Skip to main content

Student Denies Cooking Live Hamster

Not a headline you see every day, but a real headline nevertheless, and one from the Independent no less. As soon as you see the word "student" you immediately think "guilty" don't you? I do any way. In fact I think of a scruffy, and guilty, unwashed long-haired dirty lazy "the world owes me a living" tramp. The cupboard is bare, I'm skint but starving. I know! I'll cook the hamster. That will fill me up, and immediately make me seem whacky and thus render me incredibly popular with the ladies, who strangely currently appear to think that I'm a total wanker. Two birds, one stone. Fucking Einstein me. I might even have a bath tonight and put on my lucky Bart the Fart Simpson pants and pop down to the Uni bar for a half of cider. We aren't informed how said oik decided to cook said rodent. KFC style is where my money is going. I mean he won't have gently poached it in a bain marie of warm milk with basil and chives will he? As in the classical French way. He'll have probably just dusted it in unseasoned flour, the wanker, maybe chucked a bit of half-beaten egg at it, rolled it in bread crumbs and lobbed it into the deep fat fryer whilst preparing a few chips, the lazy fucking get. I'm intrigued to read that the hearing was adjourned after a post-mortem examination threw up "findings (that) conflicted with evidence from another expert." Fuck me, how many experts do we have in this particular field? I'd have thought this was probably about as specialist as you can get, but it would seem not. "Harry, I've got York Magistrates' Court on line three. They're looking for an expert on hamster autopsies. What, you're fully booked up until November? I'm sorry, our hamster autopsy specialist is fully booked up until November. Yes, it's that time of year you see, once the kids go back to school things just go mental. I could put you onto Brian, he's very good, he specialises in manic depressive wombat suicides, I think he's got a window next Thursday afternoon...."

Popular posts from this blog

Fucking Passwords

Create a password..... cabbage Sorry, the password must be more than 8 characters.... boiled cabbage Sorry, the password must contain 1 numerical character. 1 boiled cabbage Sorry, the password cannot have blank spaces. 50fuckingboiledcabbages Sorry, the password must contain at least one upper case character. 50FUCKINGboiledcabbages Sorry, the password cannot use more than one upper case character consecutively. 50FuckingBoiledCabbagesShovedUpYourArse,IfYouDon'tGiveMeAccessImmediatelyYouTwats Sorry, the password cannot contain punctuation. NowIAmGettingReallyPissedOff50FuckingBoiledCabbagesShovedUpYourArseIfYou DontGiveMeAccessImmediatelyYouTwats Sorry, that password is already in use! See  Fucking phone calls too

My Mate Frank

Is a sheepdog and his two-legged is a farmer. Frank was out with him in the tractor drilling wheat last autumn and they unearthed a rusty old lamp. So the farmer hopped out of the cab to have a closer look at it and gave it a little rub on his jacket, as you do, and was amazed to see a genie appear and offer to grant him any wish he wanted. Well the farmer thought for a moment and then said "I'd like the price of wheat to go to £200/tonne!" So the genie sighed but said "OK, I'll sort that out for you then, you greedy bastard" and popped back into his bottle. And the farmer casually tossed the lamp into the back of his cab and got on with his drilling. Well they were out again this morning putting a bit of nitrogen on, Frank and the farmer, and the farmer spotted the lamp and gave it a little rub again, just on the off chance, and you'll never guess what happened, the genie popped out again, and said that he'd grant the farmer one more wish. So the fa...

RIP Frank Carson

It's a little known fact that Frank Carson actually got into comedy purely by chance. When he was a young man, he was a church bell-ringer in Northern Ireland, but he was so bad at it that every time he rang the bells, everyone immediately burst out laughing. It was the way he tolled them. Pooh count: two, and one of them a cracker that has your name on it Frankie. You can pick it up from Pearly Gates reception on your way in.