The Universe Is Made of Trousers by Nigel Twunt, Minister for Being Nutty

With the news that David Treddinick, MP for Bosworth and a member of both the health committee and the science and technology committee, was speaking out about his desire to push astrology along with medicine and healthcare as a government initiative, we here at The Department for Common Sense and Definitely Not Losing the Plot have decided the public are now ready for some of the more alternative ideas being put forward as the new Conservative agenda.

Some of the more ‘factually scientific’ amongst you may frown at the idea that the astrology can have the same healing effect as penicillin, but it is left field ideas like this which have pushed the modern world forward towards an evolutionary apex. Speaking of which, evolution shall be outlawed in schools as it teaches us that a one true God and all his pixie angels did not create the world and that the proletariat should not base all their faith in a single mighty figure with a big squishy head which looks like a melting sausage, not that I’m suggesting for a moment that Cameron is god-like. More a saint.

Here are some of the more alternative points of view which we will now be incorporating into government policy.

Teaching By Pre-Cognitive Thought Massage

The world of psychics who can make people’s heads explode with a single thought is one which the modern educational establishment could benefit from. When Little Timmy NoShoes is causing a fuss in class because he hasn’t eaten in four weeks a kindly word and a stern look from one of our newly recruited Enforcement Officers will help instil a sense of discipline in the hearts of our nation’s pupils. And if that doesn’t word a quick zap from the old mind-scanner will pop their heads like exploding melons.

Pixies To Be Employed As Media Consultants

Wank Biscuits, Minister for Talking Shit (formerly Public Affairs), is a massive Frank Black fan, and has thus put forward a motion in his pants that the band ‘The Pixies’ are to be consulted on all matters concerning the media. Other consultants will be Carter: The Unstoppable Sex Machine, Kingmaker and Bum Gravy. All rumours about how he actually meant real live pixies would be running the country’s media from an underground bunker are bullshit, and were definitely not scotched by the Truth Police who didn’t go around all the news agencies and kick the editors in the bollocks (or fannies – let’s not be sexist) until they agreed to tow the party line.

Farting To Be Legal Tender

Wibble Wibble Shitbag, Secretary of State for Promotion of Healthy Lifestyles, is putting forward the radical idea that, to promote a less meat-based and more bean-based diet to the common pleb the very food sources that produce trouser troubles should be pushed as an alternative to money, but only amongst the lower classes. That way the poor can eat farty foods and then save up massive trouser guffs for when they want to buy a packet of lager or a can of cigarettes or whatever it is the lower classes do at the weekend – watch dinosaurs race or something. Mind you, the supermarkets would be a bit whiffy, but since none of us great Tories have ever seen one, or indeed experienced the smell of the lower classes, this sounds like a spiffo idea to me. And if the plebs got any revolutionary thoughts we can always shut the doors to their grief-shops and let them gas themselves to death like the big farty paupers they are.

A Background In Crystal Healing To Be Mandatory For All Doctors

The doctors and nurses which help sustain the NHS are quite rightly seen as malingering swine who should learn of the healing powers of the earth mother which protects us all. With a rigorously enforced series of crystal healing lessons and nose chanting courses run by my own personal company Lovely Nice Hug Enterprises (part of Pleb Crusher Org (incorporating Enormo-Git Corp)) we can ensure all doctors are using the latest up to date modern healing technologies used by shamans and gurus throughout the world. For some of the more terminal cases we shall look to improving our holistic involvement in long term illnesses by incorporating the British Holistic Medical Association approved Head Fucker 3000 Ultra-Hammer, which can heal all kinds of serious illnesses with one swift blow.

Money Syphoning Love Funnels

Billy Bastard Bollocks, Chancellor For Rolling Around in Big Piles of Money, has put forward a daring and innovative new technique to help bolster the recovering economy. Anyone who earns less than 60,000 a year shall be encouraged to contribute to the workings of the economy by a simple one off contribution to help shore up the country’s future. By simply climbing to the top of our Wealth Ladder they can be strapped by the ankles to our Joy Recovery Machine where they shall be turned upside down and have their future earnings emptied into a big funnel leading to a giant bucket that definitely doesn’t have ‘Tory Party Funds’ stamped on the side of it. At no extra cost the helpful contributor will then be set upon their feet and encouragingly kicked up the arse by a giant steel boot where an automated ‘V’ flicker will tell them helpfully to fuck off back to paup-land.

