Monday, 17 June 2013


Publisher’s Note: Aaaaaaaaaaand another comedian joins the fray….

After yesterday’s victories over the rebellious riff-raff today is a power breakfast celebration with a galaxy of sycophantic advisers and the Governor of Istanshire who is being rewarded for his loyalty and his intelligence, two qualities which he unfortunately has in in vastly unequal amounts. So, Prick Bastardly and his faithful dog Muttley discuss the state of the shire.

Power Breakfast

I am apocalyptic with rage. That commie news channel Hak TV played my lovely penguin documentary instead of my televised speech to the unwashed at the annual village garden fete. I was relegated to a little box in the corner of the screen and my voice was obscured by the sound of penguins stealing from the mouths of other penguins’ babies.

For breakfast this morning we ate bread made with a special health giving flour created from the ground up bones of several newly double amputeed rebel doctors.

Mr. T’s personal chef arrives for his daily instructions. He is from Franceshire, a county famed for its flat tasting fizzy wine, smegma-like cheese and for toadying up to rich dictators. They also claim they can cook. 

Le Chef:  Foower thees lawnch we ‘ave the bab-eh-cued baby dolphin on le skewer, drowned een my favorite rouge wine.

Mr Thorn: Is that drowned as in cooked or drowned as in asphyxiated ?

Le Chef: Ahfteur eet ‘as been killed to death of course, mah Leurdd.

Mr T. I want it drowned in wine before as well. And I want to see video proof. With sound.

Le Chef: As you weesh mah Leurdd.

The two great men move on to the business of the last few days and reflect on both the events of the last few days and what got them into power.

Mr Thorn: About this acid you organised for the water cannons for the protesters. What was that excuse all about ? (At this point Mr T is giggling, holding up a newspaper, scarcely able to contain himself). You told ‘em it’s, and I quote, “medicine”. Couldn’t you have come up with something better than that ?

Vali the Governor:  It’s the best I could think of at the time. It is against our religion to lie and the medicine will indeed cure them of their will to throw our gas grenades back at us.  They are calling me Chemical Vali, like Saddam’s spokesman in Iraq, Chemical Ali. I am ashamed.

Mr T: With dumb excuses like that you should be. Well, looks like the proles swallowed your explanation.

The two statesmen move onto budget matters. Mr T. is in expansive, communicative mood.

Is that idiot Brad Orbarmy of the United Shires still paying us 22 billion dollars a year so he can  have those airbases that we never let him use in the Gulf War ? Fuck me. It’s Crassmas, Ramitin, Thanksgiving, the Assover and Festivus every month for us. Nearly 2 billion dollars a month to blow on what we please just for having his fucking airbases. We fund our entire fake economic miracle on his money and the shires of the world praise us for it. What a dickhead! What dickheads!! And let me tell you something even funnier. That David Macaroon, the prime minister of Ingerlanshire was sucking up to our European Union of Shires  minister yesterday, so we would accept even more of his development money. When the BBC journalists become my harem eunuchs I want David Macaroon as my Head of Harem. That man is prepared to travel any length of any anal canal to get what we want him to have.

Stay tuned for the next thrilling episodes from Istanshire.

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