Biblical Bollocks from the

Reverend Gideon Guttersnipe

Some of the lesser known books of The

Bible are better than others. Jonah,

Ruth and Philemon are ok but I can do

without Hosea, Habakkuk and Obadiah.

Lamentations – well, you might as well

listen to Leonard Cohen and as for Job,

all I can say about that is blow it Do you

reckon

they

knew?

I do

Of course, you have to ask— what were the police doing up there in the first

place?

Number 1—DENSOSAURUS The stupidest dinosaur yet discovered, Densosaurus was so thick that , by comparison, the next thickest, Stegosaurus, was a genius. It roamed the swamps of Gondwanaland with its head up its anus due

to being so thick that it would forget it was a herbivore and endeavour to eat its own tail. It would then eke out the rest of its days in total darkness, wondering where the smell was coming from and why it got a stiff neck every time it sat down

You can stick your (insert own choice) up your

arse

You can stick your (insert own choice) up your

arse

You can stick it/them up your bottom

And your piles, if you‘ve got ‗em

Will have to move aside to let it/them pass

In that event that

some readers made

be under the impres-

sion that William Tell

was a good shot with

a crossbow I feel it

pertinent to point

out that he used to

have fourteen kids

MUFFER‘S DIARY

1993

Jan 1 Headache! Didn‘t get up until 5.30 Potato phoned to wish me Happy

New Year. Told him to sod off. Felt bad about it later. Didn‘t phone back to

apologise. Sod him.

Jan 2 Back to work Perg miserable. Sent me out on traffic duty. Don‘t like

Perg. Last sergeant better. Perg just a git. Wait til I get promoted over his

head. Then we‘ll see about it all. Humph!

Jan 3 Bought Sunday paper for crossword. Crossword enthusiast. Crossword

crap. Tore paper up. Threw it in bin. Clodhopper wanted to know if I‘d

finished with paper. Told him to bugger off. Clodhopper went home.

Literalist. Pillock.

Jan 4 Nothing happened today. Crossword even worse.

Jan 5 Crossword bilge. Perg wanted cops to put on variety show for deprived

kids in recreation room. Social climber. Rotarian! Consensus—sod the little

bastards. Made half-hearted efforts at finding material to build stage. Gave up.

Cornflakes went soft this morning. Mop‘s socks a bit high. Potato thumped in

face by me for making up song, ―Muffer Is A Loony‖ and singing it. Perg got

dinner in face when Sally tripped over mat. Not amused.

Humourless misery. Serves him right.

Jan 6 Tore crossword up without looking at it. Potato‘s crap. Got rollocking

off Perg after he read yesterday‘s diary entry. Shouldn‘t read other people‘s

diaries anyway. Mop complained wage packet not big enough. Slop suggested

cops make a record. Mooted ―Laughing Policeman‖. Slop told to get knotted.

Told Perg letter from Littlewood's on his desk. Perg bought champagne and

booked Caribbean cruise for self and Mrs Perg. Opened letter. Letter said his

charge card payment overdue. Perg unhappy. Cops pissed.

Jan 7 Gave Mop wage packet one foot square. Not amused. Socks very high.

Told him to change them. Told me to sit on thumbs and walk round room on

elbows. Peasant. Clodhopper belched in Perg‘s face. Perg less than ecstatic.

Man phoned to report theft of spare shoelace. Told him to go away and stop

wasting Police time. Chief Constable‘s brother. Oops!

Blamed Potato.

Jan 8 Went to church. Went home again. Saturday! Went to cinema. ―Attack

of Eviscerated Lemmings‖. Rubbish. Kicked out for snoring.

Jan 9 Went to church. Sermon boring. Kicked out for snoring. Vicar went to

sleep. Kicked out for snoring too. Papers all rubbish. Burnt my dinner. Sat on

it. Telly crap. Questions on Bullseye too hard. Bet Clint Eastwood doesn‘t

have this trouble. Or Starsky and Hutch. Fed up 7.15 and went to bed. Don‘t

like Sundays. Boring.

