MILDNESS OF RESPONSE TO THERESA MAY APPOINTMENT AS PM CAUSES SKY NEWS TO BRIEFLY FALL OFF THE AIR

"they plummeted past us", horrified CNN reporters told us. "we hoped to christ some goddamned cricket match or slight outbreak of something industrial or agricultural might break out. or one of the royals or something, but nope. Theresa May it is. have you seen it?"

Sky News was eventually pulled out of the massive hole by BBC News, who happened to be down the same hole, looking for Chris Evans.

COTTAGE HOSPITAL BULLETIN STANDS WITH PARIS, WITH FRANCE, WITH EUROPE, WITH THE INTERNATIONAL WORKING CLASS. WITH PRIDE, WITH COURAGE AND CONVICTION.

WE SHALL BE ALL






SO CALLED "HUMOUR" (cont. from pg 2)

...drafted in from surrounding forces who were still unable to quell the unrest, which spilled into an ugly, full-blown riot when the stricken comic, his head by now having been all but removed by the three frantic and blood-crazed jihadists who had set upon him almost immediately upon his opening routine, "Do You Think The Prophet Mohammed Might Be Gay?", and who had proceded to behead the plucky young comedian, Joey Cassino, 23, of Kilbirnie, Ayrshire, who bravely continued with his set, even managing to deliver his "A Scotsman, an Englishman, A Welshman and The Prophet Mohammed walk into a massage parlour..." gag before finally surrendering his life as his murderers threw his severed head into a carrier bag full of explosives.

The streets outside the venue were closed for several hours, with traffic chaos as late night revellers searched for pieces of the suicide bombers to turn into jewellery, and impromptu arts festivals broke out, with local caricaturists offering comical views of The Prophet Mohammed dressed as Mickey Mouse, Betty Boop, Elton John, etc

The brave young comic who surrendered his life was honoured by his friends, who opened a Facebook page entitled "He Wouldn't Even Have Wiped His Arse With The Koran".


on other pages: "I'm sick of this. Let's see you be 'tolerant' of my shoe in your arse." says cynical SocioPoliticoMilitary strategist. (pg5col2)

Survey of 5-9 year olds reveals Islam "rubbish", "lame", "well gay". Primary schools to have 500 yard no-go military buffer. (pg6col3)

LOU REED   1942-2013

'Hickabella Bicycle In Rockefeller Panatella' says former Cocteau Twins lyricist

CHB REPORTS:

FORMER TORY LEADER DIES IN LONDON HOTEL

"get me a shovel"

                                                             advertising feature sponsored by Boots The Chemists

YOU'RE IN BOOTS!

Picture the scene: You're running to catch a train. You realise there's just time to pop in to the smart, modern retail outlet on the platform and buy a magazine, a bottle of Lucozade and some chewing gum. Are you in WH Smiths? No.

Or, you're running late to go on a hen night. You could really use a shop with flexible opening hours where you could get a spare pair of tights, some condoms and more hairspray. Amazingly, you find it, right on your own high street. Are you in Tesco Metro? No.

You really fancy taking some methadone and then buying a pair of fashionable spectacles and an mp3 player before getting your auntie 6 lavender bath bombes for her birthday......Are you really off your bastarding nut? No. You're in Boots!

CHB caught up with Jan De Dentalmishap, head of purchasing for Boots PLC.

CHB: Jan, it's probably fair to say that Boot's purchasing policy is eclectic, to say the least. How on earth did you know that a shop selling contraceptives right next to ploughman's sandwiches, pregnancy testing kits, bargain DVDs, cosmetics and support hose could possibly succeed?

