’s wife squatting down over her cobblestone path, selling whatever just so happens to drop from her hindquarters. Just imagine the mess she’d make if she ever forgot to take off her tights.
If there’s one thing that gets my goat, it’s the use of battery hen farms. Every, single hen should be given land. Shitloads of land, in fact. If cows can have entire fields to themselves, then so can hens. The only thing a cow ever lays, is a sloppy, splatty poo-pat. When I get home from work, I like to sit down in my chair and relax. I’ll take me trousers off, spread my legs and just let my bits dangle off the edge of the seat. Of course, I have to make sure that things don’t caught up in the cushion zip. I’ve still got the scars from last time.
Hens should be afforded these exact, same freedoms. They need room to do their clucking, pecking, flapping and whatever else it is that hens like to do, when they’re not expelling those wonderful little bulbs out of their feathery behinds.
One question that everyone always asks me is, how do I like my eggs in the morning? Well, the answer to that is quite complicated, as each type has their own pros and cons. Fried eggs are like cheese & onion flavour crisps – quick, tasty, and you can be sure that everyone at the party will like them. Your fingers will get greasy and smelly if you manhandle them, so keep a serviette handy.
Hard-boiled eggs are the purest type, and I tend to compare them to a nudist in a nudist camp. Everything is more or less the same shape as before, but there’s no outer shell covering up all that yummy, scrummy flesh. And believe me, once that shell comes off, there’s no holding me back. Sometimes, I’m like a wild beast and will finish my business within a minute or so. It takes a lot out of me, and it’ll be a good half-hour before I’m ready for another go.
If you held a gun to my head and made me choose, I would say that I like my eggs like I like my women: smeared all over my face.
08/26/2012Posted by on
Yeeees! I’ve finally done it, what everyone has been wanting me to do for so long now! A vasectomy! Er, I mean, erm, I finally published all my funniest articles as a book.
Here, check out the blurby bit:
Justin Bieber’s diary. Vladimir Putin reviews a glass of Coke. Steve Jobs speaks from heaven. Vegetarians are the real hunters.
Satirical news items, opinion pieces, and other nonsense.
Phew, I’m exhausted. If you’re already a blog subscriber, then feel free to make use of the Smashwords code below to download a free copy. Likewise, if you’re a book reviewer of some sort, then feel free to use the code as well. Any streakers that are planning on running naked in front of the cameras at the Olympics, feel free to use the code in exchange for writing the book title across your bum cheeks.
The Smashwords code for a free version is - WB24B
07/09/2012Posted by on
Oy oy, saveloy. Steve Dog here, and I have to say, I’ve been proper busy lately. A man’s world is never finished, and I’m living proof of that fact. If I’m not working on a business venture of one kind or another, then I’m out making sure people ain’t taking the piss. It was only last week, that I heard some aggro going on outside my gaff, and I had to go and put a stop to some teenage mischief.
Not too long ago, I was relaxing in my front room, when some woman came on the telly. Normally, I don’t take much notice of what women have to say, ‘cos it’s usually about shoes, or wasps, or something. Anyway, this chubby bird, she was called E.L. James, and was talking about some book she had wrote, called 50 Shades of Grey. From what I could make out, it seems that it’s like a porno mag, but with words instead of pictures. Sounds a bit rubbish, but somehow she has made a bloody fortune, ‘cos womens are loving it.
Now, I’ve written a few books meself, and you may have heard of ‘em. My most famous was Uniforms for Bouncers: How to wear a suit and tie, without looking like a ponce, though my personal favourite is Time Management and Prudence: Buy new cutlery instead of spending money on a dishwasher. I’ve decided to have a crack at this word porn thing, and here’s a chunk of what I’ve done so far. It’s aimed at blokes, rather than womens, ‘cos that’s my main area of expertise, like.
Dave came home from work, feeling a bit tired, but not too tired to have a quick look at some porno websites. The lads had been talking about some new, Swedish site that was now up and running, and he wanted to check it out. For dinner, he was planning on having a variety of bacon sandwiches, (one with brown sauce, one with red sauce, and one with both) and then maybe a sausage roll for dessert. He had been down the racetrack all day, using a drill, a hammer, and other industrial power tools, so his day had been 100% manly. Anyway, he closed his front door, and immediately noticed something different: the place didn’t smell of farts like it usually did, but of perfume, and he could see why. Right there in front of him, was some Swedish woman, completely naked, doing all kinds of sexy faces at him. She blatantly wanted it that was for sure, and Dave got stuck in right away, no messing about. She didn’t even ask him to light any candles or anything either. She had a massive pair of tits, and they did all three positions, and she even let him spurt all over her face. Dave was the sensitive type, so he taught her how to say ‘blowjob’ in English, to save her the indignation of having to do hand signals all the time.
Did I mention her tits? They were massive.
Good stuff so far, yeah? It’s proper erotic, and destined for some top awards. Probably a few top shelves as well, actually.