I don't know, something like Tim Bunting or Justin Richmond or something like that. Maybe something like Gareth Benny. You know just like a normal name really. Robert Glibb? The kind of name that sounds fairly standard but if you found out one day that he'd been arrested for fucking kids you'd be all like "Yeah that adds up I suppose, he sounds like a bit of a fucking paedo". And then you'd say something like "What is going on with this crazy world ?" and then just sort of turn around and carry on doing the dishes whilst shaking your head.
His name's Tim Bunting.

Doesn't really have one. He never had that many mates at school owing to the fact that his fingers were always covered in Wotsits and he used to do really odd things like the time that he shouted "MINGEPIG" at one of the donkeys during the school nativity play.
Some people at work call him 'Canoe' because of the time he capsized his kayak during a team building exercise in the River Avon. He was underwater for three minutes and technically died for about 40 seconds in the ambulance on his way to the hospital. People don't call him Canoe that much to his face because sometimes it makes him really angry and start crying and one time he punched Jackie so hard that both her shoes came off.

I guess he's about 40 to 45.  When you consider that he doesn't even exist I suppose it doesn't really matter

Quite a thin and ratty face but at the same time not an unkind one. Weird little eyes though like piss-holes in the snow. He looks slightly haunted and has an abysmal little chin beard. Some people say he looks a bit like goat that's just found out that he's contracted hepatitis off a German prostitute if you can imagine such a thing.

Very nice. Lovely feet. Apart from all the fucking horrid blisters and scars.

His best mate was probably Dominic Wagstaff. They used to go fishing together and had a mutual interest in darts and hiking. Last time they went hiking they found a sheep that had got its head stuck in a barbed wire fence and when they tried to free it they accidentally slit the cunt's throat and when it died it voided its bowels all over Dominic's new shoes and he got so angry that he head butted a shed and gave himself an aneurysm and died. Tim Bunting didn't even go to the funeral because he was in court being tried for manslaughter on the same day which is well out of order when you consider that he didn't kill Dominic but i think the police were probably just confused as to why Tim had buried his body on the moors.

He's had a few girlfriends but they've all been fucking pigs. The one he's sort of hanging around with at the moment is a right big old unit and last time he had her over she sat on one of his new kitchen chairs and shattered the cunt into smithereens even though it was brand new and made out of fucking steel. When he was about 24 he went out with a girl who wasn't a revolting old boiler but she ended up moving to Riga to design dustbins for the Latvian government which is a shame because if she'd stayed then Tim's life might not have ended up being such a fucking shambles.

He always says "this is my old stomping ground" about places that he's been before, which is really annoying because he only ever goes to the same bloody places with the same fucking people every day. If you spend any time with him then you'll hear him say that about 3 times a week.
He also calls sausages "snossages" and always orders food in a sort of American-Cowboy accent which pretty much irritates the fuck out of everyone.

He's got a car but he usually walks to work. Sometimes he drives into the office on an imaginary motorbike much to the amusement of absolutely no one.

Pleasant enough but when you consider that he's not even real he really doesn't have the 'wow' factor. Quite a disappointing man.




  1. Some fucker sticks it in the back of the net
  2. There is a yellow one
  3. There is a red one
  4. You see a black guy
  5. One of the players kills one of the other players
  6. England put a dog on as a substitute
  7. You see someone in the crowd dressed up as Toadfish from Neighbours
  8. One of the players eats the ball (See point 6)
  9. The commentators keep mentioning 'Hungry Hungry Hippos'
  10. A plane/hot air balloon crashes into the pitch
  11. Gary Lineker has got his snout in a bag of Pickled Onion Monster Munch at half time
  12. One of the players brings their cat/hamster/parrot onto the pitch for the National Anthem (unprofessional) 
  13. The ref gets a firearm out and starts waving it at some the players and saying stuff like 'You better start bucking up your ideas' and 'You know I've got this gun'
  14. Someone forgets their kit and has to play in their pants
  15. The goalie kicks the ball so hard that it turns into an old black and white photograph of a steam train
With Gus
Got to go to the pub with all your mates tonight but know fuck all about football? Not a problem with this blagger's guide that'll have you yabbering away like a young Bruce Grobbelaar before you know it.

Brazil. Brazil is the only country that shares its name with a type of nut and a type of pubes.
Brazil is also famous for prostitution, gang banging, extortion, street violence and Big Jesus.

