Thursday, 29 April 2010

Brown Trousers Time For Bumbling Twat


It makes me proud to be British that our Prime Minister is capable of fucking up so royally right in the midst of a General Election campaign. Yesterday, he left his microphone on as he got into his car, after speaking to Rochdale pensioner Gillian Duffy. She gave Brown her views on immigration. Brown, fixed smile dropping quicker than a broken Mr Potato Head, got into the car, unaware that the attached microphone was still broadcasting. Quite how he failed to notice it was there is beyond me (see image below).


It turns out that the microphone is still there. Here we can provide you with some of the snippets that Brown may not be that comfortable with sharing publicly.

  • Apparently, Sarah had a headache last night, and this morning his Coco Pops were a "sensible choice".
  • Brown was watching David Cameron on TV last night. There's a strange fapping noise on the audio, don't know what it is...
  • ... but you can just make out Brown muttering "oh, David" in his macho Scots brogue.
  • Brown watched In The Night Garden this morning during breakfast. Iggle Piggle's "very cheeky".
  • Before getting to work, Gordon sacrificed a goat, as is tradition.
  • Gordon, feeling a little blue, said to Sarah: "I wish I was handsome like David. He's dreamy." She assured him that he's handsome to her, although he's "no Tony".
  • Gordon downed a bottle of Panda pop and 2 Wham bars for a bet.
  • Apparently, Ed Balls is just a nickname.
  • There's a third, secret Milliband, which they're keeping in reserve in case one breaks.
  • Lord Mandelson thinks that evil is "moreish".
  • Gordon has just given a pep talk to his cabinet. The microphone is really good at picking up rolling tumbleweeds.
  • There's a chilling sawing noise. I think Alistair Darling is trimming his eyebrows.
  • Gordon's just put his face in the fridge to set it again. It's melting like on Darkman.
  • Now he's singing. Good acoustics in the fridge, and he has the voice of an angel.
  • Oh, my mistake. The radio's on in the background. It was actually Bonnie Tyler.
  • Gordon's just told Mandelson that his third nipple is chaffing. Mandelson's offered to rub special ointment into it.
  • Gordon needs a wee. He's just said it's probably because he was picking dandelions on the way to work.
  • Gordon's lining up a speech. It mentions The Scunner Campbell, Jossy's Giants and Rentaghost.
  • Mandelson's told Gordon that he has one wish remaining, and he'd better make it a good one.
  • Gordon has just walked into a wall, and muttered something about "fucking depth perception".
  • Mandelson just said, "Fly, fly my pretties." I'm not sure what he's just unleashed, but watch the skies.
  • He's making the Millibands fight each other in a cage now.
  • Gordon's just read the front pages, realised the microphone is still on, and is gently sobbing. Mandelson has tenderly kissed him on the forehead.

Incidentally, mid-Atlantic moral disappointment Tony Blair, since stepping down, set up the "Tony Blair Faith Foundation", which is an anagram of "Out-Of-Hand Fart On Inability". Maybe he had Gordon in mind when he named it. "Gordon Brown Faith Foundation", if ever established, is an anagram of "Tart Now Boo-Hooing In Dandruff".

As you can see, Gordon is taking his blunder in good humour.


The other party leaders have responded in different ways. Thinking that any publicity is good publicity, David Cameron has called an unemployed single mother a "cunt". Nick Clegg has declined to comment, but is said to be waiting to see where public opinion falls on whether Mrs Duffy is indeed a crusty old anachronistic bigot. Nick Griffin, meanwhile, accidentally left his mic on, and was heard moaning about some tolerant woman. He has also gone so far as to adopt Mrs Duffy as an unofficial BNP mascot. Jim Davidson is "gutted".

Gordon Brown has declined to comment further, but we're just waiting for the dictaphone he sat on the other day to re-emerge.

Tuesday, 27 April 2010

... then Bobby stepped out of the shower. He wasn't dead after all. "Shit," thought Pamela, "it's just like that time Dystopian Fuchsia came back."


Not a hoax! Not a dream! I'm writing a blog!

I've not wanted to leave poor old Dystopian Fuchsia so long unattended, but I did warn you... several times... remember? No? Good.

There's a couple of reasons why it's been nearly a month since the last post. Firstly, I'm (at last) no longer dole scum. That belittling description is now only fulfilled by one of its component words, as it should be. However, in a bizarre twist of probability, I am not a Murdoch henchperson, as previously reported. No, I'm now in Account Management for a mobile phone network. More on that soon.

The other, more fun outside factor is Destinauts. I promised it for ages, and the first issue is now online. When you're scripting, storyboarding, pencilling, inking, colouring, lettering and editing everything yourself, for free no less, it can take some time, but at last, the 16-page début tale is available to read now, and literally some of you have taken the opportunity to catch their origin. As I said, it is entirely free; I'm not a published artist in the real world, so I wouldn't feel comfortable charging anyone for my work. It's a labour of love, and it has now been messily birthed.
Go to www.Destinauts.co.uk to read the start of the adventure for Cynicus, Dr Fubar and the Human Wall, three supervillains blundering their way through history quicker than you can say "butterfly effect". At time of writing, there are 16 followers; please take the time to scroll down when you go there to add your name, and spread the word. Ta.


So, what other fun shenanigans has been happening, then? There's the General Election coming up, a chance to remove an unpopular, unelected anachronism from power... no, not the Queen. There's not much in the way of choice, though; you have David "Broken, Broken Record" Cameron, a man so far up his own arse he can see Mrs Thatcher's shoes, and there's Clegg, who's only in the running following the death of Compo (or De-Compo, as he's now known). If Labour stay in power, we're fucked. If anyone else gets in, we're fucked. Stalemate.

Oh, there was the volcano. Apparently, there was a cloud of ash floating over the UK following the eruption. Now, I wasn't 100% sure it was there, but either there was a cloud of volcanic ash overshadowing Cardiff, or half the population were barbecuing with sulphur brickettes. It was like Port Talbot had decided to move next door. This, of course, means nothing to you if you've never been there. To help you along, it smells like an Icelandic volcano spewing a sulphuric ash cloud.

So, my new job. Well, it's a wonderful feeling earning money again. I've learned many things during my training. Write these down, it could save you a fortune.
  • If there's a fault with the reception on your mobile phone, work out precisely where the transmitter is. If you then stand in your garden directly between your phone and where the transmitter is and wave your arms, you should clear any blockages to the signal.
  • If the above step fails, there could be crows nesting on the signal. If you text DEATH to your provider, this should clear the signal.
  • A specialist team of cleaners will remove any guano left by the birds once cleared from the signal path. Any guano left floating there is a hazard to low-flying aircraft; this has been falsely identified as UFO sightings in the past.
  • No matter where you turn, no matter where you go, you can always rely on The General Public to be Exactly The Fucking Same As You Remember Them.
Some of the above may not be 100% true.

Just so you know, I haven't forgotten this place. You don't fork out on dot commage to leave something you've worked hard on to rot away. I still have to write about the new Doctor Who (including the unfortunate incident at the weekend when Graham Norton came onto Matt Smith's gurning face), more Children's TV Re-Imaginings to add, a sidebar to add here with all previous postings since November 2009 in a convenient place that isn't a blog archive list that means absolutely fucking nothing, and many more things that you may or may not or shouldn't care about.

Oh, thanks to former Marvel/Doctor Who Magazine editor John Freeman for the Destinauts (and Dystopian Fuchsia) plug on downthetubes.net...

Back soon with more crap... I promise. No, really.

Hope you're well. You're looking well.