Thursday, 15 May 2014

René Goupil

René Goupil
Born: 15/5/1608
Died: 29/9/1642

René Goupil was the first North American to be canonised as a martyr by the Roman Catholic church and remains the only saint who, at the time of his death, could fit into a small satchel due to the amount of bits he had missing.

Goupil was born in Anjou, France and lost his first body part during the delivery when the midwife mistook his foot for a shrew escaping from his mother's womb and crushed it using a hardback copy of The Decameron.

Goupil's lopsided gait earned him the nickname 'Gimpy Goupil' in his village and spurred him on to become a surgeon in the hope of finding a cure for one-footedness. 

He became a missionary in 1640 after leaving the medical profession the year before when he accidentally lost his left forearm in a patient during an eye examination.

Sailing for New France in 1640, Goupil lost an ear to captain's parrot shortly after the ship, La Petit Badinage left harbour. The parrot attacked Goupil's ear as it was stuffed with peanuts as part of a medical experiment he was performing to see if peanuts could cause deafness if you stuffed enough of them into your ear.

Travelling from his first mission in New France to the Huron frontier, his party became lost in the snow after Goupil said Jesus had told him to keep going North until it got warmer again. It's believed he was actually talking to a bear rather than the son of god and the party voted to eat his left leg to stay alive until they found civilisation.

Eventually arriving at  the Huron camp in 1642, minus his other ear and right hand to frostbite, he enraged the Huron chief by saying "Bonjour, voulez-vous parler de dieu?" which in their language suggested his mother's breath smelled like walrus cock.

He was kicked out of camp and eventually massacred by a passing band of Iroquois warriors who mistook his denuded body for a man-turtle. He was canonised in June 1930 and was made patron saint of drastic weight loss

Wednesday, 14 May 2014

Peder Horrebow, Astronomer

Peder Horrebow
Born: 14/5/1679
Died: 15/4/1764
Favourite Spice Girl: Baby

Peder Horrebow was born in Denmark in 1679 despite the advice of several doctors, the town mayor and his own mother, who referred to her son as 'just a nasty spell of heartburn' well into his 20s.

His love of astronomy was kindled in early childhood, watching the constellations whilst lying in the snow in the back yard of the family home until his parents relented on his seventh birthday and let him sleep in the house.

He bought his first telescope at the age of fifteen from his uncle but after concluding that Jupiter smelled like vinegar it became clear that his equipment was in fact a rollmop herring with a piece of beer bottle in the end. 

He eventually acquired accurate equipment as a 21st birthday present from his parents on the understanding they never had to speak to him ever again. This led to his paper published in 1737 that put forward the theory that the most distant object in the galaxy was his father.

In 1728, all of Horrebow's research papers were destroyed in the Great Fire Of Copenhagen. His house was then burned down in 1729 in the Minor Fire Of Copenhagen and the bottom of his coat caught fire in the Really Specific Fire Of Horrebow. His spate of bad luck ended with the Banning Horrebow's Mother From Owning Matches of 1730.

His greatest discovery was a method for establishing latitude using stars as reference points, which was used by sailors across Denmark for over three hours before they realised it didn't actually work.

He fathered 20 children in total, due to his belief that his penis could be converted into pointing to true North if tempered for long enough in a vagina.

His legacy is a crater on the moon named after him, after astronomers noticed it looked like his mother's mouth whenever Horrebow said he was coming to visit.

Friday, 15 May 2009

Nothing To See Here

Sorry, but there really isn't.

I currently write for The Daily Mash and as they have a better class of biscuit than are provided at Blogspot, I'll not be posting on here for the forseeable future.

Not until they catch me stealing their mail, anyway.

So go to The Daily Mash. It's here:

and it's really funny. Even, on the odd occasion, the bits I write.


Push Jelly.

Friday, 13 February 2009

“Mugabe, Schmugabe” Says Tsvangirai

“What’s The Big Deal?” Asks Prime Minister About Mass Murderer

As Morgan Tsvangirai was sworn in as Zimbabwe’s new prime minister in a power-sharing government, he told press “You guys need to chill the fuck out about Bobby, okay? Look we’ve all made mistakes, said stuff we shouldn’t have, executed one political dissident too many. Life’s too short to hold grudges though, eh?”

