Friday, 17 January 2014

Turkey Refuse To Apologise For Bumming Lawrence



T.E Lawrence able to sit down six weeks after the  incident

Turkey have caused international outrage by refusing to apologise for the bumming of Lawrence of Arabia during WW1.


"This really is a scandal and a disgrace."Claimed Foreign Secretary William Haig earlier today. "In my view there should be no further attempt to integrate Turkey into the EU until they make an unreserved apology for this affront to Britain and good taste."
Lawrence, played by the recently couped Sir Peter O'Toole in a brief interlude of sobriety, was captured by Turkish troops while reconnoitring the town of Dara'a in which he was subsequently beaten and bummed by the Bey. An incident the Turks merrily, and mercilessly, turned into a popular song to the tune of Stephen Foster's The Camptown Races. Lawrence was unable to ride a camel for two months after the event.
The Turkish government were unrepentant and indignant however.
"We certainly will not apologise for this. In fact if you mention the incident once more to us we will bum even more British officers in future." Raged Mehmet Ali Bongo. Minister for Flagrant Disregard.
Former soldier, historian and Lawrence biographer Michael Asher commented.
"You have to understand that to the Turks Lawrence facilitated the attack. Wandering around in nothing but a bed sheet in a town garrisoned by a well known race of bummers. They reckon he was asking for it. Obviously I disagree. I think they are victim blaming here.
The international furore continues.


Sweden To Be Renamed "Softkogland"



Conan joins in The Satire campaign


The flaccid member

Thanks to a long running campaign by your super soar away on line news source The Satire, the country once known to us all as Sweden will from henceforth be renamed  Softkogland.
There were jubilant scenes in Stockholm yesterday when the news was announced. 
"We are so very happy with this knew name that better reflects our country and our ethos." Said 41 year old Tilde Bolrapp Chairperson of a local women's group Splittkipper.
Sweden, that joined the EU in 1995, is known as "The Flaccid Member" due to to the country's geographical resemblance to a limp penis and the extremely high number of emasculated men found within it's population.
Moves are under way to outlaw penises completely in Sweden but until that time the only penises allowed are soft ones. The castration operation began with the removal of the Swedish army's Nordic Battlegroup's heraldic lion's rampant appendage.
"Female soldiers were extremely offended by this. You just can't be allowed to go around with a penis whenever you feel like it.Even if you are a drawing on a coat of arms." Explained 49 year old Signe Saggertits Minister for the eradication of masculinity.
Sweden has a proud History. In ancient times gangs of Swedish males would travel round  the rest of Europe on exchange visits. The visits would culminate in good natured pillage and murder and the kidnapping of all the good looking women. In exchange the "Vikings" as they were affectionately known would take a shite on the altars of churches then laughingly burn the whole edifice to the ground.
During WW2 Sweden bravely remained neutral, merely allowing the Germans to avail themselves of their road and rail network to invade their neighbour Norway. They further frustrated the Nazis by limiting the amount of iron ore they exported to the Reich to a paltry 10,000,000 tons a year. They also proudly boast an arms industry with ethics that make the Monsanto corporation seem like a charitable organisation, and a flat packed furniture export industry that's the bane of many a DIY challenged husband the world over.
Despite this, Sweden, that forces men to sit down to pee, leads the world in self righteous indignation, finger wagging  and 'right on' sensibilities.
"The present renaming of our country is only a temporary measure until we can come up with a much more accurate and deserving one. Like Vajland." Shrugged 55 year old Minister for women and Cockfinder General, Astrid Kogstander.


Saturday, 11 January 2014

ADVERTISING FEATURE

Join us at The Satire as we invite you to...


The Cock Out Challenge 2014


What hundreds of blokes getting their cocks out may look like 


Satireday (see what we did there.) 7th of June 2014 sees a brand new event in The Satire, Edinburgh and alpha fuckwit diary, as we at your favourite online news source challenge you all to quite literally "get yer cocks out", in the charming dog shit strewn locale of Inverleith Park.


Approaching 40? Wife and kids leaving you? Need some validation in your middle aged crisis looming life?