Jan 10 Didn‘t bother with crossword. Decided to buy book of them. Wanted to play golf

after work. Rained. Clobbered Slop for making it rain. Told me not his fault. Couldn‘t

care less. Told him so. Clobbered him again. Bought crosswords.

Jan 11 Last few entries all in wrong order. 8th not Saturday. Friday. Went to church

yesterday not 9th. Did actually but 9th Saturday so right but wrong. Wanted to play golf

on Friday not yesterday but bought crosswords yesterday. Half of yesterday Friday and

half yesterday. Friday Saturday and Saturday Sunday. Today correct. Tomorrow never

comes. Need a holiday. Crossword book crap, Threw it away. Had to attend court case.

Joe and Ostony. Joe and Ostony uncooperative. Spluge angry. Fell out of thing judges

sit behind. Joe and Ostony escaped. Mop‘s socks getting high again. Pooh!

Jan 12 Joe and Ostony reported playing truant. Truant catcher sent after them.. Truant

catcher carried off by men in white coats at 11.30. Vacancy for truant catcher. Perg got

ponced up to go to snob show in evening. Snob show cancelled because Perg going.

Mop in bad mood. Punched Slop in face. Socks like bad eggs. Told him to change

them. Suggested I &%$£ off. Grassed him up for smoking on duty even though he did-

n‘t. Titter.

Jan 13 Had to police football match this evening. Lout ran on pitch. Tackled him. Lout

thumped me in gob. Put him in armlock. Fell into goalpost and bust it. Goalkeeper

thumped me for busting goalpost. Lout escaped. Other team scored whilst goalkeeper

distracted. Goalkeeper thumped me again. Arrested him. Other team won 86-0.

Jan 14 No smell of rotten vegetation at work. Mop on day off. Relief. Potato in bad

mood. Told him to cheer up. Potato casting doubts upon authenticity of Mr and Mrs

Muffer‘s marriage documentation.

Sadly, to be continued........

Walter, circa 1967:

Hey, that lead singer out of Traffic—he doesn’t half sound like Spencer Davis

Voyage to Saturn

Archibald Bertram Claude Disraeli Egbert Ferdinand George Hildebrand Ian Jonathan Klaus Leonard Mortimer Norman Obadiah Percival Quentin Rastus Simon Trevor Urias Vortigern

William Xerxes Yancy Zion Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff Jnr .......has got a very long name

At the Bunkum Road junction with Krappslop Lane at six am this morning, a collision occurred between a car and an articulated penny-farthing. An eyewitness said, “What a nice eye” A passer-by who witnessed the crash said, “Hic! …Belch!!” Unfortunately he was drunk and couldn’t remember anything. Police Constable L O Elloh said, at the scene, “Hi was hon my beat has husual hand there was hay crash.” There is to be no inquest as it would be awfully dull and boring. The home of Mr Susan Jones, Nitt Town, was broken into today and the owner stolen…robbed. He told our reporter that all his prized possessions, namely a gold-plated set of boiled prunes (antique – early 87th century), five tons of undiluted plutonium sock juice, six million copies of the Daily Balderdash, 56th Jancembuary 1576, in which was his photograph, and ten fresh budgerigars, had been taken. Police have appealed to anyone who has been offered these items to keep it to themselves

Essay on GUY FAWKES by Professor Kabbij

Gy Forx woz a gud man coz e maydid Bommy Nite 4 uz 2 pla wiv fiawerkz. I hav got a moggel

ov Gi Forks at hoam hoo I ams gunna putt on mi bommy at Krismiz I meen bommy nitt. I hav

orlreddy bort mi fiwerx an sett themmup in mi gardin reddy four bommy niyt. I hav git a mogle of

Gui 4 kz – o I hav oreddy sed that. Thee end.

