All That Glitters...

Oi sexy, I'm talking to you children out there. It's your old pal Uncle Gary. I've finished my sentence, I mean holiday in Vietnam and now I'm back in good old blighty. So you wanna be in my gang huh? My gang is the UK sex offenders list which I am now a proud member of. There's no shame in enjoying a child. I myself have enjoyed many little girls but the government doesn't understand. And how could they. The gov is full of old grandpas with dull erections. Not like me, I'm a stallion. Just ask those little girls back in Vietnam. Or actually, maybe you shouldn't.

I'm planning on re-lauching my career you know. I'm coming out with a new record, when I can get a record company to sign me that is. But I'm sure it won't be too difficult. All I need to do is get my black spikey wig back on me head and I'm set. No problems.

My first port of call in England is to get some shopping in Sainsbury's, my favourite supermarket. It's the choice supermarket of most rock stars turned paedophiles. I was buying sweeties to lure children to my home. I'm not planning to fiddle with any of them. I just wondered if a bunch of little girls, under the age of 16 would like to come by my house and watch 9 1/2 Weeks with me and a bag of Haribo. That's not too much to ask for now is it?

I was just in Sainsbury's the other day and the bloody papps couldn't even leave me alone. Wanted an autograph off old Gary. I even tried to disguise myself with an orange wig and hat but that just got me noticed more because no one likes a bloody ginger. Next time I'll wear the ballroom gown and oven gloves. That should do the trick.

William James Mercer Ponders.

I wonder how I could go about making the whole world smell like my balls?

Lovely Old Chewits.

Reginald Understands How Babies Are Fashioned.

Oh, I say. This diagram is most unpleasantly informative.

This is how I understand the process to be; I am to slot my 'whatsit' into her gully? Have a 'poke around' once inside and despatch my earthly business therein? Well it's utterly revolting. I can assure you I shall be writing a stern letter of complaint to the government - as people shouldn't be required to carry about this way. I shall request you draw me a hot bath before this ordeal and another for afterwards.

Bible Thrasher.

Just to remind you all, please remember to keep still and wear the protective goggles for your own safety. Now arrange yourselves into a standing pyramid shape while I go and grab my skateboard. I'll need to launch myself pretty fucking quickly to ensure I'll get enough height needed to do my patented 540-degree Benihana over your heads. If any of you feel like setting yourselves on fire to make this trick even more awesome, you have my blessing.

Bees?

A Rant From Above.

I witnessed the closing ceremony of the Beijing Olympics this morning from the opulence of my couch.

There were a few musical numbers, a handful of speeches, dances and flourishes of colour - which was all very nice and bland.

Then came the 'passing of the games' from Beijing to London, and thus where this rant is derived.

It began with a computer-animated introductory video; whereby an 'iconic' red double decker bus passed through some colourful London streets and landmarks. Fair enough.

That is, until the video ended and suddenly, back in the park is an actual red double decker circling the running track of the Beijing stadium. Dancers hopping along with the bus, dancing with umbrellas (providing the only truly British moment of the display - having an umbrella at hand on the only day it isn't fucking raining!). The bus stops and the dancers keep dancing. The bus then unfolds at the top (July 7th style) to reveal Leona ... fucking ... Lewis suspended on a pole, singing 'Whole Lotta Love' to a pre-recorded Jimmy Page on guitar. If that wasn't enough, David ... fucking ... Beckham pops up and kicks a football into the crowd. How British. Oh wait, not it's not. It's the most embarassingly cynical, out of touch display of dismal planning ever designed by mankind. Ever.

If they were really trying to keyring Britain through a defining parade, I think it should gone something like this : A colourful (colourful, with a 'u', because we're British) video introduction leads to a Land Rover circling the running track of the stadium, the Land Rover containing a family of four from Northampton. The car passes along, with the 'father' of the family proudly wearing a Chelsea football shirt. His head craned out of the driver's window moaning about the stadium being full of too many foreigners. The kids in the back of the vehicle are being car-sick over themselves, while the mother checks out her fake tan in the rearview mirror. The Land Rover reaches it's destination of a McDonald's drive-through (a.k.a. 'drive-thru', they charge by the letter) restaurant, where the family is joined by a group of binge-drinking teenagers who shuffle around, shouting a bit before collapsing behind the Land Rover. The father then pokes himself out from the sunroof and sings a heart-felt song about how he's upset that he's currently missing Top Gear on Dave.

That's the Britain I know in a nutshell.

I'm glad the British athletes were generally successful in Beijing. It's certainly gratifying to see the athletes who my taxes and lottery money paid to train win a few poxy gold medallions. I wouldn't rather have had my taxes or lottery money go toward improving Britain's hospitals or education system, at all!

Ooh. I've gone on for far too long. I think Top Gear is on. Must dash.

The Mayor Of Garboldisham.

Pedophiles! Garboldisham has recently generated many unwanted headlines in the national press, as it was revealed our town was home to some of the most notorious sex offenders in the country. As Mayor it was my duty to deal with this difficult situation, and since I've made the necessary decisions, I feel that the streets, playgrounds and local swimming baths are safe again.