No. Not often

It's a game where two teams have to drive the soccer into each other's wickets to collect score points. You can collect yellows by falling over and pretending you've been shot in the legs by a sniper. At half time you can trade in your yellows for more score points. The team that converts the most soccers into goals wins the big game and gets to have sex with a big cup.

The mascot this year is 'WEETABIX: THE BEACH VAMPIRE'. You'll see him on all the merchandise from t-shirts to fridge magnets. At half time Weetabix walks up the touchline and throws boiled ham into the crowd. Weetabix has already been voted the most sinister mascot to ever appear at a professional football tournament. 


  • YES! Football 
  • That's a goal for our team! 
  • That's what I call a football goal! 
  • I'm having fun with my friends! 
  • That was definitely some kind of great goal 
  • Now that is how you goal! 
  • I pretty much wanted that to happen 
  • What the time? It's time for some goals! 
  • No thanks. That's not my cup of tea 
  • That's not going to help us win the goal cup 
  • No NONONONONONONOO (crouch in the corner, suck your thumb and keep hitting your head with you hand) 
  • That's not my kind of football 
  • Bollocks. I fucking hate those Italian shits 
  • Fiddlesticks 
  • Noooooooo Goooooaaaalll 
  • Come on keeper. You've got to stop the ball you muggy little cunt 
  • I'm feeling a bit sad 
  • I might go home. This is bullshit 

The offside is a thing that everyone hates. Gazza once said that he "hates the offside more than wasps and aids" when he was on Match Of The Day. It's very complicated but this pretty much explains it ... 

Which players should I keep my eye on?

  1. Alan Glom (Sweden) - Blind lad. Plays on the right wing with his dog Sprocket. 
  2. Victor Chinchchinquichento (Costa Rica) - Goalkeeper. Famous for having the word 'Bisto' tattooed on his forehead 
  3. Mikazi Mitzuki (Japan) - Striker. Plays naked. Ludicrously large penis 
What shall I wear? 
Keep it formal. No one likes a sloppy cunt when you're trying to watch the footy. Avoid sports wear and too much make-up. Consider hiring a tux or some wedding attire. Covering yourself in Panini football stickers and Alpen is considered strange behaviour so try and avoid doing it if at all possible. It's customary to turn up at the pub wearing football boots so a trip to Sports Direct is vital if you don't want to end up looking like a mong.

Who will win? 
Usually the only winner is football itself. Or Germany

IN (let's chat)
"Phone a fox now and discuss the hot topics of the day"
077890 705 990

It's time to pick up your phone and talk about the things that matter to YOU!
I particularly want to hear about...

  1. Moles - Have you ever seen one? Are we even sure they're a thing?
  2. Have you ever seen a celebrity beating the shit out of a chimp?
  3. Has God ever asked you to build an ark (or do any other manual labour)?
  4. Things you've found down the sewers
  5. What music do spastics like best?
  6. What would the world be like if there was no such thing as watering cans?
  7. What would you do if you were trapped alone on a desert island with Nigel Farage?
  8. I saw Gary Lineker and he was acting rather peculiar
  9. Were you disappointed with my book? Would you like your money back?
  10. The funniest story you have about basil/sage/coriander
  11. Have you ever accidentally murdered a dear friend?
  12. ...Or anything else that's on your mind
That number again is
07890 705 990

Feel free to text me photographs of bees and dead/dying wasps


There's no such thing as a 'bad call' unless you're being a right cunt in which case I'll hang up

I'm also interested in talking about, and to, Martin Clunes

Mystic Gus

You've lots of good and bad influences around you this week so it's best to distance yourself from friends who drag you down. Also your wife will probably leave you this week after she finds you having sex with the toilet.

Jupiter is aligning with Pluto this week which means it's going to be a time of contrasts and contradictions. On the plus side you'll meet an old friend who will pay you a nice compliment about your new haircut but on the bad side you'll finally be arrested for murdering all those children in the late 90's.

