Copyright LiquidFX 1998
THE BOGGART BLOG SELECTIONS vol 6
Comedy / Satire / Sex / Religion / Politics
Our archive selections from the UK's top comedy blog Boggart Blog moves into volume 6. As usual this selection of posts covers a wide range of topics from sharp political satire to wild, surreal fantasy, dark, almost cruel ironies, incisive parody and ridiculous clowning. Explore this and other Boggart Blog archives for the best humour online and then stay and find your way around our Multi Media Labyrinth.
All posts protected by CREATIVE COMMONS licence: Some rights reserved. Distribution: Non - commercial, attrib, no derivs, All reproductions should be credited to "http://www.greenteethmm.com/" with a link back to our hime page if possible. email: firstname.lastname@example.org
We hear that some curmudgeonly folk have been writing to the dear old Beeb complaining that Las Of The Summer Wine is past its sell by date. How dare they!
Must all be New Labourites of course, as Blair's shoddy, money grubbing government shuts care homes in order to finance tax credits for the super rich (“look, if you are worth a billion or more we will pay you to come and live in Britain.”) the type of people who write to the BBC, who must all be Blairites as nobody else is sad enough to write to the BBC, are trying to shut down the last rest - home for aged jobbing actors who never worked regularly enough to save for a pension.
And where have these people been for the last twenty years anyway, because its twenty years since a funny joke was heard in the show. And even that was in a scene in the antique shop.
Flogging dead horses, not to mention terminally ill Z - list celebs, is all to common in television but even The Boggart finds the practice of flogging dead actors slightly distasteful.
Most of the cast in LOTSW have difficulty walking now, although in the case of Peter Sallis that might be because he is wearing The Wrong Trousers, while some of the minor role players appear to be in a state of advanced decomposition.
If the production gets any more geriatric I will expect to see Mick Jagger and Keith Richard in cameo parts in trailers for the next series.
Let’s Educate The World - not!
But once again little Gordy found out that Tony had outflanked him. By investing the education money in management consultants for schools Tony had managed to dumb down Britain so much the average third world kid was brighter than the average U.K. University graduate.
"Grrr," said little Gordy as he stomped off to think up another way of trying to outwit his arch enemy.
The obvious solution is tosend a sugeon with the paramedics and take the patients away a bit at a time.
Autocue Con Conspiracy
It was almost too easy for me to get cheap laughs out of satirizing the likes of Davina McColon, Johnny Vaughan (I see your latest vehicle hit a tree before it even got out of the drive Johnny,) Vernon effing Kay and Clare Sweeney while smugly implying that things were much better in the old days. Oh yes, my heroes came up the hard way, they paid their dues on the club circuit and in provincial theatres so they knew better than to sell the audience short by reading their whole act of an autocue... oh yes, these young 'uns don't know they're born...NOT!
It was some big mouth celebrity on Mike Parkinson's radio two show who blew the gaffe on the great conspiracy of silence. Those old timers were a bunch of drunken, lazy, back - stabbing egomaniacs whith more personality disorders than the local psychiatric hospital.
Hancock was a curmudgeonly depressive, Tommy Cooper was a hypochondriac, there were control freaks, screaming queens, wife beaters, and countless drunks, all of them lost in their private hell and relying on overworked prompts, autocues, cue cards or much abused stooges to cover their memory lapses.
Most shocking of all though was to learn that the king of the spontaneous (allegedly) desultory ramble, Frankie Howerd, in his later years could not work without an autocue.
Now I ask you missis, how much effort is it to memorise:
"Not a lot" as someone used to say...
Baise- toi M. Chirac
At last they are starting to understand that to anyone except another Frenchman their language when spoken sounds like a cat throwing up a furball.
Half a shag?
Only a scientists could produce statistics that suggest people have been having half a shag.
Enough to Drive You Up The Great Wall
All pretty standard manouvres...
Of course with 9 million bicycles in Peking all you need is a couple of London minicab drivers.
Da-da da-da, da-da da-da, da-da da-da, da-da da-da Islam
Naturally the Wahabist puritan is offended by the suspect nature of the relationship shared by Batman and Robin. What beats me though is why it has taken him so long to target Gotham City
You Live; You Die. And In Between You May As Well Have A Ciggy.
Now with such a gift for understatement he really should be British. Travelling around with a dead head in your overnight bag is more than strange, its effing insane.
Pissed as a Thrush
I'm glad I read this news, I have been wondering why the birds in my garden were all singing "My Way" out of tune and yelling "drink", "feck" at regular intervals.