Jan: Well, I kind of fell into this job, a little. My previous job had been research and development for Philips, in Eindhoven. We worked in a very organic way at Philips. Our remit, basically, was to wander around the labs all day in the scud (except for our PSV Eindhoven tops, obviously), totally ripped off our trumpets on Super Skunk, trying to invent a CD player that was sharkproof, or a follow up to the 'Stylophone'. In fact, Rolf Harris would often turn up, keen to reprise his successful ads of the '60s for the original Stylophone, asking us if we'd guessed what it was yet (the  proposed follow up to '60s global smash 'The Stylophone') before usually just stripping down to his PSV Eindhoven top, bonging his little mad coupon off, eating 2 fish suppers and just walking out, in a straight line up the road, fucking mortal. Lunatic. What a class cunt. Respect. Great days, great guys.
So, as you can imagine, when I found myself being offered the post of head buyer for Boots, I was pretty much completely fucked up in the brains, and a right mad freak, so the prospect of having to source dependable supplies of tights, photographic supplies, slimming aids, electronic leisure goods, homebrewing equipment, sporting goods, travel irons, chicken tikka and raita sandwiches, barley sugar and methadone. Or the entire top 40 singles (and 20 albums), stereos, videos and computer games as well as femine hygiene products and limitless vats of our famed No7 cosmetic stuff from Hungary and northern Turkey, seasonal summer games like badminton sets and boules or some shit, Xmas gift packs for all the family less than a tenner and Viagra....well, that didn't bother me none. I looked young Mr Boot in the eye and told him "There's scenes, and there's scenes, baby. Lemme tell ya, I am TOTALLY making your scene,,,,"

CHB: What inspires you, day to day, to keep trying to make Boots number one eclectic/OCD/autistic retailer in the UK? Is it b(at this point, a statement by Jan, that he is "often thrilled by seeing young girls in Boots" goes completely haywire, and very swiftly descends to some quite robust and industrial observations on concepts too disturbing to be featured by Boots, in their sponsored feature "You're In Boots!"

EU TO TACKLE 'VAGUENESS' OF MEDIA REPORTING

Brussels is set to legislate to standardise the way news reports quantify "tension in the middle east".  Top brass at the EU's elite Central Commission For Standards are said to be concerned that in certain member countries, in particular the UK, press and media outlets report the seriousness of any particular event in the middle east depending on how much other news they have at the time. "For example," our Brussels insider, Jean-Pierre Greggs Steakbake told us, "if a big story like Jimmy Savile is in full swing, then even news that a nuclear missile had destroyed Tel Aviv would have to contend with 8 pages of quotes from 'insiders' at Leeds General saying how they always thought Savile was a grotty old perv when he was a volunteer porter (but, in balance, they admitted they thought ALL hospital porters were grotty old pervs in the 70s. Which, of course, they were.) And when there's not much news about, say when Prince Philip's in hospital or David Blaine's being dangled over something, then the least consequential, most trivial of occurences in the middle east are suddenly being reported as of massive, historical import. Like when that US private took a load of prescription painkillers and vodka in Iraq and killed half the pupils and half the teachers. No one in Britain would ever have known about that, if it hadn't happened to have been on the same day that the only other news in Britain was that Helen Mirren was playing the Queen again. On the day that Michael Jackson's funeral was broadcast live worldwide, the Israeli army launched a bold and risky 'cross border' land invasion of the West Bank and Gaza in an attempt to reclaim them, finally and completely, as Israel, at around 9.13am. By lunchtime they had driven all and any Palestinian resistance into the sea. By the back of two, however, reinforcements in the form of guerrilas and agents from across the region arrived, and the Palestinians rallied to not only force the Israelis back across the border, but enjoy a complete rout of the Israeli infantry, and even briefly capture and occupy the whole city of Jerusalem from about ten to three until half four-ish. Order was eventually restored at teatime, when the Israeli air force turned up with fighter jets and started napalming the Palestinians until they went back to their hovels in their pretend country. No one knows any of this. They were watching Michael Jackson's funeral."

The EU legislation will insist that 'tension in the middle east' be strictly graded from '1: Muslim chap accidentally offers Jewish chap sausage roll at bowling club function in well-heeled Beirut suburb. Mild offence and slight embarrassment caused.' to '10: Nuclear weapon fired at Jerusalem/Mecca/Bagdad/Tehran, Dome Of The Rock Mosque in Jerusalem stormed by US Marines and converted into titty bar live sports venue and bowl-o-rama, entire population of Syria killed by recent 'tensions' and territory of Syria now occupied by Israel, etc.'

