Spitting Bullets

Shit on the Box - BBC Watchdog Yet Again!

BBC Watchdog - Shit On The Box

In tonight’s enlightening programme (BBC 1, 7.30pm), Sir Cliff Richard wrote a letter to BBC Watchdog advising people not to buy tickets for his live concerts from ‘rip-off merchants’ or non-approved ticket agents. As tempting as it might be to buy your ‘dream ticket’ he said (who the fuck is he kidding), just don’t do it.

The fact that there is a black market for Sir Cliff’s live performances is in itself astonishing, but not as astonishing as Watchdog’s invitation towards the end of tonight’s episode, in which the presenters encouraged us all to let the team know of anything that needs investigating.

Well, as it happens, I have something I’d like investigating, because it’s already causing quite a stink at home.

A Lighter Shade of Pale

This morning, I did an enormous shit which wasn’t as brown as the one I did yesterday morning. What I want to know is, why is this?

Is it a cruel trick of nature? Highly unlikely, especially if one is an avid fan of Watchdog. Which I’m not.

However, if one does succomb to this slice of so called ‘consumer affairs’ programming, then it’s more than likely that one’s insipid plop is connected to the way in which one has apparently been ‘tricked’ out of two-and-a-half pence by the dark forces of corporate marketers after failing to pass on the recent cut in VAT to the consumer (a cut which, if we’re going to be perfectly honest, is the shittest attempt at saving the UK’s economy we’ve had to contend with so far - right up there with the introduction of perimeter fencing as a means of preventing football hooliganism in the late 1980s - and we all know how that ‘ingenious’ idea turned out - fucking idiots).

Or is it simply that shit changes colour on a daily basis. I don’t know, but it’s definately worth a half hour ‘investigation’ by someone who used to present, erm, Top of the Plops (Nicky Campbell - ha ha ha).

Special Delivery

Anyway, there’s only one way to find out about my oddly coloured poo, which is why I’ve just placed my aforementioned turd in a plastic food box using the kitchen tongs, popped it into a Jiffy bag, and will be making my way to the local Post Office tomorrow - to send it ‘Special Delivery’ to the BBC’s team of consumer rights heroes (I use the word ‘heroes’ in its loosest sense - so loose in fact that ‘pricks’ might be another word one could substitute in its place).

If anybody else is concerned about the shade of their shit, then I urge them to send the offending item to:

BBC Watchdog
MCG A6
Media Centre
Wood Lane
London
W12 7TG

Alternatively, you can submit your shit turd complaint online to the eloquently named ‘Got a Story’ section of the BBC Watchdog website, where the laziest investigative journalistic team on earth will gladly spin your brown sloppy mess into something even less interesting for next week’s episode.

Tune in to BBC Watchdog next Monday evening, the 16th March at 7.30pm, to find out what happens to your shit.

Remember to wash your hands afterwards.

LONDON 2012 OLYMPIC OPENING CEREMONY UNOFFICIAL SCHEDULE (PROVISIONAL)

Now that the Olympic flag has officially been handed over to London’s Mayor Boris Johnson in Beijing, Spitting Bullets is proud to announce its status as ‘Unofficial Organiser’ of London’s 2012 Olympic Games Opening Ceremony.

London’s bid to create a unique festival atmosphere in 2012 will surely be boosted by the involvement of Spitting Bullets, with an incredible line-up of some of Great Britain’s finest, encapsulated in a schedule based on very little research and an enormous amount of Pukka Pies.

Olympics in London 2012

Here is a provisional schedule, celebrating all that is great and some that is British:

7.00pm The National Anthem

The Olympic Ceremony’s cursory nod to Her Majesty the Queen, performed in under half-an-hour by tribute band ‘Take That, That, and That You Naughty Boy’ (All 107 new verses will be performed with help from the Jehovah’s Witnesses).*

*CENSORSHIP WARNING - May contain references to the sins of masturbation in verses 3-109.

7.30pm Sense of Fair Play

In the ceremony’s opening event, a guest appearance from Margaret Thatcher disguised as a pantomime horse, should get the show up and running at a gallop. Lady Thatcher will be gently wheeled out to the centre of the Olympic Stadium by her two close friends Michael Heseltine and Arthur Scargill, bent over double and tied to a post. Her bare bottom will be presented to a group of over 200 blindfolded ex-coalminers, who will then attempt to ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey’, using an official Olympic javelin. (This event may over-shoot.)

8.00pm Good at Being Losers

[Unfortunately, due to Team GB's extraordinary and unfathomable success in the Beijing Olympics 2008, Spitting Bullets has had to re-think this event following the banning of all British athletes from taking part. However, letters have been sent out to the Head Coach of Team Australia to encourage its athletes to take part - there are some promising early signs, however, being good at losing doesn't come easy to this colony of former 'crims', who've behaved like petulant teenage toss-pots since coming 6th in the 2008 Medals Table. Will they be ready in time? - the big question that no-one is asking.]