Then look no further than The Satire's own Cock Out Challenge especially designed for YOU the busy executive/ teacher/ unemployed layabout of Edinburgh and beyond.


Gone...The 15 mile assault course. Missing...the gruelling 125 obstacles including pits of tar, fire, razor wire 12 ft walls and rancid piss filled ditches.  Completely absent..... the misguided need to do anything strenuous, dangerous or heroic whatsoever.


A brief 5 meter dash( more a saunter actually) from our start line at Inverleith duck pond, you will be halted by our mildly obstructive 200 meter long, 1 meter wide row of wallpaper pasting tables, where you will be encouraged to Get your Cock out. Our team of officials will measure it, and the biggest cock will be the biggest man. That's it! And of course all in a good cause.


Just listen to what Satire Editor in Chief Tom Laird(46) has to say about why he's getting his cock out this year.....


"As usual I'm trying to endear myself to a barmaid half my age in a local pub. Even though she's probably seen more helmets than Hitler, I think I'm in love. Normally I go Mountaineering, running with the bulls in Pamplona , or living among the Masai in their pest infested bomas. Fuck that! This year I'm just getting my cock out and that's that. All the money will go to cancer of the bawbag or somethin'  so what are you waiting for?"

Another bald bloke says: "Last year I went and done the Tough guy challenge and it nearly fucking wasted me. Frankly I can't be arseholed with all that running about getting tired and wet pish. I'm getting my cock out and being done with it. It's all for cunts with Alzheimer's apparently so have a go."

Jools Holland : "Unlike the slapheads above, my boogey woogey piano playing alone would be enough to get my cock sucked at the drop of a hat. But I need some reassurance. I bought myself a Harley Davidson a couple of years back but that one's old hat. I don't really fancy traipsing about a freezing cold mud drenched bog in my shorts, so I'm just getting my cock out. It will help the darkies so join in.

So there you have it. Don't say the cock out challenge is not for you. It's for every man* who needs to feel that he can still get a shag. Fill in our entry form today and join us on the 7th of June in Inverlieth park for cock fun.

---------------------------------------------------------------    tear off and return to The Satire offices

Dear The Satire!

I am a man with incredible insecurity  issues. Please enrol me in your big alpha male fuckwit fest this year.
I enclose the sum of £30.00. Which I understand includes my enrolment fee, and a T-Shirt bearing the legend "COC 2014 - I got my cock out in Inverleith and didn't get arrested."**
I also understand that any money that may be left over will go to bongo bongo land, sick bairns, tit cancer, cripples or some fucking thing like that.

I furthermore understand that this might all go horribly wrong for me and may spend the rest of my life as an object of ridicule. Possibly having to move to some godforsaken part of the planet and live in a cave. I absolve The Satire and all it's associates of all liability.

Signed -----------------------------------------



*Disclaimer.  While we invite applications from females we must advise you that you may be at somewhat of a disadvantage at the measuring.
**Police Scotland advise that getting your cock out in Inverleith Park at any other time may result in arrest. Especially under heterosexual circumstances.




Unemployment to Rocket Among Experts If Scotland Leaves UK Claim Experts

Some experts looking gravely concerned earlier
Thousands of experts will find themselves on the unemployment scrapheap, and forced to go door to door voicing their opinions if Alex Salmond breaks up the UK according to some experts yesterday.