TIMID PROVINCIAL WOMAN'S TERROR ORDEAL

Chester Crown Court heard yesterday of the terrifying, 8 hour ordeal of a local woman at the hands of a ruthless gang of solar panel salespeople, during which she was

• RELENTLESSY offered payment options and installation dates
• CONTINUALLY reminded of the fiscal benefits of solar power
• UNREMITTINGLY called by her first name and spoken to in a friendly and familiar way
• REPEATEDLY shown promotional literature and told of homes nearby already enjoying the benefits of solar power
• EVENTUALLY obliged to politely ask the salespeople to leave

before being raped, strangled, decapitated, filleted, braised and partially eaten by her neighbour of 20 years, and fellow church member, Albert Itwassim, 58. Itwassim later

• BOASTED of having raped his neighbour
• BRAGGED to friends about strangling someone
• HINTED to his family that he may have decapitated a woman recently
• CONFIDED in his local vicar about "the thing on the news about that poor woman who was filleted, braised and partially eaten" before finally admitting that he

was not convinced that solar power could generate enough electricity to heat and light his entire house. "A friend of mine told me that, despite all their lofty claims, and after him having paid nearly 2000 pounds to have solar panels installed, the only way he could cook an entire woman, at 250 degrees C for 3 hours, was to do without the telly, the lights and his foot spa. I think I'll stick with the old National Grid for now!"

The judge adjourned the court. The case continues.

LIES of the 1950's Bumper Books Of Facts For Boys: Shattered dreams of older victims.
*NO flying cars
*NO entire meals in pill form and
*NO colonies on mars and the moon with pubs, ten pin bowling the lot.

not so much as a sassy teen with a trusty dog solving a mystery.

The lying bastards.

RECESSION FORCES LOCAL OCD RESEARCH CENTRE TO CLOSE AND RE-OPEN EXACTLY 176 TIMES

celebrity: (foto:Fannie Hall)
SuBo: Totally Off Nut In Tinseltown.
late night drama at BGT diva's rented hollywood home.

Singing superstar Susan Boyle has again sensationally made headlines in the USA, just days after she and Britney Spears were seen in newspapers nationwide in shock photos which showed the superstar pop-pair (estimated combined wealth a hundred MILLION thousand each) brazenly trying on loads of hats and daft wee tops but not really wanting to buy nuthin in 'Guernsey Lady', the Channel Island's most exclusive shop, whilst both obviously highly intoxicated.
At approximately 3.15am Tuesday, Beverly Hills Cops were alerted to an apparent street brawl outside 1350000465 South Bends Aspect, a handsome mock smart end mansion owned by Iggy Pop, but rented since January to SuBo by Iggy, who actually offered it to the worldwide superstar Keeping Up Appearances-A-Like Scots diva, 66, after he heard slightly slow on the uptake global music sensation Subo, 66, sing The Rolling Stones' wild horses and claimed it "totally altered his stereo" and that he "got a god damn duty to give that big old scottish lady mah house. It's only decen'.."
By early Spring, Subo was ensconced in 1350000465 South Bends A., holding court with Lady GaGa, several Destinys Childs, a Japanese Jim Morrison impersonator called Blake Enthlew and Flavor Flav, notorious art-terrorist out of the eighties. And Chris Evans and Danny Baker. Filming a documentary about Gervais & Merchant's documentary-come-drama about the whole 'scene'.
At around midnight monday, with SuBo too full of drugs and brandy to party all nite and resting in her loft space with two People's Friends and the stick, Lady GaGa decided to set fire to Brad Pitt's Sleeve, Susan's beloved Belgian Scmumsaer dog, who ran yelping up the close and causing Miley Cyrus and Kate Garraway to become arrested for marijuana possession and lewd n lib.
When the crowd assembled by Liam Neeson to 'kick fuck out of Ricky Gervais' grew to nearly 800, and spilled into the streets, police were called.
Ms Boyle, 68, was arrested for public order violations after she threw her beanie baby out the window and it nearly went in a dog shite.

