Five porcupines were arrested at JFK airport today for attempting to smuggle monkeys to Samoa as part of an international monkey smuggling ring. The porcupines were apprehended whilst wearing Benny Hill outfits and trying to hide the Monkeys’ appearances by disguising them as businessmen. The ruse was spotted when one of the chimps “relieved” himself in a bowler hat and then flung the hat at a stewardess when she offered him a drink.
According to witnesses, the monkey took offence at the calibre if gin he was offered and was heard to scream “only gay macaques drink Bombay Sapphire – give me some god damned Tanqueray!” before covering the stewardess.
The Porcupines were also found to be in possession of many contraband items, including Shatners bassoon, a Jethro DVD and a copy of “Petula Clark goes Electric”. Items such as
these are thought to fetch a high price in Samoa especially with wealthier Porcupine family’s who use them to tame their children and to throw at passing lemurs.
On a lighter note, the internationally unreknowned poet and corn slapping faux-fish wife Pam Ayres claimed to have discovered the meaning of life today.
Pam yesterday looking smug.
“It was tangled up in a load of crochet thread I’d been saving for a special occasion, such as the assassination of the Pope or Franz Ferdinand.” she blithered earlier today. This reporter pointed out that the Archduke Franz Ferdinand had already been assassinated, which many people attribute as the cause of the first world war, (it was in fact started between a Gay Welsh voice choir and an Austrian Women’s reading group and escalated rapidly. Wales sent a lovely summer spray bouquet and apologised and had nothing further to do with the war.) to which she replied by spitting Cornish game hen soup into this reporter’s face and screaming, “I meant the F*CKING BAND YOU C*NT!” before nibbling demurely on an opossum sandwich, provided by the cast of chitty chitty bang bang (currently on tour around Latvia and Scunthorpe.).
Where was I? Oh yes, we were discussing her frankly ridiculous claim to have found the meaning of life.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she belched, (this reporter was utterly sure she didn’t because he was, at the time, daydreaming about fisting weasels,) “but it’s not 42!” She laughed a tinkly little laugh that was obviously fake and put on for show, the shallow cow.
“I’m not going to tell you what it is before you ask,” she orally farted, “you’ll have to buy my new book: ‘Utterly shite poems vol. 4,317… oh and the meaning of life too.’ ”
Pam leaving. Good.
At which point this reporter was roused from a hypnogogic state of lucid dreaming where he had left several cast members from the hit TV show, “You’ll watch it because you’re hung over & it’s got fit birds with big knockers in it,” rubbing various sweetly scented oils into various parts of each other’s anatomy. This reporter was unhappy to have been roused from such a spectacle, particularly by a woman as talentless and unattractive as Ms. Ayres - which is when the fight broke out.
Pam Ayres may be many things; Poet, TV personality, z-list celebrity, ex right wing defence for the Berkshire all girls ear licking team, consummate liar and mother, mop headed funt and world class annoying tw*t, but this reporter can assure the readership of one thing: she’s a dirty fighter. Mere seconds into the scuffle, Pam displayed a comprehensive repertoire of eye gouges, sack pulls and balloon-knot thumb jabs and this reporter only got away with his life by choking her unconscious with her own pendulous breasts, which resemble beagle’s ears.
The book is out in hardback and is available from any bookshop that doesn’t have any taste. Signed copies can be ordered from www.pamayres.com and can be made to burn faster with the application of lighter fluid.
Mike Rickard is a world class journalist and author of the Times bestseller, “How to slack off at work by writing guff emails to friends, get away with it and get paid for it.” He would like to keep chickens but they seem to get away. He likes cheese, (but not as much as the rumours say,) and is currently living in Lapland in an autosexual relationship with a female beaver named Stan. His Editor hates him and is considering actual suicide instead of just career suicide by publishing his vitriolic rants.
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