These are just a few of the modern exciting and trouser throbbingly modern ideas to moderningly improve our modern thrusting go ahead society. Although many of the concepts contain their wisdom in ideas which have proven themselves to be controversial over the years (Normo Tebbs Bucket of Shit for the Poor being one that springs to mind) I think the public will be encouraged to open their minds to a more alternative attitude to modern politics. If they don’t then we shall encourage them to seek respite in Ian Duncan-Smith’s ‘Paup Mincer 2000’ where all their worries – and indeed their heads – will cease to trouble them.


GOD LOVES MONEY by studio head Tiny Penis

Many of you may have noticed that there have been a series of fillums at the box office lately which have taken on the concept that god is fantastic and everyone else can fuck off. What with films such as ‘Noah’ making lots of people go and see beardy blokes emote with giant monsters and stuff, to that one about some kid in school proving that god exists or something, holy shit is big bucks at the box office. I don’t know – I don’t watch these films as they’re probably a big pile of shit and contain some wanky old meaningful message about how we should all subjugate ourselves to a higher being and start kicking other religions in the bollocks for not liking the Hollywood version of whatever religion they’re pushing.

Anyway, here at God Is Lovely Films (formerly Giant Sharks Attacking Shit Films, which we’ve quickly changed because we all believe that god is brilliant, and it’s definitely not a cynical ploy to squeeze more money out of the cunts who watch this sort of facile crap) we’ve put out a whole new slate of top quality religious related films about God and Noah and the Bible and some other shit, but definitely nothing on any other religion as those they don’t pay as well.


In this film Noah (Screech from Saved By the Bell) goes all fucking crazy apeshit with a medieval Uzi when Beardy Twat (played by the Ray Winstone off the betting ads and not the one from Scum) turns up with a load of cliché’s and calls Noah a cunt for not letting him onto the ark. Noah then enlists the help of Giant Fuck Off Creatures – a hitherto unheard off race which got one line in the Bible but is a fucking good excuse to get a load of CGI in there and have a lot of Michael Bay type action scenes going on, and there’s a big fight. Luckily we’ve managed to enlist the talents of Scrotey McBeardy, some chin stroking cunt who did a load of Indy films nobody saw a few years ago, so it gives us that extra stab at credibility. In the end Noah opens a swimming pool for god and everyone’s happy.


In this film the rapture has happened and all those who filled in the pools coupon properly and got swept up to heaven where they get to hang around with Jimmy Hill and talk footie stats (fact department – check this) have left the earthen plane, so a bunch of Nicholas Cage types are left to flounder around on the earth and probably put a cap in some demons arses or something. Basically it’s an excuse to have a load of gore and violence and make those who believe in this kind of blatantly smelly old codswallop come across (ooer) all smug and self-satisfied. (God dept. – re-write that so it makes it look like we really love these nutters.)


In this charming film some smug little knobend challenges someone with far more intelligence than them that it may be very well dealing with all these facts and things and all this reality, but believing in some outdated concepts designed to keep the proles in line and the gold coming in is actually more real than real stuff. In a dramatic scene near the end of the film Doctor Professor VonBastard takes time out from kicking orphaned puppies to death to argue about the nonexistence of God, which leads Big Eyed McLovelySmile to prove, through a series of lectures about how easy it is to make this shit up, that god actually exists and is about to do a big wee of the Prof’s head. This happens, and then the Prof finds out that he was wrong all along and god is great and they all go and stone some abortionists to death, because god is love.