"It could really be the worst case scenario you could possibly imagine." Said one expert over the phone earlier today.  Professor David Donaldson of Napier University continued gravely.
 "You may end up with a multitude of experts walking the streets accosting passers by, begging for spare moments of their time, to expound to them their latest thoughts on the economy, climate change, gender issues, and other subjects that most people will find tedious and ill thought through. Or then again they might not. It's a tough one to call. What are you asking me for? I'm in charge of the Creative Writing course."
Another expert, Francis Douglas PhD of SCAPEGOAT (Society for the Concern And Protection of Experts Going On About Things) outlined the potential seriousness of the situation.
"Allow me to outline the potential seriousness of the situation." He said pointing at a pie chart and some graphs. "At the moment experts are being consulted on a daily basis, sometimes up to six times, about what a pile of shite an Independent Scotland will be, or not, depending on who's asking. Our projections show that after Independence this kind of consultation will drop off to almost nothing. Disastrous. Probably. But don't quote me on that." He concluded feeding all his charts through a shredder.
The Satire caught up with some experts, who'd previously confidently claimed Gordon Brown to be an economic genius of a man who would romp to victory at the last general election.
 Prof John Turner of the British Antarctic Survey, currently trapped in sea ice he said shouldn't have been there, aboard the Akademik Shokalskiy, told us via a crackly line.
"Listen, smart cunts. I only said that about Gordon Brown down my local pub, ok. Yes yes everyone thinks it's easy being an expert. All they think we have to do is pull some stats out our arse, mumble some vague academic shite and use a lot of modals like could, might, probably, possibly. Fling in the odd phrase about 'studies suggest', and Robert's yer dads brother. Well it's a lot more difficult than that, I can tell you to my fucking chagrin mate."

Tuesday, 8 October 2013

Scotland to Break Away From UK Using Wind Turbines

Just a small amount of the proposed turbines
Oor Eck Showing the only way is UP(Literally)


In a shock announcement earlier today, The First Minister has exclusively revealed to your favourite online news source his brilliant plan to literally break Scotland away from the UK.
Shouting from a window in Bute House as he couldn't be arsed bumping into Nicola Sturgeon in the vestibule Mr. Salmond told The Satire..
" I was in the bath listening to Val Doonican's version of 'The Windmills of Your Mind' by Michel Legrand. Great stuff by the way, the production is fantastic. Anyway, It struck me that with the sheer amount of the fucking things we are building already we are, as Bon Jovi has astutely observed, half way there. If we step up the proliferation of the bird killing blight, I am convinced that within a year not only will we generate enough energy to power a small toaster( no more than 2 slice), but enough lift to rip Auld Scotia loose of it's ancient terrestrial fetters. Finally we can truly fly free. Ayyyy thenk yo!!!"
He then shouted "gardyloo!!" and emptied a bedpan left by previous incumbent Jack McConnell, all over us. 
"This is complete and utter madness!" Claimed a passing boffin who seemed to know a bit about turbines and that.
"No amount of turbines will actually create ANY lift at all. In fact it's doubtful how much electricity they will produce. Be that as it may, even if they were in fact giant propellers they will not be able to lift the whole of Scotland. If anything they'll just rip themselves out of the ground and spin about decapitating every fucker. Might I suggest fracking instead?"
"This sounds completely feasible to me." Chipped in environMENTAList and Guardian columnist George Monbiot. "However I believe that Scotland's future lies in still being attached to Great Britain. So I think the turbines should be rigged the other way so that it pushes us closer together."
Scottish Conservative leader and Wee Jimmy Cranky impersonator Ruth Davidson commented..
"I agree with George Monbiot that the UK should not be broken up. But think about the cost of this. For the price we could get a high speed train that runs from Glasgow to Edinburgh 20 minutes faster."
A homeless guy sitting nearby, gave his opinion stating..
" I don't really know much about turbines or the environment and stuff. But maybe we should all calm the fuck down and have a we bit more reasoned debate. Fuck knows! I can't stop shitting in my pants so what do I know?"



Friday, 13 September 2013

OBITUARY: Reverend Dr Julius Emery


(Above: The Revererend Emery yesterday)
The Satire today bids farewell to our Religious Affairs Correspondent the Extremely Reverend Prof Dr Julius Emery, who passed away peacefully in prayer aboard a rocket hurtling into space at a speed of 12000 miles an hour and reaching an inner-hull temperature in excess of 8000 degrees farenheight.
Unfortunately Dr Emery had been mistakenly informed by his medical advisor (Dr Seamus Beejezus O'Flaherty) that merely stripping down to his swimming trunks and sunhat and dabbing on some Factor 12 would be enough to protect him from the excessive heat during launch. This unfortunately proved not to be the case.
Reverend Emery is remembered by the staff and patients of Broadmoor and by the staff and patients here at the offices of The Satire.
He leaves behind the world's largest collection of antique micrscopes (current valuation £26.4m Euros) and a strange Irishman claiming to be his long-lost half-brother and heir to the Emery estate.
Thankfully the vending machine remains intact and is currently sitting in the foyer of The Satire reception area where it continues to dispense molten snacks and beverages to anyone wearing the requisite asbestos clothing and visor.
Bobo the chimp was seen leaving the capsule by parachute shortly before take-off.