I'm afraid so

This week you accidentally get the IKEA logo tattooed onto your forehead. Try and use it to your advantage by contacting their PR team and squeezing some money out of the cunts. Unfortunately this has repercussions on that job interview you went for. Try and keep your chin up as there's a very good chance that local bin depot will hire you when the swelling goes down

This week you will be briefly transformed into a Demi-god and you will sit at the right hand side of Christ as you govern the entire solar system from your throne at the edge of the universe until you unfortunately shit yourself and are shamefully restored back to your human form. Try not let it get you down because this weekend sees you getting a hand job off that lady in the wheelchair who hangs about outside the launderette showing her vagina to dogs.

Your legs go all black and red and when you go to the doctors they just look really scared and sort of confused. (One of them is sick in a bin)

There's no point crying over spilt milk. Imagine if you did. You're having breakfast with Poppy and you spill the milk and start crying like a bitch. She's already pissed off with you because you haven't got a job and she came home last night and found you wanking yourself silly in front Deal or Deal. It's time to man up and take the bull by the horns otherwise she's defo going to leave you for Geoff and apparently his dick is absolutely fucking massive.

Spontaneity can be a good thing but remember to follow your heart and your head. Shouting a bunch of crazy shit about Jews might seem funny after shit loads of Kestrel Super Strength but you won't be laughing so hard when you get hospitalised outside a synagogue. You've only got yourself to blame. it's time to start taking responsibility for your own actions. (You also might buy a cat)

A friend dares you to swallow 400 eggs. I wouldn't bother. You'll either die or just feel like shit. Complete waste of time. Why are you even thinking about it. So pointless.

Avoid these lottery numbers 5, 12, 22, 23, 39, 44. I bet they don't come up

It's time to knuckle down and make some serious decisions. Your power planets Mars, Jupiter and KC8976 are going to form a perfect equilateral triangle this weekend and, Yes, you should kill yourself behind Greggs the bakers.


A spot of romance puts a spring in your step and you fall in love with your Hoover. Not everyone will come to our weird wedding but stick to guns and one day your friends will come round and stop trying to get you sectioned. True happiness only ever comes to the brave and stoic. Good luck to you.


I remember the first time I met Gust the Fox I was standing on his head and suddenly, completely out of nowhere he reached into his pocket, pulled out a rusty knife, and sliced open my nut sack. Hundreds and Thousands poured out all over the grass and I was rushed to hospital. Five minutes after we arrived Gus had sex with an Indian doctor in the bins where they keep used bandages. What a character.

The great thing about Gus is he'll go to extraordinary lengths just to have a giggle. One time he convinced a surgeon friend of his to swap our heads. When the anaesthetic wore off I spent the week scaring turkeys on an organic range with the canadian band Rush. Gus went completely mental and ended up on record breakers giving himself a blow job in front of Roy Castle.

As soon as I start thinking about Gus the memories come flooding back. One time we broke into Paperchase, flooded the place, and re-filmed the Life of Pi using an ashtray and a dead kitten.

I can also recall with great fondness the time Gus gnawed a perfectly formed hole in the shape of number seven through one of my ankles while I was asleep. He dragged me to an alley and shone coloured lights through the hole onto a series of dustbin lids, charging some posh people £15 to watch. We were immediately nominated for the Turner Prize. We were favourites to win until Gus urinated onto Nicholas Sorota's oyster card, then tried to pass off his actions as a statement in support of the rights for bears to have sex with Sean Penn. At this point Nicholas punched Gus in the face wearing a solid gold mitten. Gus' skull crumbled into a fine white powder and for a week his head resembled a woman's purse, soft and folding in on itself. I managed to give it back some shape using a wire coat hanger as the frame work and padding it out with pieces of ripped up dungarees from a clown we had accidentally murdered the night before.

He once told me he was allergic to sitcoms and ham and i'll never forget the day we visited Watney's pond and convinced 150,000 tadpoles that they all had Saar's. We laugh about that now but at the time it was hysterical.
When Gus told me he was planning to write this book I immediately stuffed him into an old rollerskate, forced some felt tips into his eye sockets, and pushed him down Primrose Hill into a barrage of heavy traffic. The last image I have of Gus is of him being dragged towards Camden under a black cab, sparks flying everywhere. I remember feeling a strange mixture of sad and horny.

I love Gus like a brother, even though he gave me a yeast infection. He is one of the truly great foxes. He's a top bloke, a good mate, and an utter penis. He's a one off, and in a world of reality tv and celebrity bullshit we need Gus more than ever. Enjoy his book (I reckon it will be shit) 

Cheers Gus, (don't ever contact me again.) 