In this film small town shitbag Twatty Gullible (actually the main character in Heaven Is Real is called Todd Burpo, believe it or not – seriously, you can’t make this shit up! The sequel, No, Really, Heaven is Well Cool probably has Nigel Fart as the main character) has to convince not only himself, but those unbelievers in the world, that his deranged son has had some sort of mystical experience when he gets trapped in the glue shed for a night. When the fruit of his loins, Massively Gullible, emerges in a daze and starts talking about how god has shown him a range of designer trousers which they should all wear, the town is initially sceptical, but as the story progresses and some minor CGI strange shit happens about the town, they start to believe. And what they believe is that the gullible family are a bunch of right tosspots. One of them starts explaining evolution to them but they stick their fingers in their ears and scream until facts go away. It all ends when their god-loving president bombs everyone with nuclear weapons. I don’t know – I haven’t seen it, but the box office figures don’t lie.. Once these bastards stop making money – just like all those cockend angel films did back in the nineties – they’ll soon find something else to scam the god fearing public from. (Not Being a Bastard Dept. – re-write to make me look lovely. And mention that I have a large cock.)

The Cabinet Reshuffle by our Boring Shit Correspondent, Nigel Wallpaper

It’s a fucking massively exciting day for politics today as some sausage faced cocksmoker decides to shuffle a few grey suits around the cabinet because they’ve not been licking his balls in the appropriate manner. Yes, ladies and gentleman, this is the day when the very foundations of democracy are brought to their whimpering knees as David Cameron puts on his shouting trousers and strides with the socks of destiny stuffed down his undercrackers and into the cut throat wham bang mad monkey kung-fu world of national moving-people-about-a-bit.

BLAM!! There goes William Hague – resigned after Cams told him he could only keep his job if he agreed to wear a bucket of custard on his head during PM Questions.

KAZAMM!! Ken Clarke booted out for making ‘wanker’ gestures at Cams every time the subject of the European Union cropped up.

KA-BOLLOCKS!!! Dominic Grieve leaving because nobody knows who the fuck he is.

But hold onto your tits, ladies, as even more shocking news just reaches us that a bunch of junior ministers, including such World-Stage shattering trouser blossoming sex monsters as David Willetts, Nick Hurd and – by Jupiter’s holy bumpiece – ALAN COCKING DUNCAN – have been given the hoof by Cameron’s X4000 Robo-Bastard for being a bunch of total nonentities.

But shitting clagbuckets!!! More pants-tightening news reaches us that Phillip Hammond has been parachuted in with a phalanx of ninja SAS death squadrons into William Hague’s office. Reporters have noted that, once there, Phillip found a big cupboard full of wigs.

Michael Gove, freaky beloved children’s icon of the 1980s, has sulked out of the office of Making Kids Thick to be replaced by Nicky Morgan. Gove was overheard saying, “I hate you!” and “I wish I was adopted! I probably am! I want to see my birth certificate!!” as he was lobbed into the air and then booted into a big tub of shit. He was reported to have lightened up once the role of Chief Whip was bestowed upon him, but obviously for the wrong reasons, as he thought spanking was involved. Downing Street has said he would also have an “enhanced role in campaigning and doing broadcast media interviews”, but let’s face it, that’s a load of old shit really. It just means they’ll sling him in front of Newsnight to burble out a bunch of tosspot excuses the next time the Minister for Farming is caught with his dick in a bovine.

But wank my biscuits, politics fans, that’s not all!! Owen Paterson, who previously held the incredibly-pointless-in-a-Tory-government role of Environment Secretary which saw him trying to stamp on badgers with his great big hobnailed boots, has been kicked out. Apparently Cameron wanted him to gas the paupers, not the badgers. And Hugh Robertson, a former foreign office minister – which presumably meant trying to deny the existence of anything outside the UK borders – has quit due to nobody knowing who the fuck he was or what the useless twat had done since being appointed.

Damien Green has resigned as policing minister. Reports suggest this was due him failing to install a new satanic rule of a thousand years on earth.



Michael Fallon replaces Phillip Hammond as Head of Big Shooty Guns and Really Cool Tanks and Bombs and Shit, and will carry on his predecessor’s legacy of pointless money-wasting projects by building a giant space robot on the moon which will be sod all use next time there’s a war.

In sad news Ian Duncan Shitbollocksarseholeknob (see – satire!!) is to remain Work and Pensions Secretary to further his plans to build a great big hole in the ground and shove all the poor and disabled into it. David Cameron has tweeted that ‘Ian is a great credit to the government by continually acting like a steaming tramp’s bell with a glutinous cheesy helmet, and his efforts to wipe out the paups through various draconian initiatives gives me a massive stiffy.’