8.15pm The British Cuppa Madison (Live from the Velodrome)

Several thousand members of the Women’s Institute (WI), whilst feeding each other cheeses and pineapples on sticks, will each mount a Penny Farthing before cycling feverishly around the Olympic Velodrome. They will then dismount and serve cups of tea to all the competitors, before each athlete is thrown individually onto the track - watch out for the other European teams as they struggle with the addition of fresh milk - this could be one to remember (although it’s highly unlikely - Ed.).

8.16pm Blitz the Fritz

No sporting event in Great Britain can be held without the expression of some kind of anti-German sentiment, and what better time to shame a nation than at an Olympic Games Opening Ceremony. In true British fashion, the spectators will be encouraged to shout anti-German slogans* such as “Kraut”, “Sausage Chomper” and “Who Won the War?” at the German team. Alternatively, for the Under 18s, Spitfire and Lancaster modelling demonstrations** will take place near the Under 5s at the sand-pit.

*Programmes with official Olympic anti-German slogans can be bought for £27.50 from the foyer before the ceremony begins.

**Please bring your own Airfix kit.

11.01pm The X-Ecution Factor Final - A Very British Grassy Knoll

Presented by two life-like puppets of Ant and Dec and featuring the voice of Keith Harris, Simon Cowell and other similarly piss-poor celebrity programme producers argue amongst themselves as to who should be shot in 2012’s X-ecution Factor. The winner wins a coffin worth £1 million pounds. As part of the contract, proceeds from the sale of the winner’s estate will go directly to the British Olympic Association.

11.10pm The Lambeth Walk

To the catchy tune of Noel Gay’s ‘Doin’ the Lambeth Walk’ (Me and My Girl 1937), famous Cockney people such as celebrity Eastender’s stalwarts Barbara Windsor and Patsy Palmer will join Prime Minister Boris Johnson by leading the world’s greatest athletes through the world’s greatest walk - choreography will be directed ‘on stage’ by ballet guru Wayne Sleep. All athletes will be expected to sing with ‘fakkin East Landon’ accents, ‘aw’ight’. Those spectators who are still awake, will be encouraged to join in with the singing too.*

*See Official Programme for lyrics.

11.33pm Elton John & the Morris Dancers

Elton John will make a guest appearance dressed in a stunning jacket created by art designers Gilbert & George from a medium of closely woven dog shit and litter found floating in the Thames. His role will be to introduce 5000 Morris Dancers individually by name (and Seb Coe thought it wise to joke? - Ed.), before asking them to leave. There will be no actual dancing.

11.55pm Car Boot Sale

Gordon Brown sells his wordly goods to help get Britain out of debt - Spitting Bullets predicts a thrilling spectacle.

3.00am FINAL EVENT The Lighting of the Olympic Torch

Exactly who will light the Olympic Torch will remain a secret until the big day itself - but Spitting Bullets can reveal that London 2012 will showcase the world’s first fighter plane ever to be used as an Olympic Torch. Celebrating Frank Whittle and his incredibly British contribution to the invention of the jet engine - a decommisioned Tornado fighter jet bearing the words ‘Spitting Bullets All Over Baghdad’ will be positioned vertically and nose first into the ground at the centre of the Olympic Stadium. As everyone awaits the arrival of the last London Olympic Torch bearer - the sound of gunfire, recorded from a WWII Vickers Tank will play over the sound system. When the Olympic Torch is lit and the Tornado’s engines roar* - the games will officially commence.

*Spectators and Olympic athletes are reminded NOT to intefere with the fuel line running from the car-park to the Olympic Torch, under any circumstances.

Book Tickets for London 2012

Visit the official Olympic Website to book your London 2012 Olympic Games Opening Ceremony tickets early to avoid disappointment:

Copyright © 2008 Spitting Bullets

UK Public told to ‘Unleash the Happiness’

Pizza Hut’s Recent Advertisements

I’m a little confused, because Pizza Hut are inviting people to ‘Unleash the Happiness’ by asking them to actually set foot inside one of their ‘restaurants’, which is unusual, because most people would be better of unleashing their happiness in bed with someone else or by going to the pub.

However, this is not really what concerns me. The fact is that Pizza Hut is turning its ‘pizzas’ into the kind of piping of which any competent chef / plumber husband and wife team would be proud – and, as an avid fan of traditional pizzas – this evolutionary step in the history of pizza making concerns me greatly.

Could Pizza Hut invent the Pizza again by mistake?

What I’m talking about of course, is the invention of the pepperoni ‘Stuffed Crust’ pizza. And what an invention it is. How mankind has coped for so long without this tubular delight is difficult to understand. The ‘Stuffed Crust’ pizza is an evolutionary miracle – to understand what the ‘Stuffed Crust’ pizza is to food is to understand what Darwin is to unlocking the secrets of Planet Earth. Not content with merely adding cheese to their crusts, Pizza Hut are now adding pepperoni - amazing!

But I wonder what will come next? Will Pizza Hut ‘pizzas’ of the future consist of nothing more than a crust, stuffed with an entire range of fillings that have been forced into the cavity by a specially converted inflation devise to create some sort of edible tyre?

And finally, will Pizza Hut realise that if they cut the ‘Stuffed Crust’ open and flatten it out, they’ll end up with what they started out with – a pizza?