 Noel X

Get a 'Gus The Fox: Crapbook' right fucking now -
{Instructions for the new dance that'll make you look like a right proper legend this summer}

  • walk into the venue like you own the place (club/pub/supermarket/stranger's house)
  • order a sherry and knock it back 
  • hurl the glass at the wall like some sort of enormous bell end
  • mince onto the dance floor clicking your fingers and smirking
  • wiggle your hips
  • now the other way
  • start clapping but in reverse
  • drive your tongue into the roof of your mouth and start rolling your head
  • now the other way
  • repeat the process
  • introduce your knees into the equation 
  • ...and back again
  • once more
  • now with your hands pretend you're trying to calm down a poorly horse (BE GENTLE)
  • 360° for ten seconds
  • remember your feet should be at 125° to the bar/frozen food isle
  • Introduce your dog to the audience
  • start whooping like a pelican
  • are your hips still doing that thing?
  • ...and the hand clapping?
  • now it's time for the pliĆ©.  (Google how to pliĆ©)
  • If you have time then spin round and get off with the nearest slut
  • return to the dance and continue the entire process until you win/pull/pass out/get arrested 
*Remember the tune goes like this - Dum Dum Dum, DoDoDoDo Bamalamalama Dum Dum Dum DooDoDo Bing Bang Bong Bing Bang Bong Dum Dum Dum, DoDoDoDo Bamalamalama Dum Dum Dum DooDoDo Bing Bang Bong Bing Bang Bong Dum Dum Dum, DoDoDoDo Bamalamalama Dum Dum Dum DooDoDo Bing Bang Bong Bing Bang Bong Dum Dum Dum, DoDoDoDo Bamalamalama Dum Dum Dum DooDoDo Bing Bang Bong Bing Bang Bong BOSH BOSH BAM!


some thoughts about that
Look around at this time of year and you'll notice that the celebration of new life and new beginnings is one of the more common themes as we approach Easter. From the supermarket shelves in the city to the countryside fields, the optimism of birth is omnipresent in the form of bunnies, chicks, lambs, snakes and earwigs.
However, because you lot, as a race, are a walking contradiction, this time of the year is also treated as an excuse to throw a festival of death and carnage as you waltz around the place battering seal pups with spiked clubs and blasting tiny birds out of the air with shotguns. In Britain it's a time of the year when you mount your noble steeds and send them around a punishing gauntlet of doom in the form of the Grand National and in the USA thousands of retarded hillbillies stride into the woods to bravely murder wild turkeys, nature's stupidest and least threatening animal.
On a separate note, I've never really understood why those of you who don't feel the need to satiate  your blood lust will happily sit at home and tuck into chocolate effigies of the animals whose lives you're purporting to be celebrating. I can think of loads of reasons why it would be inappropriate to eat a chocolate statue of Nelson Mandela on his birthday so why on earth do you think it's alright to do the same with rabbits and chickens? Speaking of which, why do you use animals as mascots for the products which contain their own flesh and blood? If you asked any intensively farmed chicken if it would be happy to pose with two feathery thumbs up for the company logo of Perfect Fried Gristle after it'd just spent several miserable months in an avian-battery-farm hell, plucking it's own feathers out with the nub of a beak it has left after having it removed with red hot secateurs, it would probably tell you to fuck right off. I doubt the Laughing Cow would be laughing that hard considering she's just spent years being kept unnaturally pregnant, her swollen and bleeding, genetically modified udders scraping across the cold concrete floor every time she's ushered into a shed to give birth and watch her newborn calf slide down a shoot into a set of giant mechanical gnashing jaws and subsequently turned into veal cordial before her very eyes. If she's laughing after that would then it would indicate a severe case of mad cow disease. 
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, killing stuff for a laugh. So in Canada at the moment valiant cunts are waking up, putting their waterproof boots and hats on, picking up the baseball bat that they've heroically hammered  nails into and then they'll kiss their thick wife on the cheek and fearlessly march out onto the ice to pummel baby seals to death until the snow runs red with blood. Baby seals are ridiculous looking, there's no denying that. They look like puppies that have been redesigned by a committee of 6 year old girls, hormonal women and particularly lucid unicorns. Even so, they probably don't deserve that shit. I would have thought that once you've daringly caved in one baby seal's head you'd probably feel like a bit of cunt and then have to go home for a bath and a long hard think about your life.
Anyway, seal clubbing gets a lot of press and causes controversy because people think they're cute. Looking adorable is the best defense against you monsters. If we, as foxes, didn't stink like a tramp's ball bags and we all looked like some kind of Walt Disney idea of perfection then there'd probably be less of you fuckers chasing us around the countryside with little trumpets and trying to knacker us with a pack of dogs. Fickle.
The reason I write this though is to help out a mate, and not an animal one. Cwis Packham's got a bee in his bonnet about the annual slaughter of migrant birds in Malta, and even though a chaffinch called me a fat cunt the other day, I agreed to help his cause. Packham's flying out to Malta to confront the 10 000 hunters who descend on the island to intrepidly blast tiny little birds out of the sky for absolutely no reason. Most of these birds aren't any bigger than a carton of Um Bongo so eating one would be about as much fun as tucking into a box of drawing pins. He's documenting his quest on a nightly YouTube feed via his website and he'll be confronting these trigger happy kebab munchers and attempting to make them see some sort of sense. If that doesn't work then at least he'll be raising awareness of the issue to people who haven't got the IQ of a toilet brush. 
Hopefully he won't get shot because he owes me £5 and that'd be just my bloody luck.
Here are some words from Cwis...



