Issue30 23rd Dec 2003
Transmitting Satire From Scotland
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Virtual
Tour of Scotland FirstFoot Jaggy Thistle Wreckered Webrag |
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Shhh! MSPs Ban Mention of Christmas'Season's Greetings', say our 129 MSPs, as we head towards Christmas. Yes, Christmas. Wooo, 'Christmas'! The boogie word!"We don't want to mention Christmas on our official Scottish Parliament greetings cards, because it might offend humbugs, and that wouldn't do at this time of year, would it?" said Eastern Isles MSP Ken Fitilike.* "Anyway, you're blowing this out of all proportion. We aren't banning, you know, Christmas, just, it seems inappropriate to wallow in our white, male, Judaeo-Christian Northern European traditions when we live in such a wonderful, tolerant, multi-cultural society, doesn't it? Any questions? When did Ramadan end this year?! Ah... emmm.... errr.... ha ha.... eh......" *There is no Ken Fitilike, I'm too lazy to think of any actual MSPs. Hey, it's the season for forgivness, after all! |
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I Hogmanay HateHogmanay. Shite. When was the last time you enjoyed Hogmanay? Last year eh? Cunt. I hate it. Why? Why?! Do you want some examples? Last year, walking home drunk and minding my own business, I was assaulted by a predatory gang of neds intent on a good old fashioned malkying. Fortunately I was carrying some date rape drugs and managed to slip it into their drinks as they were battering me, thus escaping to hate Hogmanay for another year. Two years before that, I spent Hogmanay in the middle of the North Atlantic, in freezing gales - on January the 1st, mind, January the 1st - after my ship had sunk when it ran into an illegally dumped container of toxic waste. Took the navy two days to find us. Probably still getting over their bastard Hogmanay hangovers. In order to keep our spirits up as we awaited rescue in our small, vomit-and-brine encrusted liferaft, the skipper ordered us to sing 'Frere Jacques' over and over, in a relay, for two days solid. I can't listen to that song now without wanting to batter everyone in the close vicinity to a pulp with my demented ears. In fact, my fingers have gouged huge scoops out the computer keys as I type, just thinking about it. And still I cough up radioactive phlegm from that toxic waste. That was a *fun* hogmanay. I've lost count of the number of times I've welcomed in the new year in a relatives parlour, whispering so the kids can't hear, sipping our non-alcoholic whisky and being forced to french kiss great-aunt Egbert as a forfeit in a complicated game of Nine Mens Morris whose rules I still don't understand and probably never will. So go on, enjoy your Hogmanay, and may this following year bring peace and prosperity as you consider the fact you're a year closer to death.Happy New Year to youse all. |
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Ex-Smug TV Weather Presenter Switches Alliegance Ex-Smug TV Weather Presenter, Lloyd 'Woof!' Quinan defected from the SNP to the SSP recently, in a move that was seen largely as inevitable amongst the political chattering classes. "Parliament is unbalanced by the fact that there aren't any self-important preeners in the SSP," revealed political commentator Bob Goldchains, "and Lloyd Quinan's defection has been seen as a means of balancing the books, so to speak, amongst the parties at Holyrood. No more will the SSP be known as the hardest working party in showbiz - Lloyd has now arrived to add some much needed self-deluding incompetence." Or, as The Studmeister himself saw it, "The SNP at Holyrood has lost all its best players - Alex Salmond to Westminster, Andrew Wilson to the list, Margo Macdonald to internal bickering - and so I thought to myself, 'Lloyd? What are you still doing here? You cannot be expected to add charisma to the party single-handedly, fella'. And so I have decided to go the way of the rest of the SNP's best and brightest, and jump ship." And Tommy Sheridan had better watch out, the irrepresible Mr Quinan revealed with a devastatingly cute grin. "He won't be the sexiest man in the SSP any longer," added the Scottish Parliament's resident hunk, "or my name's not Lloyd 'Woof!' Quinan." |
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David Blunkett's EyesI'm lying in a hospitalPinned against against the bed A stethoscope upon my heart A hand against my head They're peeling off the bandages I'm wincing in the light I see an asylum seeker And she's quivering with fright I'm looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blun-kett's eyes The doctors are avoiding me My vision is confused I listen to my earphones And I catch the evening news A Home Secretary's been killed and he Donates his eyes to science I'm booked into a private ward And I realise that I must be Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blun-kett's eyes I agree with Murdoch Send the bastards back Unless of course they're loaded Then put them on fast track My alliegance to the red flag revealed as youth's delusion I feel the thrill of power As my song comes to conclusion Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes Looking through David Blunkett's eyes |