The Journalism Of Noonan McKane: 'At The Tomb Of Eva Peron' (cont. from page 84)

...because, astonishingly, Evita's corpse has been disinterred TWICE since her death in 1952, the last instance being in 1971.
Today, her mausoleum incorporates elaborate secret chambers, sliding panels and complex locks, and although the crypt may be visited by the public, Eva's sarcophagus may not be viewed. Visitors are reassured by security guards at the gates of the complex that the mortal remains of 'Santa Eva' do indeed rest nearby, and that their pilgrimage is at an end.
Here in Argentina it is popularly believed that Evita's body was initially exhumed by fanatical devotees (and Ms Duarte-Peron had many of these..) who truly believed her to be divine, and therefore not dead, but risen. I find it difficult to fathom such faith; such devotion.

I jokingly remark to some local people nearby that Madonna was far better looking than the real Evita (in Alan Parker's 1996 film) and they give me what can only be described as a fairly robust beating using bottles and short pieces of wood, as well as their fists and boots. I struggle free and return to my hotel room.
An hour later, there's a knock at my door. I'm amazed when I open it to see the people who had beaten me earlier. They all look rested, and very focused and motivated, and they have heavier bottles and stouter pieces of wood. They blacken my eyes like two huge, ripe plums and crack three of my ribs in another textbook beating.

As I recline on my balcony later, examining my bruised and swollen face in my shaving mirror, wondering if I should cancel my appointment to dine with two of the charming ladies from the "Foundacion Eva Peron" (who had helped me greatly with my research) my luck, hitherto not great, worsens yet further when a huge hornet flies up my shorts and lands an agonising sting on my right testicle.
The pain which follows almost knocks me unconscious. I sweat and shake and begin to hallucinate. I see the room a different shape. I see odd colours. I see that my testicle, now a vivid and angry red, has swollen to the size of a cricket ball. This effectively rules out all of my casual slacks for tonight. Dark glasses will conceal my blackened eyes, but my knacker now has a radius of 5 and a half inches. Mercifully, though, the pain has begun to subside.
I remember I've packed my bowler hat. I find that it fits very snugly over my enlarged pod. If I wear the bowler on my way to dinner, no one should notice, as it will be dark. I can remove my hat, but keep it with me, on my lap, and thusly conceal the elephantiasis of my afflicted gooly.
I decide on my stretch crimplene 'AdventurerPants', and a silk shirt in subtle eggplant. As I'm preparing to leave, I see the people who keep beating me up, outside the hotel, looking around for pieces of wood, but I manage to slip past them and into a taxi. I arrive at the restuarant, 'El Highhorse', with a minute or two to spare.

My dining companions, Consuela-Marie and Anna-Espias, thankfully are too polite to enquire as to why I have a bowler hat on my lap. I presume they take it to be a 'British eccentricity'. I notice that Consuela-Marie has particularly large breasts. I hope I can avoid becoming distracted by them, because if I should inadvertently take a semi I could be in all sorts of trouble. Thankfully, both of the ladies are such fascinating company that I'm utterly absorbed in the wealth of knowledge and the abundant detail they have to offer about Evita and her enduring legacy, here in Argentina and around the world.
As Consuela-Marie reaches into her handbag for her Marlboro Lights I sneak a look at her knockers. They're the big, round kind, which spill out of the top of her dress that you just want to pat the top of. As she lights a cigarette, I realise to my horror that the humidity of the evening air has caused my knacker to swell even further. Unbeknownst to me, numbed as I am by nearly two bottles of Cabarnet, my bowler hat has become rigidly affixed to my front right upper trouseral area.
Going on to a little nightclub is now definitely out; I won't be able to dance and I probably won't even fit into the booths.
I bid the ladies 'buenos noches' and leave as chivalrously as I can.....