In breaking news Finance Minister, Huge Turd has been replaced by a big box of melons, and nobody really cares about the Tory shuffle as it’s just replacing one bunch of plastic yes men with another bunch of myopic Cameron bum tonguers. Nothing will change, of course, as the Minister for Making Sure Nothing Changes has already started slapping doe eyed Tory balding spam patches around the back of the bonce and telling them to tow the party line or it’s the knackers in the fridge door for them.

So the endless roll call of blank, clueless faces pass by in a vacuous haze of gimlet eyed dickishness, each one as witless as the last. And they’ll all smile into the camera and churn out the usual old prepared statements about how they’re proud to be in their new positions and why they feel it’s necessary to cunt over the poor and hey, look, the house prices are rising and the economy is spurting a few dribbles of love juice over the stock exchange so stop fucking complaining, paup scum, and cherish the fact that a bunch of Oxbridge shitbags with no concept of reality outside of their chambers have taken the bull by the bollocks and guided the country into a great big steaming pile of shit full of zero hours contracts and bedroom tax and snooper’s charters and Jesus Christ, It’s all so bloody depressing.

Or it would be if we didn’t have such fantastic news in that Stephen Crabb has replaced David Jones as Secretary Of State for Wales. Ruddy Nora!!! I’m going to spunk a big load of excited political jizz over that bastard!! Hooray for the cunts in power!


The Wizard of Twat by Punchington Knuckleduster, Conservative Minister for Picking on Stumpies

David Cameron has been unfairly criticised lately for giving the sixth formers digs in the House of Commons and for calling John Bercow a stumpy short arsed twatty little speccy knobend farty pants even though he only wears spectacles on occasions. Bercow responded by calling Cameron a toffee nosed over privileged horse-fucking bellend with a big squishy face like a massive turd in a Tesco’s carrier bag. They then proceeded to have one of those slappy fights where they turned their faces away from each other’s flailing wet hands before Black Rod broke it up and made them stand in the corner and think about what they’d done.

But this begs the question, are short people inherently evil? Of course they are. After all, for those who’ve spent time around these angry, passive-aggressive munchkins who take offence at everything just because it’s taller than they are will know that within their evil hearts lurks the soul of the devil. Not the devil of folklore with a big pointy tail, horns and a copy of The Guardian in it’s claw, but the devil of reality, which thinks liberal thoughts and protests against the salt mines where the orphaned puppies work for Tory HQ.

Take these lines from Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’.

Author of evil, unknown till thy revolt,
Unnam’d in Heav’n, now plenteous, as thou seest
These Acts of hateful strife, hateful to all,

Except the short arses, they fucking love it!

John Bercow has proven himself to be evil by his opposition to some of the creative language used by David Cameron (aka ‘He Who Strides Above The Clouds’) when Cameron decided to chastise a female member of parliament for not keeping her fucking gob shut. And anyway, he was just thinking about the right honourable Angela ‘The Slapper’ Eagle’s blood pressure when he told her to ‘calm down’. He was being nice. His microphone was cut off before he’d finished, as he was about to say ‘Calm down, dear, as you’re blood pressure will suffer unless you learn to take it easy. Here, take a puff on this massive bifter and chill out, daddio. I love trees and butterflies, me.  Come, everyone, let us sit and chant for an end to all hatred, war and poverty on Mother Earth.’ But due to an error in the VT he just came across as a patronising cunt. He’s really lovely in real life, and not the grasping little shit lefties like The Telegraph sometimes portray him as.

The real issue here is about how politicians should conduct themselves in the houses of parliament. Often, during Prime Minister’s Questions, it may come across like a bunch of turd throwing baboons are going mental in a cage full of shrieking chimpanzees, but that’s only half the reality. They forget the trumpeting elephants which often stampede through the commons.