For many years I have lobbied the UK's bird charities to campaign to raise awareness about the slaughter of migrant birds on Malta. I have equally tried to stimulate television programme makers to cover the issue - both without success - a sad reflection of our complacent and risk adverse times.
Well, I've finally run out of patience and together with three colleagues and the support of Birdlife Malta this spring I will be making a nightly video diary of the days events on the island which will be posted on . . . 

YouTube at 9.00 PM (UK time)
between the
21st and 26th of April 2014

Our mission is to generate a wider awareness of this heinous practice with frank and factual reports from the frontline where our much loved migrant birds are being shot in huge numbers. It will not be pretty, the species killed include many UK favourites and rarities and the hunters are infamous for being confrontational and violent. I don’t care, this is not a holiday, it's an attempt to bring this forgotten issue to a wider public attention and then to offer a couple of ways the viewers can actually do something to effect positive change.
Please try to watch our broadcasts and please publicise them as widely as possible. I believe that people will be truly horrified when they see what happens on Malta to 'our birds', I believe they care and they will do something to change it.
Malta lies 100 kilometres south of Sicily and is a popular destination for sun-seeking British holiday-makers and is steeped in interesting cultural and natural history. It also lies on theCentral Mediterranean Flyway one of three migration superhighways between Europe and Africa. Millions of birds migrate along this route every year and the Maltese Islands are an important resting place for birds making the long flight across the Mediterranean - the final barrier before they reach mainland Europe.

