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Britain’s top Boy Band, No Direction, have revealed to Gfb that their new single “We Need A War – Any Kinda War!” is set for release on May Day. The B -Side is a reworking of The Supremes Classic, cleverly retitled “UKIP Hurry Love”.
The band, currently Ooooop North,throwing fresh vegetables at obese people, are confident that the song marks a new direction for their music. As David “Cotswold Crib” Cameron explained, “We gonna fuck da poor and make us all greedy yet needy, d’ya feel me? Oi Chunkster, wanna carrot? Buff the Topper please Fotheringham.”
George “Charlie Up De ‘Ooter” Osborne, said “This is gonna be bigger than TB!”
The band’s manager Simon Cowell, who has recently re-wrote the entire works of Shakespeare “as it lacked oomph,” said “I am soiled with excitement about this new single. It’s got words and everything. No, really. It’s right up there with The Birdy Song.”
It was only last October that Vancouver teenager Amanda Todd was found dead in Coquitlam, Canada, the victim of merciless bullying who couldn't take it any more and hanged herself. She was almost 17 years old.
The story was all over the news since a month before her suicide, Amanda posted a video to YouTube describing the abuse she'd suffered at the hands of an unknown bully.
Can a man develop feelings for curly kale? And if so do you know any country would recognise marriage between a man and curly kale?
Farmer Barleymow, Yorkshire
Aunty Bill Replies;
I suggest heading that way where you’ll be welcomed with open arms. It’s a weird place Norfolk.
Published on Mar 18, 2012
Together, we can make a difference and help put a stop to bullying. You're watching "Speak Up," a Stop Bullying: Speak Up special presentation on Cartoon Network's YouTube page. After the show check out the viewer Q&A session with anti-bullying expert Rosalind Wiseman http://bit.ly/wyaPEe
We are all online these days, Facebooking, Tweeting or posting videos to YouTube, and for teens, the web is a fact of life.
Dog (no 4)
Stopped and pointed
Well, its in him to do it
Dog (no 3) mabey still has city thoughts
Although he can tell there are smells new to us here
Deer or Wild Boar
This time I didn’t get to see to tell
But resting an elbow
Better to focus binoculars
Realised this tree too was heaving in the wind
This earth moves
This hill below bears witness
To the glaciers
It’s stones more rounded for having travelled further
Than those sharp shattered
Frost stopped angles
Those stones of Tyrella’s Drumlins
Try burying a dog there
(Nos 1 & 2) and you’ll heave up
Such smashed stone through its thin soil.
Up on top
We walk on.
As you know Fanny, the present food trend is to forage for one’s own herbs. After a night taking part in a little wild garlic gathering on Hampstead Heath, I found myself on the wrong end of a policeman’s truncheon. After a bit of a kerfuffle, he summoned the help of his uniformed friend, whose helmet I managed to grab with both hands before giving it a rather tight squeeze.
This only enraged the young officer. He handcuffed me to a tree where his chum layed into me good and proper! I was released and returned to my car which was illegally parked. I’ve since received a rather large vehicle recovery bill from the local force.
Do you have a nice recipe using wild garlic?
From Hesgota Bloomincheek to the little fat Ginger Cooking God that is Anthony Whata Thieving Tosspot. They’re all at it! JUST BUY SOME F@CKING HERBS YOU TIGHT BASTARDS!
Anyway, your recipe Benny.
Large bunch of nettles.
Ditto wild garlic.
1 sliced leek
1 finely chopped onion
1 bottle of chardonnay.
1/2 litre of vegetable stock.
Large slug of brandy.
1 large spliff
Make the soup…..in a pot….with all the soup stuff….
I was in Starbucks in Welling the other day, enjoying my Deluxe Grande Mucho Mocha when I had a funny feeling in me innards. Naturally I retired to the smallest room to do me business, which due my high fibre diet was remarkably successful, solid and without the usual sulphurous odour. But the funny feeling in my innards remained.
Then there was a flash of light and lo! A man in a frock sporting a bad perm, wings and a harp apparitioned in front of me and said, “Alright Bob, thou art to be the next Pope. Don’t forget to flush.” POUF! the permed messenger from the heavens was gone. I looked down and my rash (or stigmata as I now call it) was shaped just like the Popemobile.
“Verily ’tis a miracle,” I told my lovely wife Shirley when she came back to our seats after enjoying a ciggie outside.
“Twat,” she replied in that loving way of hers, “You’ve about as much chance of becoming Pope as I have of dating George Clooney.”
She’s seeing George. After Bingo.
Pope Bob has a certain ring to it don’t you think? And I already know what they will carry me around in!
Laters my children