Although we were led to believe that Alan shared Thunderbird 5 duties with his brother John, the evidence to support such a

claim was thin indeed. In scant few of the episodes I saw, and I saw most of them, did Alan so much as venture on to the patio,

much less launch himself into the cosmos on a mission of mercy to relieve his sibling’s isolation. My personal view is that each

time it was his turn to take a tour of duty he would sabotage the sofa so that the launching of Thunderbird 3 could not take

place. With his other brothers kept far busier than he jetting off around the world to the assistance of unfortunates trapped in

bank vaults or six miles underground in plutonium mines, Alan had plenty of time to work his evil plan on his father and the

gullible Brains. As time went by and their memories began to fail, he would endeavour to convince them both that John was, in

fact, in a room located somewhere on Tracy Island and, far from requiring rescue, perfectly happy and able to come and go as he

pleased.

Of course the real reason that John was banished to the depths of outer space and forgotten about for as long as possible was

his excruciating body odour and flatulence. In truth, there was no need for anybody to man Thunderbird 5 at all as everything

could indeed have been computerised and operated from the ground. One could even go so far as to say there was no need for

Thunderbird 5. It seems a long-winded way to dispose of an unwanted family member. Would it not have been far simpler to take

him on a mission in, say, Thunderbird 2, and have Virgil ‘accidentally’ operate the handle that released the pod in which he was

travelling at some 50,000 feet?

And what did the other Tracy brothers do for female company. No wonder Tintin always looked so happy. And where was

Captain Haddock?

The myths exploded— see below

Voyage to Saturn

by

Art Wokkit (aged 7)

Horace Juff and Klev Erklogski, an American and a Russian, got together and built a rocket out of Cornflake packets and detergent bottles. It had taken the two of them (ski) over three years and they were at last ready to blast of for Saturn. Saturn had only once been reached before, in 1969, when a twerp at Cape Can ‘Ave ‘Er All sat on a drawing pin. They were making last minute check ups. “Have we got everything?” asked Horace, called Horace for short. “Yep,” replied Klev, “apart from a toothbrush. He went into the house and returned with two teethbrush. “You didn’t bring my green one. You know I like that best.” Klev went back into the house and got Horace’s green toothbrush. They climbed into the rocket and made their way up to the capsule. Then the countdown started. Three hours later they were 5,000,000 miles from Earth travelling quite quickly towards their destination. Klev noticed a peculiar object staring at him through the window, then discovered the window was a mirror, It took six weeks to get to Saturn. Then they went down and landed. The only problem with the fact they did this was that Saturn, being covered with thousands of miles of poison gas clouds, was rather uninviting so they decided it would be best to land on one of the moons which goeth under the name of Titan. Well, they had nine moons to choose from (in those days there were, apparently, only nine) but thought Titan would be the best because it was biggest and they had less chance of missing it as they shot through space at 30 miles per hour. They landed on Titan and he told them to clear off as he was just about to appear in an episode of Stingray so the astronits obeyed and landed on the proper Titan. They put on their spacesuits and stepped on to the surface of the moon. “By Jupiter...” “Oi!” “What? Oh, sorry – I mean – By Saturn. Look at those rings.” exclaimed Horace as he saw the spectacle, adding, “By J....Saturn. So that’s what happened to Granny’s glasses when she sat on that cactus (spectacle, see?)” They started to make plans about how to land on the planet without doing themselves any harm or gassing themselves. “Let’s just put keep our spacesuits on.” “Oh right” They took off again and landed on Saturn. They had not realised that the rocky core of Saturn was only three inches thick and the rest of it was a dense atmosphere, but they soon found out. Having burnt the planet’s core to bits with their engines they noticed that the atmosphere was dispersing. No gravity left. Then they went back to Earth and forgot about it. Tata

QUORAK’S RIDICTIONARY

by

Prof. QUANZ Z QUORAK of INGNIPIDDIPODD

with doff-of-a-cap acknowledgment to

JETHRO BANANASKIN-PLETHROID

(who did a bit of it)

D

Decadence ―We don't like their sound and guitar music is on the way out.‖

Demystify Castrate

Demonstrate Heterosexual incubus

Dermatology The scientific study of Irishmen

Detailed As a Manx Cat

Deuteronomy The fault of either myself or a Rolling Stones‘/Faces‘ guitarist

Dialect Skaro accent

Dinner Meal taken by plebeians ―Oop North‖ at lunchtime and consisting of scrag end

of mutton or offal with Bisto, stewed brassicas, mashed potatoes or chips done

in lard and half a buttered barm cake washed down with Tizer, Mackeson or

six gallons of Ty-Phoo (with thanks to G Wieyps-Gentleigh, Rolta)

