Tag Archives: Icke Don’t Believe It

A Stroke of Luck

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"I didn't say 'bomb Argentina.' I said Ballymena!"

“I didn’t say ‘bomb Argentina.’ I said Ballymena!”

UK chancellor George Osborne revealed today that the coalition has been slashing the welfare budget these past few months so that ‘there would be enough money in the national coffers to give Maggie one almighty whore of a fucking funeral.’

‘We’ve known for some time that The Unspeakable One’s time was drawing near, thanks to an ancient Mayan prophecy that was discovered a few decades ago scrawled in a Guatemalan cave,’ said Osborne. ‘That, and the fact that she’s been shitting herself to death for the past month.’

Iain Duncan Cunt added: ‘We’ve done a whip round of JSA, DLA, pensions and housing benefit, and used the mandatory generosity of the plebs to put together a fitting send-off for the Iron Fuhrer. In a special twist, and just for a laugh, we used some poll tax money as well.’

Tributes were led by David Cameron, who told BBC reporters: ‘I’d’ve done her. And I’m talking up the arse and everything.’ Cameron also praised the ‘hard work of George and Iain’ in securing funds for the funeral, a move he fully supports. ‘The old, the vulnerable and the poor have been plunged deeper into their misery, all in the name of financing Margaret Thatcher’s state funeral,’ continued Cameron. ‘It’s what she would have wanted.’

A massive, gaping hole. Which is just one example of what people are saying about Margaret Thatcher.

A massive, gaping hole. Which is just one of many lovely things that people are saying about Margaret Thatcher.

The funeral itself will take place on the site of one of the coal mines that Thatcher closed down in the 80s. These past few months, MPs have been busy rounding up benefits’ claimants, OAPS and the chronically disabled, who will all be tossed into the mine shaft to form a pyre.

‘We would’ve used coal miners, too,’ smirked Cameron, ‘but we couldn’t seem to find any.’

Once the pyre is in place the corpse of the ex-PM will be lowered into the shaft by telekinesis, powered by Thatcher’s own residual evil. David Cameron will then take his place above the shaft, don a top hat, and spend the next ten minutes using a giant pipe to pump a volatile mixture of petrol and stolen milk into the hole. Boris Johnson will help him toss in the ceremonial Molotov cocktails, as they both piss themselves laughing and give each other high fives. The colossal fire will be used as a backdrop for a night of Tory merriment and ritual slaughter, during which it is expected that at least 50 Guardian readers will be sacrificed. So that’s all of them.

Margaret Thatcher was the United Kingdom’s first female Prime Minister. Now that she’s dead she joins history’s other esteemed female trailblazers, like Elizabeth Bathory, Myra Hindley and Bevery Allitt.

Thatcher’s vengeful return in the guise of an ancient Babylonian demon is expected early next week.

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RoboPope: Dead and Alive, You’re Coming With Me

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'Yes, I use Daz.'

‘Yes, I use Daz.’

Pope Francis has franchised out his brand to help him meet the demands of the Papacy in our busy, modern times. The new fleet of state-of-the-art RoboPopes was unveiled at a ceremony in Rome last month. Speaking at the ceremony, the Pope said that ‘a robot in my likeness will be sent to every country in which there is a Catholic presence’, each one personally blessed by the pontiff, and programmed to dispense Papal wisdom, and kiss the ground and shit like that.

‘Unlike God, I can’t be everywhere at once,’ said the Pope, ‘but now, with these surrogates, I can come close.’

Too beautiful to be bothering with any Popery, so he stays in his boxers.

Too beautiful to be bothering with any Popery, so he stays in his boxers.

The Pope was praised by senior clergy for ‘embracing change’ and ‘adapting to the technological age’, but Vatican sources insist that the Pope had these robots made because ‘he’s a lazy old cunt.’

‘Most days it’s a battle to get the Holy Father out of his underpants,’ confessed our insider, ‘He’ll just sit there eating ice-cream with a giant ladel, and watching South American Soap Operas. Los Tittos el Bitchos is his favourite. One time, he couldn’t be arsed going out on the balcony to address the crowds in St Peter’s Square, so he just pointed to one of the elder bishops and said, “Stick some glasses on that guy and shove him out there. No cunt’ll know the difference.”’

roboThere have been some teething problems with the robotic pontiffs. One model, trialled in La Paz, Bolivia, was addressing a congregation when it began flailing its arms and shouting, ‘DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! DANGER!’ The priest who tried to subdue the robot was decapitated, and the organist lost an eye, an ear and one-and-three-quarter testicles. In Dublin, one of the robots began fingering a choir boy. The priest sent an angry memo to the Pope saying: ‘I have nothing against the fingering of a choir boy in principle, Your Holiness, but I had first dibs.’ In Paris, one of the PopeBots converted to Islam, and then whizzed down the Champs Elysees yelling ‘Allahu Akbar’, and loudly denouncing the Pope as a ‘heathen dog.’