Groundhog Day 2006-02-09
Las week her show, properly called "You Are What You Eat" featured a vicar who liked his two fishes cooked in batter and accompanied by a large portion of chips, mushy peas and five slices of bread and butter. Followed by a cake. Also figuring in Rev. Nosher's diet were pizzas, Chinese takeaways and dozens of offertory cream cakes baked by the sexually frustrated ladies of the Womens' Institute. (More tea Vicar, it will help the little blue pill go down.) There was slice upon slice of toast and marmalade, toast and jam and what looked suspiciously like Dairylea on toast which I thought was only eaten by students. And Pork Pies galore of course, in both the real and metaphorical sense as the man deluded himself about the amount he was scoffing.
It did not take the blessed Gillian long to get down to the jobbie of analysing the pastor's plops. Wearing an expression that ought to have said the stink was purgatory had it not been the same face she wears when confronted by cute children and small, furry animals she concluded the featured faeces had the consistency a chocolate mousse though the colour was quite good.
Too much information you might think.
Well so did I but I have to tell you there is nothing in The Bible that forbids a man of God from parading his poo on TV.
Paris or Pratt's Bottom (celebrity television )
Celebrity air - head Paris Hilton thinks she need not care whether London, Dublin or "somewhere" is the capital of Britain because she is rich. Well OK, when you are seriously rich I suppose you can pay people to know stuff for you, but that kind of takes the fun out of it to my mind. I like knowing stuff.
Chantelle, non - Celebrity winner of Celebrity Big Brother (how's that for post modern irony) is with the Paris Hilton school of thought. She neither knows nor cares where big, important places are - and why should she as the only place outside Essex she is ever likely to go involves getting a taxi to "the place of the big silver bird" and being transported in its belly to the Costa Essexa.
Apart from single figure IQs these two young women have only one other thing in common (unless there is a high class brothel called Chantelle in Paris,) an inflated sense of entitlement. The attitude seems to go "I didn't ask to be born, so now I am here you all have a duty to keep me entertained. I wonder if either of them realise how many happy hours can be spent looking at an Atlas?
Slightly more scary than the people who demand to be entertained however are those who demand the right to try and entertain us all. Michael Barrymore demands just that as fresh from his Big Brother debacle he touts for a television comeback in which he plans to front a revamped Strike It Smutty in his own very imitable way. (Blueprint for a perfect Barrymore impersonation: Build a career on mimicking the Monty Python silly walk, spend a decade popping in and out of the closet like a Liberal Democrat on speed, have a year long and very public breakdown, do shitloads of self-pity as long suffering wife cracks up for real and then fuck off to New Zealand until you think the media have forgotten about the stiff in the swimming pool: is this the kind of person we would invite into our living rooms?
Well the TV company responsible for Ready Steady Cook, Wifeswap and Holiday Showdown think it is as they are taking the come-back idea seriously.
To be fair, Barrymore's blubbering and bitching on Celebrity Big Brother was only slightly less embarrassing that George Galloway being a cat or Pete Burns being.... well, Pete Burns but as for a TV comeback? I'd rather see Chantelle hosting Mastermind.
It Pays To Know Where You Are
Geography has never been one of the major strengths of the U.S. education system. People have long argued that Christopher Columbus (or Cristobal Colon if we are being picky) should not be credited as the discoverer of America as he did not know where he was (and Amerigo Vespucci did?) Not knowing where one is quickly came to be the status quo among influential Americans, thus you will find most of Kansas City in the state of Missouri and likewise Virginia City in Montana while the city of Washington missed its related state by the width of the continent. No wonder the current President can't find fairly big countries on the world map. Mind, he did recently reveal he has difficulty finding his way out of the room he is in, but Dubya's grasp of who he is seems shaky so knowing where he is might be expecting too much.
All of this gives the world cause for hope of course. If people can be led to believe Dubai is in South America they could equally be convinced that Iran is in Antarctica and spend a few years running round the frozen waste shooting insurgent penguins of mass destruction.
Lib Dems Shoot Themselves In The Dog
Latest smack in the face with a big dead fish for the party that would like to see itself as "the natural party of opposition is the Mark Oaten "rent boy" scandal. A single mention of rent boys and poof, both Mr Oaten's and the party's credibility is up in smoke (and the Boggart is once again shown to be not above stealing old Kenneth Williams jokes.) Don't you love the tabloids' choice of language though? Not homosexual lover, not kamp* paramour but rent - boy with all its implicit sleazy allusions to spotty adolescents in baseball caps and back alleys in Soho. Oaten's alleged lover is a twenty three year old man who allegedly advertised himself on the net as available for sex at a rate of £80 per session.