But hard times bring harsh realities to the fore in politics. Although David Cameron may have started out with an open tree hugging policy of pretending to be nice to people to get their vote, these tragic economic times we’re currently living in require a more punitive way of dealing with people who disagree with him. This is why Cams was completely right in calling Bercow a short arsed twat with about as much chance of reaching the top shelf of the local corner shop where they keep all the bongo mags as John Prescott has of not passing a pie factory without rampaging through the building and leaving a devastated landscape of crushed, half eaten pasties in his wake. Critics have pointed out that this kind of judgemental attitude to people only serves to bring down the respect for the nation’s rulers which the public holds, but we at Tory Central have never been bothered by the country’s attitude to measuring devices. Of course it’s not right to be sexist, racist or homophobic, but we in the Tory party ARE sexist, racist and homophobic, and since we fucking rule this gaff we should be able to say what we like to whom we like. If I see a short arsed tubster walking down the street I should quite rightly, as an Conservative minister, be able to shout at the top of my lungs, “Fuck off back to munchkin land, you wobbling great tub of lard infested shortness”, because these are the traditions the Tory party hold dear to them. All Cameron is doing is trying to take the country back to a better time, where all types of people – races, creeds, cultures and body types– were ritually slandered in the daily press and told to get back to where they came from. After all, Cameron would love to get back to where he came from, but crawling up the festering diseased ring-piece of the major corporations who fund his little jaunt into politics is not an option yet, as he has the rest of the public service to destroy before he can open the doors to rampant monetarism by doing massive big jobs on the poor. They won’t mind. They all smell anyway.

 I seem to have strayed off topic slightly there. Rest assured Oberleutnant David Von Bismark Final Solution Cameron has nothing but peace and love to give to the world, unless you’re old school Tory in which case he will destroy all who benefit from social services with his mighty bottom wind of cleansing. He bears no ill will against those who are not blessed with a mighty stature like himself. It’s not that he’s desperate to curry anyone’s favour in search of a few ticks in the ballot boxes. Not at all. Please vote for us, whatever your stature. We love short people. They make great footrests and door stops.


P.S. All that stuff about short arses being evil at the start was not written by me, but by some evil Labour bastard, who is probably eating your children as you read this.

Movie Magazines With Lists Are Massively Toss by Reginald Chod Monkey, Minister For Staring At Walls

In the rough and tumble modern life we all scratch our bollocks in it’s becoming harder and harder (much like my knob at the thought of Mrs Spankington Punchbollocks chastising me with a birch back at Eton) for modern go-ahead thrusting film magazine editors to fill their rags with acres and acres of pointless shit. Luckily, they have the option of producing ‘articles’ listing ‘the 100 Best Films Done By George Lucas and Steven Spielberg’ or ‘300 Films Which You Voted For Last Time’.

Just recently in the Hollywood advertorial magazine Empire they had ‘301 best films as voted for by our witless cross eyed drooling peanut brained readers’, and as expected, fucking Empire Cunts Back came first. Usually it’s Star Cunting Wars, but for a change they decided to go for the sequel. The dicks. Bicycle Thieves was no 301. Fucking Bicycle Thieves!! Vittorio De Sica’s cunting masterpiece of Italian bastard neo-realism.

And there we have the main problem with lists conjured up the general public. Jimmy Tossbucket from Spunkbubble, Accrington will not scour the lengths and breadth of cinema history to unearth the real gems which should be making up the 301 Best Shitting Films Ever Wankingly Made. He’s going to tap the misty waters of a brain unfettered by original thought and go “Fuck me, that Star Wars was fucking great. I’ll put that cunt in as Number One. And just to show I’m not a total waste of oxygen I’ll stick in something classy like The Godfather as well. And then The Matrix. And then cunting Waynes Bollocks Bastard Shit World. Because I am a feckless twat with no bastard imagination and I like my entertainment to be crushingly empty, which is why I’ll be going to see the new Michael Bay film. I like Michael Bay, even though he’s a witless flag waving bucket of old tramp’s shit, because I am a fucking moron. Please, have all my money, Mr. Bay, as long as you make another modern classic like Armageddon in which Bruce Fucking Willis shows how much of a dicksplash he is by existing. Make another Bad Boys film, Michael, as I am a cunt and like the funny sweary people who can’t act. Now excuse me while I put my knob in a blender.”