The Vatican has ushered in a new era of electronic innovation, upon which other faiths and nations have been quick to capitalise. Iran, Israel and Brazil are all developing, or have developed, a range of religiously-inspired robots, in preparation for what Mahmoud Ahmadinejad calls ‘the coming robopocalypse.’

‘The streets will run with the Castrol GTX of the infidels,’ Ahmadinejad told viewers on Iranian state television, ‘just as soon as we sort out our Windows Vista compatibility issues.’ The Iranian prototype, NOT MOHAMMED, is set to be unveiled this Autumn.

Israel’s line of JewBots, or RabbiPods, will serve as one-day-a-week cleaners rather than metal holy men.

‘This will be a great way for us to get around the no-working-on-the-Sabbath rule,’ said an old Israeli man, who looked uncannily like ZZ Top, ‘I don’t much care if these robots can recite Leviticus, as long as they know their way around a vacuum cleaner. And it would be a bonus if I could hire one to fuck my wife for me.’

'You won't like Jesus when he's angry...'

‘You won’t like Jesus when he’s angry…’

Brazil has completed work on a giant, 300-foot-tall animatronic Jesus, which has already laid waste to nine cities. The cry of ‘JESUS, SMASH!’ has struck fear into the hearts of those on Brazil’s east coast. India is busy working on a 400-foot-tall … whatever that big guy with the trunk and the lots of arms is called, to combat the problem. Robot engineer Samjat Duwallawallawallah said: ‘Hinduism is a religion of peace, yes, but when our guy gets over to Brazil with his multiple pairs of arms I guarantee you he’s going to fuck Jesus’s shit right up.’

Despite some setbacks to his RoboPope plan, it’s clear that Pope Francis remains optimistic, and, more importantly, doesn’t really give that much of a shit.

‘It’s like McDonalds,’ said the Pope, ‘When kids have their birthday parties there, they don’t care whether or not the guy prancing about is actually Ronald McDonald. They see the wig and that nightmarishly fixed smile, and, to them, it’s Ronald McDonald. They’re happy. Same with my robots. People don’t think it’ll be real? Fuck real. Jesus isn’t real, and it’s never put me off. Anyway, these new PopeBots will give me more time off to enjoy my favourite soaps, which reminds me… interview over, got to go… Alejandro’s about to find out that his twin brother Alfonso’s been pumping his wife behind his back. Wouldn’t mind a bit of that myself, actually. Smashing tits on that girl.’

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Countdown to Destruction

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spy{A news story, written in 2006, that was suppressed for security reasons, now declassified and safe to disseminate}

The aftershocks from a government inquiry into the sinister world of light-entertainment quiz shows will be felt around the world for some years to come, intelligence analysts have predicted. The scandal – dubbed ‘Points Make Spy-sies’ in some circles – has prompted ministers to ask questions in parliament, and forced MI5 and MI6 to question all aspects of national security.

Initially, the inquiry’s remit was narrow, investigating only the Channel 4 mid-afternoon words-and-numbers show, Countdown, after credible intelligence from MI6 suggested that the quiz had been compromised by foreign agitators.

Their fears proved justified. The late Richard Whitely was revealed to have been a Soviet sympathiser who used his TV platform to send coded messages to the KGB.

‘Whitely’s shit gags were actually signals to undercover Russian operatives, ordering them to attack British and American industrial and military targets,’ said an MI6 contact. ‘On one edition of Countdown, a contestant managed to get the word GARDENER. Whitely then quipped, “Oh, gardener. Gardener. Yes… em… well, we… eh… are certainly seeing the … ha ha … green shoots of recovery in this game. Really … ha ha… pruning out the weeds from the roses, aren’t we?” This terrible series of puns was actually the green light for a Russian-built car bomb to detonate outside of an American embassy in Bombay, which resulted in the deaths of forty men.’

She used ‘Mathema-tits’ to lure her prey.

Carol Vorderman – real name Kremlin Vordenovich – was also implicated. Her ‘numbers game’ was rigged so that the board would reveal the IP addresses of MI6 officials. A Kremlin listening station would then note them down and use them to hack into sensitive data files held on British agents operating within Russia. Vorderman is believed to have been indirectly responsible for the deaths of 63 British agents, and to have committed one cold-blooded murder: that of a British agent who had been posing as a studio boom operator, whose neck Vorderman snapped with her thighs at that bit just before the ad break when the audience was suitably distracted by a dreary anecdote given by a D-list has-been stage actor who clearly thinks he’s as hilarious as he is charming.

Susie Dent was cleared of all connection to the conspiracy when it was revealed that many of the men on the panel had had ‘their first wank’ over her in the 80’s.

When the investigation was widened to include other light-entertainment quiz shows it was discovered that Deal or No Deal has less to do with Noel Edmonds’ infamous Cosmic Ordering and more to do with all of the contestants – and Edmonds – being on the payroll of the North Korean government. Actually, they’re not too sure about this one, but Edmonds was shot ‘just to be safe’, said a top brass contact.