Someone savvy enough, if there is any substance in the allegations, to know the real value of an illicit affair with an up-and-coming (unfortunate phrase in the context perhaps) politician, even one of the Liberal Democrat persuasion.
Mark Oaten is surely finished. Few people care much that he is gay, more care that he carried on a gay relationship while presenting himself as a staid, heterosexual family man thus revealing himself as a hypocrite but everybody should care that he was a big enough fool to think he could get away with it, after all this is no trivial matter like for example committing the nation to an illegal war.
The party may recover from the demise of a leadership contender because the party is not responsible for his sex life and it is not as though he shot anybody's dog.
*KAMP, original version of camp, was an acronym written on police charge sheets when homosexuality was still a crime. It stands for Known As Male Prostitute.
There's a moose loose about this hoose
------------------ A man who tried to kill a mouse by throwing it on a pile of burning leaves got a shock when the mouse ran back into his house and set it alight. Luciano Mares, 81 of Fort Sumner, New Mexico, said the fire destroyed all the contents of his home.
I remember that mouse, he used to work in Hollywood - as comic partner to a really stupid cat. Oh well I guess the cat died so he found a stupid old guy.
Welcome Back Osama
It's kind of nice to see old Osama back on our screens. We all thought he had gone for good but just like Bruce Forsyth, when we think he has gone for good he reappears. And if we are honest I think a lot of us harbour a slight affection for him, mostly because of his ability to make Dubya look like an idiot. Well that, and the fact that because of childhood memories most of us Brits have a soft spot for eccentric headgear and dodgy beards. Remember Ali Bongo?
Now I have a theory (wild applause greets this news of another of my conspiracy theories) that Brucie and Osama have a little more in common than their indestructibility. Both have worked in pantomime, Bruce in many parts and Osama specialising in being a truly scary Abenazer in Aladdin. Think about it, the hat, the beard. Abenazer could have been based on Osama's Dad.
The name Bin Laden may inspire fear in the hearts of Americans but us Brits, raised on the Christmas pantomime, can never take threats to destroy western civilisation seriously when they are made by a wild eyed guy in a silly hat.
Pantomime villains are a special breed of men, it takes years of working in provincial theatres in front of audiences consisting of a bus load of schoolkids who would rather be down the arcade scoring some Es and a few old age pensioners tripping out on mint imperials to hone the comic skills needed. Pantomime villains are Dick Dastardly, Wile E. Coyote and The Phantom of the Opera rolled into one.
Osama might have been better advised to relaunch his career as a media celeb with a few pastiche reality shows (Celebrity Big Brother, Celebrity Pop Idol, Celebrity Love Island - well maybe not that one but you get the idea) Pantomime is for the skilled practitioner only. How can an amateur like OBL compete with the likes of Simon Callow and Sir Ian (Gandalf) McEllen?
But if he is intent on pursuing this comeback perhaps it is time for me to re-release my 2001 record The Osama Song. It should have been Christmas No. 1 that year but thanks to a cock up in the PR department it was only heard in a few pubs around Accrington. It goes like this...
Come Mr. Taliban, hand over Osama
So are you ready kids?
by Ian R Thorpe
2006-01-18 A human resources firm in China says it will only hire candidates born in the Asian zodiac's year of the dog, believing they are most suited to its needs. The Cinhese are great believers in the supernatural and he lunar-calendar astrology used in China, counts the coming year, beginning 29 January, as a dog year. The Asian zodiac assigns a different animal to each year in a 12-year-cycle, each of which is credited with different personality traits.
Could this system be applied to western human resources departments? Well the people who make John West tinned foods could refuse to hire people who aren't born under Pisces or Cancer. Daytime T.V. media correspondents might best be chosen from among only Scorpios, Lawyers would have to show they were Librans and people in the water industry would obviously be Aquarians. After that it gets quite difficult. But the system could extend beyond the workplace. How about a rule that members of the Fathers For Justice group have to be born under the sign of Leo?
2006-01-16 Australians could soon be tossing a chunk of australus on the barbecue,because of plans to rename kangaroo meat and divorce it from its cuddly Skippy image. A food magazine hit on the idea of organising an international competition to come up with a euphemism - akin to beef for cow and venison for deer - to make kangaroo more palatable. Among the suggestions received were kangasaurus,marsupan, roadkill and jumpmeat. Mel Nathan, editor of the magazine Food Companion International said that"australus" sounded dignified and linked the meat with its country of provenance.
"Wotcha say Skip? You don't care what they call you, its still effing hot on that barbie?"