In a mixed bag tonight, The Slog questions the sanity of Prime Ministers talking to gas meters, rumours of a Ukrainian invasion of Canada, the truth behind CNN gargoyle Jeff Zucker’s resignation, scarey monsters in Devon not including Gary Streeter MP, and sexual peccadilloes at the Daily Mail.
Boris gets tough
“Now look heyaah,” said the Prime Minister to the gas regulator, “I won’t say this twice….no more of this price-hiking poppycock. Things are looking rather iffy out there what with Putin ignoring me, footballers falling over every five minutes and bladdy voters saying I’ve let them down, so just jolly well shape up and let’s hear no more of this going bust nonsense”.
Further afield, 37-star General Patton Z Napalm told CNN’s Jeff Zucker, “OK newsman, shape up and fly right – a Ukrainian invasion of Canada is now imminent and fully backed up with eight million bottles of blood borrowed from Putin the baby-eater”. In the light of this revelation, the Pentagon moved to Defcon24, and Vladimir Putin went for a sauna.
But when Zucker peddled the story, it emerged that he was guilty of HRC – which used to mean High Ratings Claptrap, but now stands for Having Relations with Coworkers. The diggers at Sloggers’ Roost can now exclusively (albeit predictably) reveal that the coworkers were in fact the CIA, NSA, MI6, Clinton Family, Angela Merkel & Anthony Fauci. Jeff is rumoured to be taking up a role with the not for profit apolitical charity organisation Let’s chop that Fucker Assange’s Balls Off.
Meanwhile, for those who wonder whether anything but violence and misery will emerge from Britain taking in 99% of the human flotsam France and others don’t want, be at ease with yourselves; although we are indeed busy paving over what little is left of Merrie Greene England in order to house migrant people (many of whom seem confused on the subject of where to shit) we are building yet more ticky-tacky boxes – and this means exciting new archaeological findings are emerging.
So it is that, as The Times reports today, woolly mammoth, woolly rhino and woolly wolf remains have been found near Plymouth, beneath the new housing development at Sherford. Estimated to be 60,000 years old (the remains, not the housing) one clue to the fact that global warming wasn’t around then is that they’re all woolly – and as Duncan Wilson, chief executive of Historic England said, “To have found partial remains of such a range of species here in Devon gives us a brilliant insight into the animals which roamed around Ice Age Britain thousands of years ago, as well as a better understanding of the environment and climate at the time”.
You can tell that Duncan is an expert, for he has immediately leapt upon the evolutionary link between woolliness and extreme cold. In a rare outburst of something vaguely resembling humour, the prospective Labour MP for South West Devon Eartha Josef Ooofafu-Bevan suggested that “with all this woolliness around, I’d imagine that all these creatures were members of the lickspittle Towree Party and thus and to wit, like, totelee corrupt and gettin’ guvmint jobs willy-nilly at the expense of hard workin’ taxpayers on welfare”.
As it happens, the Conservative MP for South West Devon is none other than our old friend Gary Streeter….an alumni of the Plymouth Litigation Tendency, otherwise known as Foot Anstey. I wonder how many Slog-following geriatrics remember Gary and his total innocence of all allegations made about him during the development of new rail updates in the region during the early Naughties? Further excavation reveals that this was around 2006, when The Slog was in its previous existence as Not Born Yesterday.
In an outstanding act of loyalty that so typifies Streeter – he is, would you believe, now Sir Garry – he was one of those yesterday delivering a letter of no confidence in Doris Jobsdone’s ability to deliver what all decent One Nation Tories cry out for, feathered nests.
In 1998 – while at the infamous Foot Anstey practice – Streeter was fined £1,000 by the Law Society for conduct unbecoming a solicitor due to a conflict of interest when dealing with a business merger. He started out as a local councillor for the Claret & Chips SDP, but then quickly defected as it evolved into the LibDems. After 2014, Streeter argued that the result of Tory party infighting over the Brexit issue would be “a Labour-led government bending the knee to Brussels”. However, he then went on vote Remain in 2016, and in November 2018 announced his support for Theresa May’s Brexit capitulation. Earlier while serving on a committee to investigate the MPs’ expenses scandal, our Gary’s own expenses were £162,719, putting him in the top quartile of troughers.
As a balanced reporter on such matters, I trust you have not gained the wrong impression about Sir Gary Streeter MP. Certainly, far be it from me to present him as some kind of ghastly antediluvian relic. He fits into the hip hop streamlined House of Commons like a fat finger in a fine leather glove.
And finally (as they used to say on ITV’s News at Ten) if you are in any way interested, the Daily Mail today reveals the kinkiest things people have ever done in the Rumpy Pumpy stakes. It includes the news that one couple had sex in a hotel hot-tub (has anyone not had sex in a hotel hot-tub?) and the genuinely odd story of a couple who enjoyed a romp with a bloke they met in a cinema.
How many people have you ever met for the first time in a cinema? I can categorically attest that this has never happened to me, because I’m a tad choosey about what movies I go to watch. The worst film I ever saw was Caravan to Vaccarès after our car broke down in 1974, and myself and a girlfriend were forced to hastily find a hotel room and something to do. Fnar fnar and all that, but in the end we went to see Caravan to Vaccarès. Even Charlotte Rampling (whose surname is in and of itself sexual onomatopoeia) getting her kit off was not enough to save the film: the studio should’ve called it Caravan Park in Pwllheli
Nevertheless, not once did it occur to me to “reach out” to the audience in search of potential sexual congress. This feeling of mine – which for all I know may be unique – is based on the fact that the sign ‘cinema’ or ‘movie theater’ is well known to describe a venue where a person buys some popcorn, gapes fixedly at a giant screen, and then has dinner somewhere to discuss whether John Wayne was miscast as Tinkerbell. I have never yet seen signage outside a cinema saying ‘We specialise in kinky ménage à trois encounters’.
Anyway, there you have it: another day on Planet Psychosis draws to a close. Another day that explains precisely why Narbo the Alien disappeared from Twitter as quickly as he arrived.
The Slog 