In a separate investigation, the concept of ITV’s Goldenballs was said to be so complex that each episode ‘punched holes through time, conceivably allowing German dinosaurs to rampage through the portals and eat our WWII soldiers’.

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Jackson’s Brain on Insane Child Sex Rampage

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jackoDozens of LA police strike teams were mobilised yesterday in a bid to neutralise Michael Jackson’s reanimated brain, which had escaped captivity and gone on a horrifying 12-hour child sex-attack marathon.

Police were first alerted to the atrocity by kindergarten teacher Jizzia Johnston, 36, who was teaching her class when Jackson’s brain struck.

‘I heard thumps on the class window, and all of the kids screamed,’ said Johnston. ‘I looked round, and saw why they were screaming. There was a chimp banging a brain on the pane. And the brain was going crazy, sucking on the glass like one of those facehuggers from the Alien films. The chimp was whacking off. ‘

Scientists had been conducting tests on Jackson’s brain at a secure facility in the north of LA, in a two-prong bid to ‘resurrect’ the drug-addled child-abuser and to isolate and remove those parts of his brain responsible for his deeply naughty behaviour, before finding him a new host body and sending him back through time in order to stop himself from abusing.

Big-shot scientist that thinks he’s better than the rest of us, Tony Cawziecowolski, explained: ‘Re-animation of a dead junky’s brain?: easy. Engineering his brain so that it had the power of independent movement?: piece of piss. The hard part was stopping Jackson from shagging DVD box-sets of Home Alone.’

Cawziecowolski believes that Jackson called on Bubbles the Chimp to help rescue him from captivity.

‘I wish I’d recognised the signs,’ he continued. ‘Jackson would sit on my desk and pulsate manically for hours on end. I just assumed he was engaging in some sort of ingenious ‘brain wank’. In reality he was harnessing his evil in order to telepathically summon his pet monkey to break him out of jail. But hindsight’s 20/20.’

Bubbles breached lab security at approximately 0645, and incapacitated 17 members of staff during the mission to liberate his former master. ‘It was like something out of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, but obviously with a heavier plot emphasis on the theft of a famous paedophile’s brain.’

Bubbles’ last stand.

There was a stand-off with armed police in the playground of the kindergarten school, which culminated in Bubbles being gunned down by rapid assault fire just as he was at the point of masturbatory climax. One of the armed officers who participated in the take-down, Gerry Mazterphucker, was visibly shaken by events.

‘I dunno, man,’ he said, tears snaking down his face. ‘What can I say, I just shot a monkey. Every time I think about that glistening monkey jizz, like morning dew, hardening to crust on its dead little paw, I start to cry. Game over, man. Game over.’

Another officer, ‘Crazy’ Charlie Ramirez, said: ‘Holy shit, son, last month I was on traffic, and this month I get to shoot motherfucking monkeys? This is the kind of shit I signed up for. Fuck you, monkeys, fuck you! Next time I want to beat a tapir to death! WOOHOO! America rules ass, son!’

During the gun-fight, Jackson managed to squidge off into the undergrowth. All that was left of his horrifying attack were the words ‘MMM CHIDREN’ scrawled on the windowpane with brain goo. Pretty good spelling for a disembodied brain.

Over the course of the afternoon Jackson’s brain was spotted moonwalking provocatively past a child’s picnic, gazing menacingly at a school bus, and in one terrifying instance was caught on CCTV palpating the face of a sleeping child. But, for horror, nothing tops the moment at 1615 when Jackson leapt past a line of kids at a road crossing and slapped each and every one of them in the face with his throbbing cerebellum.

Police strategists managed to lure Jackson to Macaulay Culkin’s house, within which Culkin had set up a series of ingenious traps, like swinging paint cans and doorbells with makeshift flame throwers in them and that. Jackson was only – and finally – apprehended after he was startled by the sounds of what he believed to be machine gun fire coming from the living room, and slipped on a pile of bouncy balls. Jackson’s brain was returned to the scientists.

“It’s the kids, Marty. Something has got to be done about the kids.”

‘Actually, we kind of fucked up,’ admitted Cawziec… Caws… Cocacol… the scientist, ‘As soon as we got Jackson back, we were so keen to make lemonade from these lemons that we maybe acted a bit hastily. We immediately fitted his brain into a new host body and sent him back to his own past. The trouble was, we sent him back a bit too far. And, unfortunately, instead of acting to alter the course of his tragic life for the better, Jackson decided to sexually molest his own boyhood self. thereby causing all of this shit in the first place. Still, Beat It‘s a great song, right?’

‘Whoops,’ he added.

Undeterred, the same team will be sending Rolf Harris into space in 2015: dead or alive.

‘There’s no scientific benefit this time,’ the scientist admits. ‘It’ll just be for a laugh.’

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