On 12th April, in Malta, over 10,500 hunters armed with shotguns and occupying large areas of public countryside will begin one of Europe’s most shameful legalised slaughters of threatened birds at the very time of year when they are making their way north from Africa on their return migration to their breeding grounds throughout Europe. This is the start of a three-week hunting season during which countless thousands of migrating birds, many of them rare and protected species, will be indiscriminately killed for sport thanks to Malta continuing to undermine EU wildlife directives by being the only country in the EU to open a recreational hunting season in spring.
Weeks before the arrival of Barn Swallows signals the start of summer they can be seen in the Maltese Islands along with nearly 100 other species. Unfortunately this spring about 10,500 hunters, that’s about 80 per square kilometre making it the highest density of hunters anywhere in the world, are waiting for them. In 2013 at least 24 species of protected birds were illegally shot including Cuckoos, Marsh and Pallid Harriers, Kestrels, Ospreys, Purple and Grey Herons, Bee-eaters, Golden Orioles and . . . Barn Swallows - those very birds that should herald the arrival of our summer.
Unfortunately, Malta’s notorious reputation as one of Europe’s worst black spots for illegal and unsustainable bird killing is not undeserved. Since the 1960s, Malta has lost at least three previously breeding bird species as a direct result of persecution by hunters - including the Peregrine Falcon (famously known as the Maltese Falcon).
Today, the spring hunting season in Malta is one of the most controversial bird conservation issues in Europe. Ostensibly, only two species - Turtle Dove and Quail - may be shot during this spring hunting season, but in reality many more are targeted under the cover of the legal season. Rare species are killed and stuffed for illegal Victorian-style private collections, undermining European conservation efforts, while many more common migrants are just used for target practice with their killers not even bothering to confirm their kills or collect the bird they have just shot. Turtle Doves and Quail are themselves vulnerable and declining in Europe, with the Turtle Dove - one of Europe’s most iconic birds, its appearance and sound synonymous with the summer- on the verge of extinction as a breeding bird in several European countries, including the UK.
Every spring BirdLife Malta volunteers take injured birds illegally shot during the spring hunting season to a vet in the hope that their injuries are not too severe and they can be treated and released, but only a relatively small number survive.
While the large majority of Maltese people oppose spring hunting and want to see migrating birds properly protected, successive Maltese governments have failed to bring illegal bird killing under control and refused to stop unsustainable hunting in spring. And since a ruling by the European Court of Justice in 2009 found Malta guilty of violating the EU Birds Directive by allowing spring hunting in 2004-2007, the European Commission appears to have lost the will to take further action to stop Malta’s abuse of the Birds Directive.
Stopping spring hunting would be a huge step towards making Malta safe for Europe’s migrating birds and would even help the chances of birds which try to breed on the islands. There is new hope amongst Maltese and European conservationists that this might be the last year Malta opens a spring hunting season. A petition presented to Malta’s Electoral Commission last week and signed by more than 44,000 Maltese voters, calls for a public referendum to stop spring hunting in Malta and could finally put an end to decades of abuse by removing the taking the decision away from politicians putting in directly in the hands of the Maltese people.

Thank you
Chris Packham

Curl One Out (40-1)
Sickle Cell Amelia (99-2)
Japanese Bastard (10-1)
Aidsfortheeyes (80-1)
Ross Kemp's Hangover Blues (5-1)
Gunning For Tooshie (25-1)
Little Lord Haemorrhoid Cream (22-1)
Haunted Paul (100-2)
The Pervert (66-1)
Teabag (12-1)
Grandad's Black Mamba (22-1)
Blinded By Ketchup (8-1)
Bell End Tent (20-1)
Addicted To Buns (66-1)
We Didn't Burn Lucy (88-1)
Gazza's Saucy Discotheque (40-1)
Liquid Footjob (500-1)
Colonel Helmet's Tagnut Holocaust (1-1)
Fungus The Bogey Horse (13-2)
Shart Attack (88-1)
Racist Gypsy (12-1)
Crispycrispycrispycrispycrispycrispycrispycrispy Pancake (17-4)
Jefferson Bar Shift (12-1)
Uncle Nigel's Secret Whorehouse (78-1)
Spacedocking (3-1)
Mum's Knuckle Supper (66-6)
Terrible Richard (22-1)
Heavily Soiled Laundry (50-1)
The World's Lonliest Dentist (22-1)
BloodOnTheToiletSeat (66-1)
Depressed Roy (1000-1)

shitty old rusty cans
Found this under a lorry about 7 years ago. It's one of the best shitty old cans I've ever seen, even though it's all smashed up to fuck. I was with my mate Paranoid Simon when I found it. Paranoid Simon caught aids off a goose a few hours later. I still piss myself laughing when I think back to that day. It was one of the best days of my life. Simon's dead now.
I liked this one because it had a penis it. I found it behind Noel Edmonds' house, tucked underneath the BBQ. I reckon the penis belonged to the chimp that Edmonds used to keep chained up in his garage. My mate Tim Gloves reckons that he's been in Edmonds' basement and it's full of swords and guns. He also told me that he once got into a fight with a badger and punched it so hard that it went back in time and ended up in a painting at the National Portrait gallery wearing a Tudor ruff. It's hard to know what to believe sometimes. Anyway this is a good can. Very happy memories. 