The future of Pizza Hut

Whatever the future holds for Pizza Hut, I simply don’t care - but when the day comes that frozen hollow crusts are readily available from the local supermarket and the consumer is invited to ‘Unleash the Happiness’ by injecting their own fillings (I’m not sure I like the sound of that very much - Ed), I shall eat my pants and fuck off to the pub.

One thing’s for sure – in terms of pizza evolution, pizza doesn’t get much worse than this.

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Copyright © 2008 Spitting Bullets

A strange thing keeps happening to me in my local supermarket when attempting to purchase paracetamol. At first glance, you may think that this is not the basis for an interesting story, but please, read on.

After carefully selecting several items of shopping a few days ago from the supermarket shelves, and after performing an infinity amount of u-turns, near-misses and ‘accidental’ shunts up the arses (with the corner of my trolley) for those irritating people who debate whether to ‘go skinless’ when choosing their ’sausages’ for hours on end and consequently block my path, I made my way towards the nearest checkout (or till, as once they were known).

All was going well. Of course, I made the usual mistake of standing heavy, tall objects alone without any support whatsoever, so that they then fell onto and crushed the salad each time the belt stuttered forwards, and I also felt the usual guilt that came from the large number of plastic bags I was using to pack my goods into.

Then, the moment that I knew would occur, occurred.

“I’m sorry, but I can only sell you one packet of these.” ‘These’ were two packets of paracetamol, containing 16 tablets each - a total of 32 (thanks - Ed).

“Oh?”, I said, in fained disbelief, already knowing the reason why.

“Yes, it’s company policy.”

“Why is that?”, I said, as I always do, expecting the usual reply that goes something along the lines of, “Because it is I’m afraid. I’m very sorry.”

On this occasion however, something much more interesting was said:

“Because it’s the law.”

“The law?” I replied, tenaciously.

“Yes, it’s the law.”

How remarkable, I thought, that this particular supermarket cashier knew the law on the sale of medicines to the general public. I stopped myself, just in time, from asking where she had obtained her knowledge of pharmaceutical law, and replied:

“Oh, alright then. Can I pop back in and buy another packet?”

Remarkably, she said:

“Oh yes, that would be fine.”

Now then…I’m going to make several assumptions here.

Firstly, the supermarket must believe that I cannot read, otherwise, I would know that the packet has a ‘dosage’ specified on it - in which case, why don’t they print all of their special offers in Braille?

Secondly, they must believe that I am incapable of preventing myself from committing suicide, despite the fact that I am an adult (although, I am severely depressed).

Thirdly, the supermarket doesn’t recognise my right as an adult to kill myself.

Fourthly, if I wanted to kill myself, my priorities wouldn’t include a trip to the supermarket to purchase a weeks shopping, consisting, amongst other things, of three loaves of bread, six pints of full fat milk, a block of Double Gloucester cheese and a jar of fucking capers, now, would it?

Fifthly, the supermarket’s ‘concern’ for my well-being seems just a little bit disingenuous once one realises that if I had placed a conveyor belt divider between my shopping and another person’s single packet of paracetamol (that other person being me), I could, in effect, be classed as a separate customer, and buy the bloody thing anyway.

And finally, if I seriously wanted to kill myself, I’d have bought several packets of supermarket skinless sausages (interesting how there’s no limit on how many of these things one can buy), smeared them all over my body, taken a train ride to Battersea during a full moon, and shouted “come get me Fido!”

Copyright © Spitting Bullets 2008

‘Blond Bold Boris the Buffoon’ has won the Mayoral Electoral Contest of London Upon Thames, a small but heavily polluted village not too far south of Stevenage.

The UK breathed a sigh of relief when ‘Blond Bold Boris the Buffoon’ promised to ensure that all ‘London Upon Thamesers’ remain where they are for the foreseeable future by implementing a ‘No Talking’ strategy on the tube and encouraging crime through the introduction of a criminal justice measure called the Routemaster.

London Upon Thamesers will now be discouraged from buying up large parts of the UK where, for the past 12 years, they have been imparting Southern talk, especially across the South West, Midlands and the North. They’ve also been responsible for inflating house prices so that the local scrubbers there have had to pay more taxes, mostly to fund extra dustbin collections to remove the bottles from excessive champagne drinking, especially around the former Prime Minister’s constituency of Sedgefield, the home of ‘Champagne Socialism’.(Is this really true? - Ed).

Instead, because ‘Thamesers’ can look forward to a vast improvement to their village life, there may no longer be the need for them to continue invading the rest of the UK. Some ‘Thamesers’ have already hinted that they intend to remain in London and continue drinking their own recycled piss rather than pissing on the rest of us. They’ve also promised to be much ruder to each other, and much more often. The draw of a consistently violent, polluted and obnoxious atmosphere surrounded by the homeless (urgh! - Ed), is irresistible to ‘Thamesers’, and Boris, they believe, is the man who can make their village even greater!

‘Red Ken’, a former black cab driver (racist - Ed), said it was a great week for ‘Thamesers, innit, awright guv!’. That wasn’t all he said.

The rest of the UK said, and not for the first time, that they didn’t give a shit.

Copyright © Spitting Bullets 2008