My wife has taken to calling me 'Mayor Cupid', although it often sounds like shes calling me 'Mayor Stupid'. Frankly, yes, I am a kind of 'cupid'. My plan to tackle the growing financial and social burden our large community of un-wed mothers generate, by arranging marriages for them with our many pedophiles has been an utter success! The un-wed mothers have somebody to share an income, and have somebody to help raise their child. Whereas, the pedophile gets the opportunity to rehabilitate himself in a cosy, loving home environment.

My critics have not shared my optimism for this scheme. Saying that I'm 'mad' for driving pedophiles into already unstable environments. But I'm not concerned. Critics are critics. I wouldn't be where I am today, if I'd have listened to my critics.

William James Mercer's Rumbling Tum.

The meals-on-wheels van doesn't stop by my home any more. Not since I pee'd inside the delivery driver.

Noah's Striptease With A Difference.

"I walked into the lounge to discover my 18 year-old son watching and laughing along to Dr. Dolittle 2 on DVD. Needless to say, that arse-milking burger strangler is out of my will!"

Martin's Struggle, by J. Sparks.

Again, featuring the super-mega voice skills of J. Sparks.

The Blessed Helpline Is A 'One-Stop Shop'.

Hello, you've reached the Blessed Helpline. Brian Blessed speaking, how can I help?



...oh, I see. Allow me to quickly review the events schedule to confirm.



...ah yes, I have an opening that day. I'll be able to drop by your home for one hour at noon to impregnate your mother with my voracious seed.

Thanks for calling.

Team Meetings.

"...I'd like to stop you there for a moment, Bill. I have an announcement to deliver to yourself and to the other, esteemed boardmembers gladly assembled here this afternoon. You see, I'd very much like to be brutally sodomised by the mighty fir tree growing in the visitor's carpark. And frankly, I'd appreciate each of you to call your friends and neighbours to come and watch."

Masterpiece, by J. Sparks.

Featuring the amazing vocal skills of J. Sparks, himself.

William James Mercer Knows A Quality Curry.

In all my years, I've never seen so much mucous deposited through my letterbox! Having said that, I'm not going to stop ordering those microwave chicken Jalfrezis through the mail.

Ask Yourself, What Would Fabio Do?

Meanwhile, At The Il Divo Press Conference.

(Reporter) "Il Divo, what do you want to say to your legions of world-wide fans on this, the release of your 'comeback' album?"

(Carlos, Il Divo) "These are definitely exciting times for Il Divo. The Alzeimer's Disease made recording this album a very difficult and frustrating process, despite we boat sponge zippy kilt sandvagina."

Dr. Smith Uses Metaphors To Soften Tragedies.

"Your insides look like a hobo birthed a baby in a public toilet stall, and then proceeded to try and flush the little tyke away."

Jews Do It Better

This clip taken from the new comedy by rock star turned fashion model; Adam Sandler: "You Don't Mess With The Breasts Of A Foreign Man Unless He's A Jew Pretending To Be A Muslim Pretending To Be A Hair Stylist".



"Smell it, smell it. Now take it!"

Farewell To The Fallen

Godbless you Bernie Mac whereever you may be... With Jesus most likely.
Bernie Mac, star of such shows as The Bernie Mac Show and movies such as Charlie's Angels 2: Full Throttle and Transformers where he played the dynamic car salesman, Uncle Bobby B.
Goodnight sweet prince. We will miss you.

Quintin Coultine's Bite Back

Where you at Quin? Where you at? Over here with your cute girlfriend and the 40s of beer. Where you at Quin? Where you at? Over here... Ah, ah, over here. Nigga gots to git himself some play. Shit ma, been a fucking hell of long time since I been seeing yous. But as my mama always said; "It be's dat way sometimes... Have mercy!". What'd dat ol' bitch know anyhoo, she dead now. See, I'm here for a reason, not for a season an' I look around my stompin' ground and all I see is punks. See, I knows these fools try to play me out as if my name was Jaeger Wannamaker, but I ain't dat dumb! Makes me sick all y'all pimps n' players running round like you thinks yous are da real thang. Fuck you are. Yous are just Sissy Adams babyface motherfuckers. You wanna see da real thang, fuck, just look my way Jackson and you see it. You all pussy lickin', finger fuckin', ho ass cunts. You mind if I smoke? Fuck you! I do what I wanna. An what I wanna do is PLAY!!! Don't hate the player, hate the game!

Calling Katie, Part Six.

He's back...

Noah Americoah.

I just had a mole removed from my cock at the hospital.

Never going to fuck one of them again.

Lasanga Cat.

Try lasagnacat.com for more. I did, and now I'm a successful black-faced President of the USA. Go Lasagna Cat, go America!

Blessed Security Helpline.

Hello, 'Blessed Security Helpline'. Brian Blessed speaking, how may I help?

...oh, it's you again!

I'm afraid I'm going to have to drag you into the station, my dear. You're a filthy, rotten bastard and I'm going to have to sort you out. You're going to feel the full strain of the truncheon I keep in my trousers.

It's good if you come clean now and confess, but, believe me, it's much better if you let me chain you up and draw your dirty, little secrets out of you. Handcuffs, humiliation, candlewax for the nipples. Oh, you'll never be the same again.

William James Mercer And The Bhaji Shakes.

Elsie from the Chess club used a box of ... oh God, holy shit, I think I'm having a heart attack! Everything is slowing down, I'm going numb ... I can't feel my limbs. I'm losing the function to speak.



...oh, wait.

No, that would be last night's curry resurfacing.

Eurgh.