I fucking loved this one. It sort of reminded me of Jesus if Jesus had been a little bit more like a haggard old can covered in snails and a little bit less like Jesus. I think about this can about once every five minutes. 
2 - CAN
Can't remember this one for the life of me. I'm sure I've got a brilliant one to go here but I just can't remember. I think it was rusty. Was it behind Snappy Snaps? Fuck, I wish I could remember what this pointless old rusty can looked like. Fanta? No it wasn't Fanta. Bollocks!  
Well we've finally reached the coveted number one spot. Fuck me, talk about the holy grail of useless old shitty cans. This was an absolute corker. Found it in some cunt's back garden. I wonder if the tissue was full of jizz. Shoud have checked. I'M SUCH A FUCKING IDIOT FOR NOT  CHECKING! THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN PERFECT! Doesn't get much better than that. Still, it's a good can/tin/whatever. I remember showing it to a duck and it didn't give a shit. That annoyed me. Spoiled what would have otherwise been a perfect day. 10/10
for the rest of the year

2014------------------------------------MARCH 5th David Cameron shocks the country by getting a tattoo of a Ferrari F50 on his neck. "I don't know why everyone didn't see this fucking coming" he says, when asked about the decision on Newsnight  -----------------------------------------MARCH 27th Mice become more valuable than diamonds. For several days the entire country is in the grip of 'Klondike Mouse Fever' as the entire population prise up their floorboards and get into the sewers trying to cash in. The cost of mice plummets three days later ----------APRIL 4th Bruce Forsyth is killed in a bungee jumping accident ---------------------------------------------------------------APRIL 29th BMW release a new 5 door saloon. The 'BMW Huntley' features images of Soham murderer, Ian Huntley on the bonnet and hub caps as well as pictures of his victims etched into the walnut dashboard interior. The car sells poorly -----------MAY 10th A new type of soil is discovered in a field near Milton Keynes. The story dominates the front pages of the press for several weeks ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------MAY 31st Danny Dyer invades Poland in an M1A2 Abrams Battle Tank. He is arrested by police after killing almost 2 million civilians ------------------------------------JUNE 12th The new internet craze 'chop-your-dick-off' is outlawed by the government after 4 people die. Tributes are held for Sir Alex Ferguson who was the first to become a victim to the online phenomenon ------------------------------------------------------------JULY 16th J.K Rowling releases a new book called 'An Anthology of Instruction Manuals For Telephone Answering Machines 1990-2006'. The book does exactly what it says on the tin and becomes Rowling's least successful publication to date, selling only 19 million copies --------------------------------------------------------------------------------JULY 22nd Retarded farmer, 'Yarp Singleton' tops the UK charts with his 14 minute song about an egg. 'The Egg Song' goes on to sell better than any record  in history ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------AUGUST 31st Gary Linker's head bursts into flames live on Match of the Day ----------------------------------------------------SEPTEMBER 11th Being blind becomes trendy. Both Topshop and the Royal National Institute for the Blind strongly discourage young people from flying on the wings of fashion and taking their own sight with acid, chopsticks and guns -----------SEPTEMBER 13th A new law, which prohibits putting rollerskates on swans, is passed by the government. Ed Milliband calls the decision "an outrage" and claims he will not be abiding by it. He is arrested 4 days later in Kew Gardens -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------OCTOBER 23rd France is destroyed in a fire --------------------------------OCTOBER 30th Nike release a controversial range of trainers made from human flesh and are tried for war crimes after it emerges that the skin comes from Kosovan refugees which had been dug up from a mass grave. The UN described Nike as "very naughty"--------------------------------------------------------------------------NOVEMBER 22nd Something about an octopus------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------DECEMBER 5th Jesus comes back------DECEMBER 6th Jesus fucks off again----------------------------------------------------DECEMBER 26th 18° / cloudy with a chance of rain / low pressure coming in from the East  ----------------------------------------------------------------DECEMBER 30th Through the miracles of artificial insemination and cloning, Jools Holland gives birth to himself live on national TV in Channel 4's celebrity version of their successful new Saturday night format-----------------------------2015 
a possible afternoon
with a worm

  1. Meet the worm
  2. Kiss the worm on the cheek/worm
  3. Offer the worm a drink/lunch/massage (offer to pay half of the bill)
  4. Chat with the worm. Have fun with the bastard
  5. Go for a nice walk around a National Trust garden/stately home
  6. Buy the worm something in the gift shop (pencil/pencil case depending on how well the date is going)
  7. Get off with the worm behind some bins
  8. Gin and tonic? Take the worm for a gin and tonic
  9. Get drunk with the worm
  10. Start crying and talking about all the problems you've been having with Lisa. Talk about the affair
  11. Get into an argument with the worm. Get unnecessarily aggressive and start being sick. Shout at the worm. Start screaming at the cunt as if you've completely lost your marbles
  12. Glass the worm with a bottle of WKD
  13. Get your coat and ask if the worm would like a lift home
  14. Drop the worm home and kiss the worm on the cheek again. Be the perfect gent
  15. Wave farewell to the worm
  16. Go home and have a wank and a long hard think about what you're doing with your life

