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.