Mind you, the critics aren’t much better. In a world where Mark Masturbating Kermode rates The Exorcist over The Third Man or Citizen Kane common sense and taste certainly takes a backseat. Even Sight and Sound are at it, and the sort of people who read Sight and Sound are so poncy they have servants who take a shit on their behalf so as not to befoul their muesli eating ringpieces.


For the past million years Citizen Kane has been dominating (and not in the way Mrs Punchy McKnackerthrasher does on a Friday night after I’ve finished punching kittens for the week) the ‘Best Films of the Decade’ list in Sight and Sound. This list is composed from the listings of hundreds of ponces – excuse me – critics and those who work in the film industry, to reflect what people who have goatees (even the women) think is the best films made by people who are usually dead by now. For the first in many a year Alfred Hitchknob’s ‘Vertigo’ knocked Citizen Kane off the top spot. Now, I’m not saying Vertigo is a bad film, because it’s not. However, Citizen Kane takes it’s great Orson Welles shaped knob out and pisses all over it with talent, as far as I’m concerned, so the beardy chin strokers can go and suck my massive cheesy helmet.

“But that’s the point” say my critics, many of whom should spank me more. “Film lists are merely a personal reflection of an individual’s tastes. Not everyone is going to like the alternative, and it stands to reason the films which a majority like will garner the lion’s share of the vote.” To those people I merely say “Eat my balls, quisling.” The problem with lazy editors knocking these insipid lists together is it does nothing to stretch the knowledge of the average moviegoer. Rather than pump out yet another bucket of wank biscuit which merely confirms the extreme lack of imagination in the cud chewing public, why not print ‘301 Films Which Are Fucking Mental’, or ‘300 Films About Cheeses Which Look Like Hitler’. Why? Because it’s a great space filler to poo out yet more bollocks listing ‘100 Sex Symbols Who Have Knobs Shaped Like Carrots’. Actually, that might be quite an interesting one. Certainly better than the usual bollocks about Star Wars and Lord of the Cunting Ringpiece.

I once saw a film called House by Nobuhiko Obayashi in which a piano ate someone. Why isn’t that in any bloody film lists?

Have I mentioned how much of a shitpiece Michael Bay is? The new Transformers film has giant robot dinosaurs in it. You would think that would be good, but in Bay’s hands it’s going to be a clunkingly bollocks load of spinny camera toss with editing simulating the actions of a frantic wanking tramp reaching his vinegar strokes. It was dark day in cinema history when Little Micky Mullet decided he wanted to pick up a camera and make it in the plastic arts by churning out a load of dribbling cock which passes as ‘entertainment’ by the sort of people who strangle puppies with their testicles for yuks. Fucking morons. If Hitler made films it would be Bad Boys 2, a piece of wank so soul-suckingly empty and shit it might as well be taken out and shot in an effort to better humanity.

I fucking hate Michael Bay. Cunt.

And in conclusion I reach out to film magazine editors across the land and encourage them to start publishing lists which actually try to bring something different to the world. Now I have to go for ‘a meeting’ with ‘my banker’ about ‘my account’. And by ‘a meeting’ I mean ‘a good hard thrashing on the knob with a bunch of stinging nettles’ and by ‘a banker’ I mean ‘Miss Nadgecrusher McStompynuts’ and by ‘my account’ I mean ‘to have my bollocks slammed in the fridge door for ten minutes until I pass out’. It’s all part of being a Tory Minister.

The Fault In My Balls by Wanking T Goblin


With the new that female orientated teen books and films like The Fault In My Stars, Twilight and The Hunger Games we look at a crop of hip new films and books coming out specifically aimed at annoying teenagers.


Fluffy and Cutey are both suffering from being really fucking annoying. In an attempt to seek some respite from looking like a big bag of puppies they meet up at a clinic for horrendously cutesy fuckwits where they probably fall in love and then one of them cops it when a tonne of kittens falls on them or something. I have no fucking idea. It’s probably so anaemic even Count Draculas are shitting themselves in fear.