In his first day in office, Tsvingarai stated that he faced “Immediate challenges that require immediate remedies. Our currency is worth less then the air expelled saying the word “Hyperinflation” and our government is riddled with crooks that The Big M knows nothing about, seriously. And the air conditioning in my office sounds like two robots buttfucking.”

The new prime minister warned the international community that “People need to get over Mugabe as a person. To you, he may seem like a gibbering lunatic with wacky views on homosexuality, democracy and not flinging opposition ministers into gorges. But having got to know him, I can say he’s a real sweet guy that makes a bitching mojito. And you should hear him on karaoke singing “Total Eclipse Of The Heart”. Helluva set of pipes.”

When asked why three secret service officers were holding pistols to his temple while a fourth held a set of notes under his face, Tsvangirai stated “These guys? Pay them no mind. Bobby M hired them to look after me. He said that if anyone tried to assassinate me, they’d be up real close. So these guys are keeping their guns next to my face so scare them away. Honestly. Could we change the subject, please?” He went on to dismiss claims that he was being forced to read a prepared statement by Mugabe, claiming the papers were being thrust under his nose because “I forgot to order a lectern. My bad.”

Mugabe praised Tsvingarai’s appointment, stating “This is a new day for the people of Zimbabwe. An era of trust and cooperation is upon us. I know I share my colleague’s fullest confidence as well as the support of his family, who are being housed in my maximum security enclave for their own protection.” He also refuted reports that news footage showed Tsvingarai mouthing the words “Please. Help. Me.” during his inauguration.

Thursday, 12 February 2009

UK Braced For 'Dry Saturday'

“Avalanche Of Crispy Socks” Anticipated

With the economic meltdown worsening, Britain's boyfriends and husbands are anticipating the least sexually active Valentine's Day since records began. "We're looking at a nation of swollen-bollocked frustration" said the Institute Of Legover Studies' Art Ebbsfleet.

"With most partners unable to afford more than a card from the newsagent's, less than 15% of Britain's men will enjoy the traditional Valentine stocking-clad erotic frenzy." And Ebbsfleet warns "It is doubtful, given the current crisis, that any UK male will get to do that thing he's been pestering the wife to do for months and she reckons is disgusting."

Ebbsfleet estimates approximately 300,000 of backed-up reproductive fluid will by sloshing around the nation’s boxer shorts in the days to follow. And he warns that the knock-on effects could be catastrophic. “Our surveys have shown that backed-up men are involved in more car crashes & household accidents, as well as being an absolute fucking nightmare to be around.”

Clintons Cards have already warned of a poor Valentine’s Day. “We’ve had blokes milling about the shop, looking at our five-quid plastic roses, sorting the loose change in their pocket, then walking out empty-handed” said Clintons boss Jeff Knutsford.

Local councils have been placed on high alert as police warned that many will have to resort to stealing blooms from nearby parks. Garage forecourts also anticipate similar raids.

“It’s totally unfair” said recently-redundant investment banker Todd Moore. “I slogged my guts out for ten years making vast fortunes with other people’s money. And now it looks like I’ll have to knock myself around on Valentine’s Day just because I can’t run to a box of overpriced chocolates and a big pink piece of card with a teddy bear on it.”

But Liz Crompton, 27, of Sandilands stated “For twelve months of the year I have to put up with flatulence and bone-idleness. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that, for one day of the year, I get showered with expensive trinkets before I’m expected to feign enthusiasm for five minutes of drunken, inexpert coitus.”

Wednesday, 11 February 2009

"Fuck Off With That Scalpel" Kinnear Tells Surgeons

Noted Cardiologist Threatened With “A Good Bollock-Mangling”

Newcastle manager Joe Kinnear has jeopardised his health after dubbing his surgical team "A shower of shitfists" according to medical staff. "We were trying to discuss his bypass operation" said anesthetist Jason Ebbsfleet "And he just pointed his finger at each member of staff and came out with a different swear word."