a short history of
shit race horses 

Most of us know very little about our family tree much beyond our great grandparents (my great granddad was shot in the face and turned into a posh hat for some rich cunt), so it’s amazing to realise that the direct bloodline of a thoroughbred racehorse can be traced back through tens of generations.
There are thousands of these stupid, gangly, bastards born every year in Britain and each one can trace their ancestry back to just three horses.
Famous success stories like Nijinsky, Red Rum, Seabiscuit and Black Beauty may have benefited from centuries of incest and inbreeding but others haven’t been so lucky. Here, in a world first, we take a look at some of the poor fuckers who didn’t cut the mustard and find fame and fortune on the track.

Curl One Out was foaled in about 1780 and was tipped for the top after receiving a huge amount of investment from the Earl of Kent. However, things didn’t go to plan and it turned out that Curl One Out was a fucking idiot. In his first professional race he began ‘burrowing downwards’ at the starting pistol like some sort of gigantic, lanky, hamster. Three hours later, well after the end of the race, Curl One Out was at the bottom of a 30ft pit and continuing to dig his way towards the core of the earth and tragically, his jockey, Fergus O’Connel, had become trapped under a large pile of dirt and had sadly perished. According to eyewitnesses, at about 2am Curl One Out burst into flames and exploded like a bag of ham. No one knows why this happened but it cast a black cloud over the sport for many years to come.
(A commemorative statue of Fergus O’Connell can be found at the National Horse Racing Museum, behind the bins)

Bulimic Phil came last in every race he ever entered. Some critics said it was because his jockey, Brian Stacey, was blind and had a morbid fear of horses whereas others reckoned that the problem was with the horse’s penis which was over 7.5 ft in length and weighed as much as a fully grown nun. He was, however, immortalised in a series of explicit paintings by equine portrait artist, George Stubbs.
Either way, he was fucking rubbish.

Uncle Hooves The Carpet Horse was owned by flamboyant and eccentric horse breeder, Fabrizio Zodiak, who insisted that the best way to produce a winning thoroughbred was to raise it almost exactly like you would a human child.
Uncle Hooves… was given his own bedroom in the house as well as toys, clothes and even a sort of giant tricycle which he would ride around the vast estate like something from a particularly nasty, opium fuelled, nightmare.
Zodiak flew in the face of reason (and chronological, factual accuracy) by feeding the horse roast beef, gammon and Pop Tarts, despite the fact that Pop Tarts wouldn’t be invented for another 150 years.
Convinced that his plan would work (despite not testing it once) Zodiak put his entire estate on Uncle Hooves The Carpet Horse winning his debut outing at Cheltenham. In the first 3 seconds of the race Uncle Hooves… broke all four of his legs and died in the middle of the track like an old shoe.
Fabrizio Zodiak spent the rest of his life working as a male prostitute in East London.

THE MIGHTY KING was infamously disqualified from the 1857 Grand National after it was discovered that he was actually a donkey from a local farm wearing a horse costume made from muslin and suede. As far as plans to cheat the system go, it has to be up there as one of the worst. When the owner and trainer, Gavin Plough, was asked why he hadn’t put his efforts into creating a costume for a racehorse so that it might win a donkey derby he replied by chopping his own hands off and booting them into a nearby pond and saying the word “fiddlesticks” over and over again until he was arrested.
In court he was accused of ‘putting a donkey in a funny costume’; a crime, which, at the time, was punishable by death.
In June, Gavin Plough was hung, drawn and quartered.

Two heads are better than one? Well not for Captain Satan, the first two headed, Siamese twin, racehorse; thought to be a result of his parents being fed on a diet of uranium as opposed to hay. He never finished a race let alone won one, choosing instead to wander slowly into the crowd every time he heard the starting pistol, like some kind of mutant, bovine imbecile. He would routinely terrify spectators at every event inspiring them to fire their muskets at the beast and thrash him with their canes. Captain Satan died in an aeroplane crash in 1959 along with Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper and ‘La Bamba’ star, Ritchie Valens.