Fings Wot 'ave Made Me Chortle

I’ve been a bit too serious of late, and I don’t think it’s doing me any favours. I need to go back to my dark and twisted roots and ground myself once again in decidedly non-PC and juvenile humour.

If you find yourself offended I’ve included a helpful list of public safe spaces with soft toys, staffed by experienced trauma counsellors, linked in the footnotes below¹

We start our journey in Gaza where the inhabitants, after a spot of mostly peaceful protest and decolonization, have been baffled to find themselves under attack. What did we do wrong?, they cry. The 250 plus Israeli culture consultants they persuaded to join them in the tunnels have been unable to explain and have failed to help them understand the vicious Israeli response to their humanitarian protest on Oct 7th.

Unfortunately, most of them died from the stress of trying to help the Gazans. The Gazans, however, appreciate their noble sacrifice and have been showering Israel with gifts ever since. Unfortunately because of the blockade they’ve been having to try to deliver their heartfelt thanks attached to rockets which the Israelis have completely misinterpreted as a sign of aggression.

Why, oh why, do they do such terrible things to us? We are a peaceful people whose deepest desire is to live alongside Israel in absolute peace and friendship - we’ve never done anything, ever, to warrant the treatment we have received.

And even now we would forgive them - if only they’d give us some sugar.

Damn those Americans. The Gazans can’t even give themselves diabetes without facing mortal danger.

An anonymous spokesperson in the US Department of High Jinx explained that this was only the first experimental new genocide technique. They’d been previously working on placing bags of sugar on a large X on the ground and, when a Gazan showed up, dropping a grand piano on their heads. Unfortunately, there don’t seem to be too many grand pianos left in Gaza.

Reports are coming in that US intelligence experts have been avidly poring over the latest season of Squid Game in order to get fresh new ideas for genocide.

Back home, daughter number 2 has purchased Lego’s amazing Rivendell set. It’s a huge and complex set with over 6,000 pieces. It’s a bit too complicated for me.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Muslim world, Pride Month has been a huge success.

The Gazans are super pissed off there’s no tall buildings left for them to celebrate Pride Month with.

The Vacuous Swedish Goblinette decided that she needed a bit of a break from annoying the fuck out of everyone. Someone told her that Gaza had a nice beachfront and so off she went. Sunscreen in hand, a fetching bikini, and a natty tea-towel, she sailed in search of cocktails as the sun set on the ocean. She was really looking forward to a long slow comfortable screw on the beach². Those bastard Israelis buggered up her holiday plans though, and all she got was a turkey sandwich and some really crap movie to watch.

Outside of Gaza people have been staunchly defending the Gazan’s right to free speech and mostly peaceful protest. At the Glastonbury Festival the artists have all shown their support for the Gazans. Gob Dildo, or Bog Shill-one (sorry, can’t quite remember his name) called for the death of the IDF. I have no idea what Italian Dwarf Feminists are supposed to have done wrong, but there you have it.

The trans crew, always our brightest and best moral compasses, have been huge buttresses of support

I like the colour of the outfit, but what I really want to know is why Hagrid is wearing a dress.

Meanwhile, in the UK the people of Scotland have won the right to a half-and-half. You can have your top half groped by a bloke and your lower half groped by a Sheila. Or the other way round, I guess.

It’s a good start. Perhaps I could request a lower half search by only fit and hot female officers? But it’s not clear which half they are talking about - to be truly inclusive it would have to include people who want their left half fondled by some guy and their right half fondled by some gal. We don’t want to be accused of bisearchophobia now, do we?

In the US it seems that the likely next mayor of NYC is filled with the eternal wellspring of optimism and is going to have another pop at making socialism work. Someone, somewhere, must eventually hit on that magic formula that makes it work. Law of averages, innit? His campaign slogan is reported to be MASWO - or Make Socialism Work Once.

Pride Month this year has been about as exciting as a golden shower from someone with prostate problems. I’ve not kept up much with the news and have deliberately avoided seeing any more of the images of aqueous fixations that were so edifying and enriching from previous years’ parades. Have we finally seen the phrase ‘don’t piss on my parade’ come true?

Something else that seems to be waning is the incessant focus on race. I’ve become so fed up at trying to figure out whether my breakfast cereal is racist or a tool of white supremacy, or whether I’m culturally appropriating that recipe I’m planning on using later on. My microaggressions have long since turned into microconcerns. It’s easier to measure the residual gravity wave from Newton’s apple than it is to detect any level of measurable fucks that I now give about the issue.

It’s been 5 long years since the death of St George of the Fentanyl and the fist-pumping excitement that brought everyone to their knees in worship seems to have died down a bit. I miss those times when you could just walk into a store, if you could find one that wasn’t alight, and just help yourself to a new pair of trainers.

Where are our new heroes? Where have all our role models gone? George we miss you - without you we’d never have known how to behave.

I also miss those days when random people from certain cultures would strap on a custom waistcoat and really light the party up. Perhaps they’re too afraid of using pagers these days.

The mental image of random exploding nuns is one that never ceases to make me giggle. I don’t know why. I’m just strange that way, I guess.

I could finish with JK Rowling’s hilarious and devastating takedowns of her detractors. It’s like that socialism thing all over again - maybe people think “this time my comment will work” but they’re always shredded with effortless elan by the magnificent JKR. But I think Royal Dutch Airlines’ own goal might be an example of one of the best responses of all

1. I lied

2. Or perhaps she wanted a short, bloody, and brutal one from the genteel gentlemen of Hamas. I don’t think it’ll catch on as a name for a cocktail though - Short Bloody Brutal Rape and Murder at the Festival doesn’t have quite the same ring to it