This touching supernatural drama tells the tale of Kirsty McBannyFatter, a touchingly twee and sensitive young woman who enters the town of Fuck Me, It’s A Vampire where at first she doesn’t fit in with the posy wankers at school. It’s only when she goes out wandering one night to throw daisies at kittens she discovers the posy wankers are actually supercool vampire cows and are all totally hot and like taking their shirts off and posing dramatically whilst looking fucking miserable. In the end they get frustrated with not being able to touch Kirsty’s norks because she doesn’t believe in knobbing before marriage and vampire-wank themselves into oblivion. Cunts.


Brenda KickBollocks lives in a dystopian future, much like all the other fucking dystopian futures, where teens are forced to have a massive biff-up for survival in exchange for not being laughed at and called ‘smelly poo face’ at school. Basically, like The Hunger Games, another rip off of Battle Royale. Seriously, has no other cunt picked up on this flagrant copying?


Timothy Burton is a quirky loner who doesn’t fit in with the cool kids in school. They make fun of his stupid hair and call him a dozy cunt. But then Timothy discovers a classic book – say, Willy Wonka or Alice in Wonderland – and suddenly decides to churn out some post-modern load of old toss where he gets Johnny Depp, his bestest ever mate who’s street and cool and can do wheelies on his Grifter and who all the girlies fancy, to be in it, as long as Timothy promises not to try and touch his bottom like last time. And then he ruins it by introducing some subtext load of old cock bollocks about how Wonka makes chocolate because his dad was a dentist played by Dracula who never let him eat sweets so he turned into a bellend or something. Penis.


Tammy Pamtax lives in a dystopian future (again) where people are divided by their abilities to be fucking annoying teenagers. Pamtax has been diagnosed as Indulgent, meaning she’s as fucking annoying as everyone ever, and then there’s a big load of old bollocks about learning to kick people in the man-clackers or something and then everyone falls asleep.


Hah! I bet you thought I would go for the obvious gag and say ‘Bender’s Game’, but I’m far too sophisticated for that. After all, this is a wise blog full of meaningful and insightful comments about what a bunch of rampaging donkey fuckers all politicians are, and not some cheap ranty old pile of badger’s balls which I knock together in half an hour so I can get my Daily Swear in (which is much like the Two Minute Hate from 1984 but involves me calling Cameron a cunt). Anyway, fuck that, and on with the great deconstruction of tween books and films.


Billy Shitface is a massive cunt who lives in a wankingly fartbag dystopian future full of massive cock ends. Billy is discovered to be a mental psychopath so The League of Tosspots recruit him to go into space and fight off hoards of lefties or something. I don’t know. I never read or watch this shit anyway. I made it through 20 minutes of Twishite before I had to twist my own head off and shit down my neck to escape from the moody looking floppy fringed cunts. It was massive tramp’s cak.


Shitty Pantbollocks lives in another cuntingly bleak dystopian future full of zombies. She and her twat pals run a new media service where they blog about people getting their knackers chewed off by rampaging tramps, but seeing as this is a story aimed at tweens there’s no real blood and guts and everyone acts like a massive self-indulgent whinging little fuck because they’re fucking tweens so bollocks to them lot of them.


Harry Shitter blah blah blah some cunty old magic blah blah blah some bollocks about a dragon and a bloke with no nose. It’s very easy to take the piss out of Harry Knobend by coming up with titles like Harry Potter and the Wank Biscuit of Doom or Harry Potter and the Pubes of Misery or Harry Potter and the Something of Swear but what JK Rowlinginthemoney (I say, that take on her name was as obviously satirical as the sort of shit Private Eye comes up with, the Oxbridge CUNTS) has done is turn a generation of kids into reading books about stuck up cunts being shipped off to private school where they can maintain the status quo where richies rule and plebs can fuck off and die, which is meant to be laudable.


Much like Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, but with a wanking tramp instead of Hagrid.


Fuck shit cunt piss wank.


Four posh schoolkids go into a cupboard where, amongst the wankmags, they find a talking lion which bites off their heads.


In a dystopian future Jemima Fringe teams up with a wizard with a bow and arrow made out of talking lions and then has a big fight in a chocolate factory made out of goths. This hasn’t been made yet, but it’s only a matter of time.