Dinosaur Heavy duty steak knife

Direction Rigor Mortis

Disclaimer The hastily cobbled together and rushed out follow-up to an unexpected hit

record by an unknown, usually crap, band or artist which is normally a pale

copy of an already rubbish song and guarantees the performer/s the instant

status of ―One Hit Wonder‖ eg: ―Desperate Dan‖ by Lieutenant Pigeon, ―Top

Man‖ by Don Partridge and ―Melodie einer Nacht‖ by Esther and Abi Ofarim

Disconnecting Stupid cravat worn by John Travolta wannabes in the nineteen seventies

Dossier More like a tramp

Next Time

Eeeeeeee By

Gum

Reasons Mr Glovedhand was passed over for the position of DJ at the local

Hospital Radio Station, January 1981:-

“Well, that was Kim Wilde‟s latest single, Mr Glovedhand. What do you think of

it?”

“A‟d fook „er but „er music‟s crap”

“And that was „In The Air Tonight‟ by Phil Collins Do you have any comments

about it”

“Fookin‟ „ell, Mate. You can stick that fooker where you stuck the other ****!”

When I was a kid, if my mum thought

I was being mean she‘d call me mingy.

A chum at school told me he knew

another word that meant the same so

when mum wouldn‘t let me have a

chocolate biccie the next day I called

her it and she hit me. What‘s all that

about then?

Please ignore the picture to the left. I have no idea how it got there

“Mighty fine lookin’ hoss y’got there, Elmore” “This here ain’t m’hoss. This here’s m’waahf” “Ah dew beg your pardon (aside) F’n ah had a waahf lahk that ah’d trade it fer a hoss”

The Geezer has been contributing drawings here and there so I thought it only fair to show his efforts in their entirety. Crap, aren’t they?

New Planet Discovered By our Science Correspondent

Barrington Lowjob

Before we begin I would like to point out that the new planet was not actually discovered by our science correspondent, Barrington Lowjob, who is, in fact, a junior hack, sitting in a dimly-lit office the size of a postage stamp, with no career prospects and the IQ of a tapeworm. The planet was discovered by a boffin in a white coat with a .0000000000000000000000000000000000000000

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000001 inch refracting telescab, and is about 8000 times further away from the Sun than the former planet Pluto. It is about seven trillion light years in diameter with 6,098,463 moons, the nearest being four inches from the planet and the furthest 674 parsecs away. NASA has no plans to visit the new planet because it gives every indication of being pretty rubbish. Anyway—over to Mr Lowjob for his report.

Sorry—run out of space....Hah! Space—get it?

Crap Geological Periods—Number 1—The Devonian Pretty much a non-event except for the colonisation of the Earth’s surface by rootless plants, 8 foot toadstools and bewildered arthropods. There were no summer music festivals and precious little daytime television and everything tended to die out from boredom. It’s one notable significance seems to have been the advent of the phrase “Oooh arr!” and a cider made from progymnosperm shreddings and carbon dioxide. Nothing else happened

Can’t think of owt to

write in this bit

OBLIGATORY OLYMPICS AWARE BIT

Editorial Bullshit:

Assorted Bilge

apologises for

the late delivery

of this edition. I

had a problem

with the PC and

phoned the bloke

who fixes mine

for me. He said I

needed to press

the F1 button.

Thought it was a

bit odd but I went

off to Brands

Hatch and said,

“Come on, then,

Jensen, how did

you REALLY get

into motor

racing?”

Still waiting.....

Muffer’s Diary Part 2 Bernard Steamcobbler’s Dance of the Dirty Hanky Toenails and Their Relevance In Romantic Poetry New Recipes From Festrin Poomantroll No Bloody Seagulls

Copyright: Bert’s Bogey Farm 1967