(gervais & merchant interview, cont. from front page)

...find that stuff that's just not usually remotely funny, is hilarious when you do them really slow and play them dead straight.
When we did 'The Office' we had a strict rule on set: No jokes, laughing, anything. Not even smiling was OK. It was tough, sure, it was a slog. But it speaks for itself. You can sit through that whole series and not so much as smile once. We take pride in the silence. People are just awestruck, and it's understandable."
I ask if the series of painful operations he's having on his increasingly curving spine are working and he shakes his head slowly and glances down for a moment.
"It doesn't look good..." he says. "My doctor thinks I should disappear up my (cont. on page 125)

CLARKSON THREATENS TO QUIT BEEB IN 'MANLINESS' ROW

Jeremy Clarkson has threatened to quit top rated motoring show 'Top Gear' if BBC bosses don't make it more 'manly'.
The jeans wearing, pint liking presenter and journalist, 54, told CHB:

"I'm a man's man. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I believe TV programmes about cars are a man's thing. I was all for the change of format for 'Top Gear', when we started doing it in a big garage and stopped doing reviews of poofy little cars only poor people could afford. I was all for having birds in the audience, provided they had big tits and tight tops and stood near the front so I could single them out for some of my light hearted blokey laddishness. I even came up with the idea that the Stig should always wear his helmet and play uncool CDs when he's doing the test drives. And that one of the other presenters should be a short arsed pretty boy who can't take his ale.
Recently, poofyness has definitely been creeping back in, though. I mean, when I started doing all my features where I smashed up caravans and attacked cheap cars with sledgehammers, the audience lapped it up and ratings went through the roof. When I suggested to the bosses we up the ante with things like seeing if we could buy a used Ferrari for less than £25000 and drive it in a straight line through 25000 infected cows during the foot and mouth outbreak, or attempting to drive a Bugatti Veyron non stop from the north pole to Casino Square in Monte Carlo with a picture of Kylie Minogue's arse stuck to the dashboard and Richard Hammond in the boot pissing into a Lucozade bottle they just looked at me like I'd ran into their living room on Christmas Day and vomitted...........all over their poodle.
I've told them if they want to turn the show into some kind of educational and informative Open University style carnival of poofiness, they can count me out. I just can't see myself doing the kind of...(cont. on page 64)

ON 'NATIONAL BRING YOUR PET TO WORK DAY', JEREMY KYLE'S CHAMELEON TURNS BURBERRY

further selections from CHB's back catalogue. Click to enlarge.

CCTV FOOTAGE OF CREATION OF UNIVERSE 'FAKE'

CUSTOMS & EXCISE REPORT RECORD SEIZURES OF JARS OF HUMAN EYES

EVERLASTING SANDALS NOT AS COMFY AS ADVERT CLAIMED, SAY ANGRY OAPs

NIKE, ADIDAS WORKERS SET TO STRIKE FOR LONGER PLAYTIME

city news:
LONDON HOUSE PRICES HIT ALL TIME HIGH

Property prices in the capital are continuing to rocket, as it was revealed that an estate agent is this week offering for sale a tennis shoe, which is hanging by it's lace from a tree in West Kensington, for an astonishing £750,000.
When CHB contacted the estate agency, Jarful, Human & Eyes, of Chelsea, a spokesman confirmed not only that the property was on the market, but also that several parties had expressed an interest in it. When we asked if a tennis shoe was practical for use as a domicile, the spokesman told us: "Obviously, this is not the largest property you will find, but if you ask any potential housebuyer I'm sure they'd tell you that they would be prepared to sacrifice a great deal of floorspace to purchase an address in Kensington." We asked if it was even possible for a person to fit inside the shoe and he said: "Not as such, no. The current owner, however has invested in a new, very stout lace. A new owner could quite easily wear the shoe, and hang from the tree quite happily for many years to come. Don't forget also that planning permission has already been granted to hang a second tennis shoe from the tree, so there is tremendous potential for developing the property into what would be an extremely attractive home in the future."
CHB asked if we might be allowed to view the property, and when we were shown around later by the agency's Phanella De Twatte, she was keen to point out what a prestigious area the tennis shoe hangs in. "Your neighbours would include many well known and influential people" she said, "and the elevation of the property is such that you are afforded excellent, unrestricted views of where the late pop singer Freddie Mercury used to put his bins out."

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