Are you a wanted felon?

If so, please hand yourself into your local police station. The police force has enough to do without having to chase after the likes of you. Similarly, if you are planning to commit a crime, please don't. If you did, we would have to waste time and money arresting you. To pay for this, someone would have to increase taxes, meaning your dear old mum would be hit hard.
To give Police Officers a bit of a break over the festive season, I would advise as many of you as possible to take the law into your own hands. This would save both the police and the wider judicial system some work.
So remember: If in doubt, form a lynch mob!

Intersted In fish?!?!

Yes, you heard me Fish Lovers!?!? It's crazy Tom here, from Tom's World of Fish!?!?!
Want a BRAND NEW aquarium???!??? I'm practically GIVING THEM AWAY!
People say I'm crazy, but I don't care!!!$!!!

So, come down to Tom's World of Fish and get the tank of your dreams for as little as it costs you to get there!
All of our fish tanks are state-of-the-art, bulletproof, and pre-stocked with fresh water salmon!
So, buy a fish tank today... Or regret it for ever!!!?!?!?!

Gary...

Larson once posed the question "If a tree falls in a forest and it kills a mime, does anyone care?" Well, they do now, because I have taken up a life of mimicry. I've already invested in a stripy top and beret, as well as face and body paints. Today's performance went very well, but sadly I became trapped in a glass case while acting, and no-one took my desperate hand gestures for help seriously.
Fortunately, a man attempted to mow me down in a car, breaking my glass barrier and letting me escape to the rooftops like a French gargoyle.

disturbing tales for children you want to hit but can't, so just emotionaly scar instead, Volume 1

"What happened to the living room table?"
Sighing, Max rose from the the chair and prepared to smooth things over.
"Well Carol," he said, giving her the old puppy-dog eyes, "I'm sorry. It was an accident."
"Eww!" screamed Carol, looking at the severed organs in her hands, "Get out!"
Still, she thought to herself, that's dinner sorted out.

Now eat your sprouts, or it'll be your dog next!

People often ask me...

Is Elvis really dead? Yes, I reply. Even if he didn't die in 1977, he would be 74 next year - not at all an impossible age to reach, but an unlikely one for a man who not only has(had):
(a)severe health problems, a history of drug abuse and was grossly overweight
but also (b) died 31 years ago. However, there are many conflicting ideas.
Firstly, Kirsty MacColl sings that There's A Guy Works Down The Chip Shop Swears He's Elvis, in the song of the same name. People often propose to me that this was not a lie, as implied by the song, but that MacColl was IN FACT Elvis!
I retort that she was born in 1959, and a history of her life for the 18 years before Elvis' death exist, making it all but impossible for them to be the same person. Even if it was true, MacColl tragically died in 2000, so this argument only supports my claim.
Other theories proposed to me suggest that on his death-bed(toilet...), he did not in fact die, was was taken by a golden light and ascended unto heaven. I severely doubt this, but I suppose it's up to you to decide what it is YOU believe.

Next week:
Bigfoot! Real live monster, or hairy tramp who stole my briefcase on a crowded train in London?
Yes, probably neither...

Happy April fools!

Ha, got you. You see, the trick is that it's actualy Christmas!

Yes, I hope I die soon too...

I don't like Christmas...

The entire event was overshadowed last year when my (fictitiously-fourth [hi Ben]) wife's nipples spontaneously combusted at the dinner table. In the commotion, the turkey got burned. So did the house. And my tortoise.

Really, I tried to stop celebrating Christmas, but people bought me presents and I felt bad about not getting any back. Also, I like the chocolate. Crass, commercialized chocolate...

The Grand National

"Yay, horsey ride!" I yelled, leaping on my Uncle Harry(I was younger, this isn't a incestuous rape story)
"Well, all right." He replied, with mock annoyance.
Picking up speed, he began to run me around the house, taking the corners rather rappidly. Unfortunately, as we took the corner into the kitchen, he slipped and fell hard on the floor, sending me flying onto the soft corridor carpet.
"Are you ok?" I asked, running over to my hunched-up uncle.
"Yes... no, wait [as he tried to stand] my hip. Damn, go fetch some help!"
Unfortunately, there was only one thing we could do in the situation. Aunt Harriet fetched the shotgun from the shed.

I don't race any more, I've put on too much weight.

A White Christmas?

Nope, it's going to rain, and lovable animals will catch AIDS.

