This is my second post concerning underwhelming and frankly, bizarre news headlines scoured from provisional newspapers. Read and be amazed, or at least mildly amused at the crass inanity and banality of 'major' news stories. Wibble bollocks, arse biscuit
Tis not quite the silly season, yet. A time of year when good news stories are scarce. That said, with all the doom and gloom in the world and rumours of war you would think there would be something more newsworthy than, 'cat stuck up a tree'.
Even the birds are critics. Judging by the usual televisual mixture of reality shows, game shows and other assorted dross said seagull may have a point.
Continuing with the seagully theme, we can see that total war has broken out between the good burghers of Tipton and the gulls as related by the 'Tipton Argus, incorporating Dudley South, Brierly Hill and assorted environs'. Students unite! C'mon, you are the future leaders and scientists of this great principality, surely collectively you can come up with a solution. Personally, I'd shoot the buggers with a high powered air rifle- I'm talking about the seagulls! As for the students: first, they will organise a meeting to consider the seagull agenda and perspective. Someone will suggest that the 'will' of the seagulls demands legitimate expression. Someone will raise the issue of lesbian and transgender seagulls and how they are being oppressed by white, seagullist male rapists. To be honest, at this stage I'm going to swap the air rifle for my trusty Lee-Enfield Mark IV 303 rifle and place a few well-aimed rounds into any fat, ugly lessers who come within my sights. Enuff said.
You sure it wasn't one of those pesky seagulls? From personal experience, I'm well aware that seagulls are very partial to crisps especially seabird flavour. If they can turn the tele off then breaking into a refreshment hut is a piece of cake.
Can't blame the seagulls for this one. Everyone knows that seagulls lack opposable thumbs so the correct manipulation of an adjustable spanner would not be possible. Need to call in Inspector Mugumbo of 'The Yard', head of the elite 'spanner squad' to sort out this vexed incident of grand larceny.
Is this not John Inman? I thought 'Big John' had exited this mortal coil to exist in a continual etherial loop of: 'Are you being serviced'. Mayhap his usual non-corporeal form has become manifest to explain the statistical implausibility of receiving five identical cards on his birthday- how quaint.
This reminds me of the classic scene from 'Pulp Fiction' where Christopher Walken is extolling the virtues of anal cavity storage solutions. Storing your valuables up the arse on the second shelf is clearly a means of protecting your heirlooms in a reliable and consistent manner. But why every Friday?
As an ex-health and safety officer, I can relate somewhat to this headline. But how on earth an editor could consider a 3 day out of date pasty to be newsworthy? Thousands of children in the Third World district of Tipton would be more than grateful for an ‘old pasty’ even more so if it was accompanied with a glass of fizzy blue pop.
Obviously, solid news stories on this dreary Monday are in short supply in this sleepy town. If migrating felines is the best headline that can be salvaged from the proceedings I truly despair of the newspaper's editorial judgement. In comparison, 'cat up a tree' is mildly compelling and slightly riveting. ARSE.
Shit on a stick. Just one kitten? Surely a whole cattery resides under those greasy folds. Or mayhap a migrating gypsy encampment replete with lurchers and stolen local finery lives there? A complete self-contained ecosystem complete with a myriad of mutualistic species could exist in fat fold number three. Sadly the kitten didn't make it and was dead on arrival at the veterinary centre- no shit. Err, if you look at the photo carefully you can see that the 'woman' couldn't quite hold her excitement.
Well doesn't everyone's shed explode, eventually? I've managed to get through three sheds in my hectic life due to ill-judged chemical shenanigans. The recursive scars on my shin and temple are frank testament to my rank stupidity. I would like to say most of this folly was accomplished in my shallow youth. Not so, sadly the last two sheds burnt down in the last two years- there is no fool like an old fool. Anyway, I've uncharacteristically, digressed. Of course, the acclaimed Irish playwright must have had a shed at some time. But as he died in 1946, surely the shed belongs to someone else? Is there not a statute of limitations on this sort of thing. Anyway, Bernard, as he liked to be known was a fervent advocate of eugenics. So on that score alone, he gets my vote.