Sunday, 7 April 2013

Class Wars: Askew Hope

Last week, the BBC released a revised class structure. They didn't feel that the current three-tier one defined people well enough, so their patronising 7-tier structure, based on things ranging from who you're friends with, what your hobbies are and how many people called 'Colin' you know was designed to neatly categorise the British Public like cattle.

The Tories aren't happy with this, and want it resimplified, so have devised their own multiple choice test to seperate the posh from the plebs. See how you do! Post in the comments your outcome.

https://testmoz.com/140607

And, taken from the pages of Young Tory Fun, here's something to start 'em young:

Speaking of bloated Tories, here's something I noticed recently about two of them...

And finally...

Take care, one and all. Don't let them beat us.

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

Children's Television: The Re-Imagining

Updated often... go straight there> Latest:

Ulysses 31

The Odyssey drifted soundlessly through the void, its captain tired but happy. Despite all the evidence, he'd never really considered how their adventures seemed to recall ancient Greek mythology. The clues were always there, to be fair, but Ulysses was usually too busy preening to think about it, his flowing locks and Richard Stilgoe beard the most important things in the universe. Since putting two and two together (realising that he was called Ulysses was quite a large clue), he abandoned his quest to save his crew, and searched the galaxy for those more colourful aspects of ancient Greece that he'd read about on the, um, Space Internet.

The past fortnight, they'd spent time on the planet Dionysia 5, in the city of Orgion. Perhaps not the best of things to expose Telemachus to at his age, but what sort of father would he be if he didn't, somehow, explain the birds and the bees? Here he now stood on the bridge of his ship, the echoes of his son's vomiting echoing along the bulkhead, Ulysses headed to his quarters, passing the telepathic Yumi. She paused to read his mind, screamed, and ran down the corridor in floods of tears. Ulysses decided to have a cold shower.

He reached his quarters, the shame of a fortnight's debauchery weighing heavily on his conscience. There, sprawled coquettishly on his bed, was the creepy little robot Nono, as apt a name as any right now, as he made suggestive gestures with a rusty screw. Ulysses felt nauseous, slightly concerned at the burning itch that had flared up.

Read dozens more here. Send your requests to me on Twitter to @IanHewett.

Pages

Sunday, 7 April 2013

Class Wars: Askew Hope

Ulysses 31

About Me

Pages

Sunday, 7 April 2013

Class Wars: Askew Hope

Subscribe To