Thought For the Day with The Extremely Reverend Prof Dr Julius Emery ...

Good Evening.
You know, when I look around me at the world today, I often see the hand of our Lord at work.
Whether it be the white-faced clown with a single tear running down his face, that young lady tennis player scatching her bare bottoms or that chimp sitting on the lavatory - the Lord's work is there for all to see if we would just look closely enough.
I remember it was with this very idea in mind that I first asked my parents for a microscope for my 5th birthday. It really was a most exciting day and as I unwrapped the paper and lifted the delicate instrument from its cardboard housing, my fingers were trembling with excitement and anticipation.
I remember thinking, if I can just get close enough to the detail, I will surely be able to see the hand of our Lord in action - maybe even gaze upon the face of Yaweh himself.
But it was not to be. The closest I could get was the veins of a leaf - which really wasn't quite the same and I soon became despondent ...
I eventually convinced my parents to buy me a much bigger microscope - but alas even that was not able to see the face of God and I began to fixate on the idea that He was deliberately and maliciously hiding from me.
My parents attempted to console me by re-mortgaging their house, taking out a crippling loan and buying me, at the time, the largest electron microscope in Europe - but it was all to no avail. The Lord's omniscient presence remained veiled from mine eyes, the big beardy twat.
It was then (and only then) that I turned quite violent, railing oh most mightily against the Lord.
"You fucking cunt, why the fuck won't you show yourself you smug fucking wanker. Well, fuck you! And what in the name of holy fuck are you looking at mother? You're nothing more than a spunk receptacle for that old hanging ball-bag who calls himself my father. Fuck both of you. CUNTS, the lot of you!" and so on, I continued.
I must confess gentle listener, the incident almost ruined my 7th birthday party entirely...
And 60 years of therapy later, the ECT, the enforced sectioning and hospitalisation in Broadmoor Secure Hospital - all have alas failed to slake that particular thirst.
But eventually they did let me leave Broadmoor, my head bowed but my search still unfulfilled.
Unfortunately, due to my 'Crimes' The Church of England refused to have me back within the formal ministry, but luckily Mr Laird and Mr Mingles here at the esteemed offices of The Satire welcomed me with open arms (Not literally of course - Mr Laird is notoriously antisocial and Mr Mingles is a well-known germophobe. So they both greeted me from quite a distance away across the long oak-lined corridor outside the main boardroom.)
I did attempt to step forward and thank them both personally but the large gentleman who leaped out from the shadows and smashed the butt of his rifle efficiently into the bridge of my nose made it clear this was not recommended.
And it was whilst working here at The Satire that it occured to me what I had been doing wrong for all these very long years.
Of course the Lord could not 'literally' be found within the natural world. He should of course be sought outside of it - like in all those big paintings with his face looking beneficently down.
What a silly old sausage I had been.
It was with all of this in mind that I launched the Satire Space Programme. To allow me the opportunity to soar off into the Heavens and to fulfill my lifelong dream to see the face of our Lord.
15 years in the construction and with a cost in excess of three thousand pounds (not euros mind you - actual english pounds!) this rocket seems destined to roar into the outer atmosphere beyond the stars and out towards my Maker.
It may takes a few days to reach the Lord of course but I am well-prepared with a vending machine which seems to dispense an endless supply of ready-salted crisps, sweets and fizzy pop - in other words all one needs to survive.
They really are quite miraculous contraptions and in fact the vast majority of our enormous budget went on this astonishing machine - sold to me by a kind old irish gentleman in a public bar.
Nevertheless, the 500 Mighty British Pounds left over is still an exceedingly large sum of money and was more than enough to build the rocket, pay for the fuel and (so I am reliably informed) fully train the elderly chimpanzee who is to be my companion and co-pilot on this marvelous fantastical journey.
So - Bon Voyage, Ship Ahoy, God's Speed and Off We Go!