I placed the bucket carefully on top of the door, and retreated behind the sofa, giggling. A few moments later, I heard the familiar thuds of someone pounding my door in an attention-grabbing manner.
"Come in," I called cheerfully.
A heavyset bald figure stepped towards the door, looking around furtively.
"Hey, you're not who I was waiting for," I yelled. It was true, my hilarious practical joke on Great Aunt Martha was about to be ruined by a Phil Mitchell lookalike.
As I watched, the bucket descended onto his head, spilling it's liquidy contents evenly across the intruder.
"No," he replied, "I'm here to burgle your house." Then, after a pause, "Hey, this isn't water!"
"No, it's petrol, it's part of the prank."
Well, it seemed a shame to let it go to waste, so I threw a match at the would-be burglar.

It's sad to see celebrities fall on hard times. Only last week, I had to help Robbie Williams chase rats out of his council house.

......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

The Further Adventures of Albert Einstein

I don't agree with violence against animals in most cases, but it seemed justified today. Loading the shotgun, I stormed out into the garden, taking sight at the beast caught in the bear trap.
"I wuv you!" It intoned, threateningly.
I knew behind the warm, loving exterior lay the heart of a sadistic, murderous bastard who only wanted into my home to eat the souls of my children. Readying the weapon, I pumped to rounds into the fluffy, pink hell-spawn.
Unfortunately, they're an endangered species.

A hot date

Help!

People are in my room! Phone the police!

"Hey! What're you playing at?"
I approached the man standing at the bus stop, striding angrily across the road. He was average sized, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and seemed to be blacked up.
"That's totally offensive and inappropriate in this day and age!" I yelled.
"Oh," He said, turning. "Don't worry mate, you've got the wrong end of the stick - I'm not blacked up, it's just cheaper and less embarrassing to paint my face like this than it is to buy a gimp mask."
People are shit, don't forget.

This Is Life.

The potato would not dance, regardless of how many times I asked it to. I shot it, then turned the gun on myself. There were no bullets left, and I suppose I'm glad of that really. I threw the gun aside and walked off into the smog.
I don't know what lies ahead, but I suppose I can deal with that later.

Imagine...

3 rather stereotypical Neds doing a badly synchronized dance routine to Cotton Eye Joe. They try to dance, one falls attempting a hand-stand, and another smacks his head when attempting to break-dance. Then a combine harvester smashes through the wall and mows them all down.
Life isn't all bad.

"Hey Max! Look at that kid's phone. Is it one of those new Nokia ones?"
"Yea, think so." Replied Max. "God, I'd love one of those, it'll be years before it becomes obsolete."
"Yea, and it's got a really good camera." I replied.
"What?" Replied Max, "Oh, we're talking about the phone? Oh dear."

As I pushed the cart towards an old lady, I wondered wistfully why they never announced a cleanup in Isle 4 in real life. It needed it.
Slowly, I maneuvered the cart in front of the elderly dear, and let go. It glided into the display of miracle penis enlargement spray, blocking her in. Shoving another cart full of watermelons in behind her, I made a run for it.
I made it to the tills and managed to buy a tub of anal lube and a cucumber before security caught me. The police were called, my wrists were slapped, and the cucumber was confiscated.

They were right...

My door does smell of vomit...

Jolly fat men

"Ho... Ho ho"
I watched sadly as Santa stumbled hopelessly around my kitchen.
"Ho [hiccup] Ho, he!" He announced proudly. I'd always thought of him as some sort of tank, but millions of sherries, brandies, whiskies and absinthe (my mother insisted he liked it) must have taken their toll on the jolly bastard. Taking another swig of vodka - I hadn't left that out for him - he tried to stuff a bicycle into the microwave. I had tried to take it off him, but he had announced I was a bad little girl and rubbed coal on my face.
As he threw up into the fridge, I headed to bed. I could tidy up in the morning, then phone the council about getting a new lock fitted on the front door.

When I got up in the morning, I discovered that it hadn't been Santa at all, just John Prescott, getting into the Christmas Spirit.
He'd stolen my TV as well.

Santa... Doesn't feature in this post

It's nearly Christmas! soon I can celebrate a story I don't believe in by pandering to the spoiled desires of children forced on me by a greedy, capitalist society!
I prefer Easter, where we eat chocolate to celebrate a man dying because he wanted people to get on and coming back as a zombie.

The zombies came for us at nightfall. They walked around the garden and moaned for a while, then stole the gnomes. Eventually, they knocked down the door, and got confused by the sky+ remote. After a cup of tea, they left.
It was all a little surreal actually.