The consultation started badly when Kinnear asked who would be performing the operation. When cardiologist Dr Frank Knutsford identified himself, Kinnear retorted "You're a cunt." After two nurses fainted during the discussion, Kinnear was moved to a specialist ward staffed by ex-navvies.

Kinnear was rushed into hospital after complaining of chest pains. A transcript of the 999 call records the following conversation:

“999 emergency. Which service do you require?”“Just fuck off and listen to me, you twat-farm. I’ve got pains in my christing chest and I need a shitting ambulance. Com-fucking-prende?”

“Please calm down sir. When did these pains start?”“As soon as I started talking to you, you frigging cock-wrangler. Ambulance. Now. Get my shagging drift?”

The operation is due to take place tomorrow and Kinnear’s medical team predict possible complications. “It’s unusual that we’d have to strap a patient’s arms down during an operation” said Ebbsfleet “But with delicate surgery like this, we can’t afford to have him flicking the v’s at the theatre nurse during surgery”.

Kinnear’s agent has released a statement regarding the Newcastle manager’s recuperation. “Joe expects to be out of hospital by next week. He told me today that he ‘Will spend a couple of months at home with the bunch of wankers I call a family. Newcastle will just have to titting well look after itself.’”

Fans flooded Newcastle’s internet board with messages of support. “Get arseing well better soon” read one post, while “Tooning Fork 4Eva” wrote “Hope to see you back in the dugout soon, you old twatbladder.”

Newcastle FC told reporters “In the spirit of Joe’s time at the club, we’d have to say that as we’re currently near the bottom of the table and without a manager, we’re up cunt creek with a dick paddle.”

Monday, 9 February 2009

Christopher Reeve "Better Off Gurning His Trap Away" Says Professor

“Waving One’s Hands In The Air Like One Just Doesn’t Care” Recommended

In an article for the Journal of Psychopharmacology, a leading professor has pointed out that ecstasy-taking is much safer than horse riding as it "Has far fewer instances of neck injuries, doesn't turn you into a chinless twat and has killed a lot less Superman actors."

Professor David Knutt advises "Any youth wondering whether to enter a gymkhana or fuck their nut off in a field listening to 180 bpm gabba hardcore needs to be aware of the relative dangers."

In a five year study, Professor Knutt monitored the relative injuries of two distinct groups – one set of inbred, horsey types with names such as ‘Tamara’ and “Ffion” and one set of saucer-eyed serotonin vampires called “Geeza” and “Woot”.

Common injuries amongst the first group were typically broken bones from horse falls, as well as minor ailments such as torn rectums from boarding school-related activities. Fatalities, though rare, were consistent with forcing a one-ton animal at a brick wall he’d much prefer not to jump over.

The latter group fared better, with only a handful of deaths. These were typically from over-hydration as ecstasy users often gulp water like a Gobi desert to avoid dehydration. Common minor ailments occurred from flying whistles, allergies to Vicks Vapo Rub and repetitive strain injuries to elbows from ‘Giving it up for the Essex massiiiiiive.”

“Despite the scare stories following the death of Leah Betts from one E tablet and a litre of vodka, regular consumption of the drug shows a far smaller risk of death than horse riding” concludes Dr Knutt in his report. “It’s not to say such behaviour is totally without risk. Tinnitus, inability to string sentences together and woeful record collections are all negative side effects.”

Yelping scare factory and Home Secretary Jacqui Smith has dismissed the professor’s report as “Dangerously grounded in research and facts.” In a press statement conducted while stroking a small doll with its eyes stabbed out, Smith stated “Once again I’ve ridden roughshod over the advice of an expert employed to give the government advice. If this surprises you, it’s only fair to warn you that the sun will rise tomorrow and Jude Law will continue to be an irreparable cunt.”

In direct contradiction to Dr Knutt’s findings, Smith is expected to push through a bill making the act of “Having it large” punishable by death.