Contaminated Egg Scare A Huge Boost For Brexit

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Express makes “fake news” accusation. The irony…

Bollocks!

Bollocks!

At a time when the British public don’t really have much to laugh about, given the terror attacks on Westminster Bridge, the Manchester bombing, the Borough Market atrocity and the Grenfell Tower catastrophe, the Daily Express doesn’t disappoint when it comes to disseminating rank hypocrisy. Indeed, it would be funny or at best bitterly ironic that the “respectable” face of Britain First wallows in its own excrement, but it really isn’t.

This is the Express – an organ that refers to itself as a news outlet, which in itself is a laughable concept, accusing Corbyn supporters of spreading fake news.

It should be funny, but it isn’t.

This is the Express – the arsewipe of a rag that’s been spreading outright lies about the EU for decades, the Muslim hating Express, the rag which preys on benefit recipients and single mothers, the Express that detests refugees, the Express that shits and pisses on reality on a daily basis on its vile website frequented by vile basement dwelling sexually frustrated individuals.

The Express are the people who spread outright lies about the EU – banning bacon sandwiches, banning curved bananas, stating that the EU is an unelected dictatorship.

The very same Express which publishes stories about Barack Obama and Angela Merkel passing secret “Illuminati” hand signals, that can’t even give a reliable weather report, that basically spouts zero other than absolute bollocks on any given occasion.

They’ve accused Corbyn “supporters” of spreading fake news regarding reporting restrictions on the control of casualty figures from the Grenfell Tower catastrophe on a blog. Actually the Express are clutching at straws and failing as usual with these lurid accusations by attempting to associate them directly with Jeremy Corbyn.

In short – it’s all bollocks. Everything the Express publishes is bollocks.

And worst of all, it’s nasty divisive bollocks. The Express epitomises everything that is wrong in this country. We have a brief message for the Express:

FUCK YOU!

Cafe Spike

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So we called that wrong – but Theresa May is still very much a dead woman walking

She certainly ain't Wonder Woman

She certainly ain’t Wonder Woman

As you, our sole reader may recall, we predicted that Theresa May would be gone by Monday, and it didn’t happen, although we weren’t exactly a million miles out on the prediction.

Instead we have the potential Coalition Of Chaos squatting in the in tray, with the DUP waiting in the wings. In short, despite all the bluster, the Tories are in a mess and it’s only the fact that they’ve had no real option other than a show of solidarity that Theresa May is still squatting in Number Ten.

So, how serious is this show of solidarity?

Personally I wouldn’t trust a single one of them. Consider Boris Johnson’s behaviour at the recent Cabinet meeting – shooting glares at Michael Gove three seats away as if threatening to take him out the back and give him a kicking. George Osborne (now mercifully out of the picture yet still one of the “breed”) going full on ballistic from the Evening Standard gun turrets and the opportunistic scramble for prominence amongst the whole gang of them.

We’d like to think of it as forced loyalty. Loyalty borne of necessity. Then there’s the toxic DUP to consider…

It won’t last long.

Paddy Berzinski

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May will be gone by Monday – Exclusive

Off you fuck Theresa.

Off you fuck Theresa.

As if a disastrous election campaign wasn’t bad enough for Theresa May and the Conservatives, they now appear to be looking for a coalition with the Democratic Unionist Party in order to hold a razor thin majority in Westminster – a move which is sounding alarm bells in all quarters.

It seems it’s perfectly acceptable for Theresa May to form an alliance with a bunch of right wing religious zealots in order to cling on to power by her fingernails, yet when Jeremy Corbyn held conciliatory meetings with the IRA he was lambasted as the devil incarnate.

Clutching at straws, consorting with terrorists and jeopardising the Northern Ireland peace process by making deals with a group involved in a multi-million pound solar energy scam which almost bankrupted the province isn’t seen as the way to go by anyone – not even May’s fellow Tories.

She really is in an untenable position, and obviously in denial.

We’re predicting she’ll have no alternative other than to resign on Monday, as the desperation increases and reality kicks in. The only possible outcome is that she’ll be issued with an ultimatum by her own party.

She won’t accept being unceremoniously booted out leaving resignation as the only option.

Martin Shuttlecock

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For God’s Sake Woman – RESIGN!

And now the end is near, and so I face the final indignity...

And now the end is near, and so I face the final indignity…

You know what Theresa me old flower – take your austerity programme, take your police cuts, your local authority cuts, take your dementia tax, take your benefit sanctions, take your bring back fox hunting proposal, take your strength and stability, take your privatisation plan for the NHS, take your HS2, take your Brexit negotiation, take your ivory trade, take your privatisation plans for our energy, take your DUP chums, take your Saudi arms deals, take your Trump loving chums, take Iain Duncan Smith, take William Rees-Mogg and his multi-million pound government handouts, take the Mail, take the Express, take the Torygraph, take your running in wheat fields, take your “fuck me” shoes and take your necklaces made out of fox testicles and go.

Resign.

The people have had enough of you.

PS – Don’t forget to feed the cat on your way out.

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Theresa May addicted to lemon-sucking claims quack doctor

Is this possible? Could Theresa May’s continuously gurning visage be a side effect of uncontrolled lemon sucking or is it just a load of old nonsense? We contacted the quack doctor who made the outrageous claim and this is what he told us: [Read more…]

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How mental would a war with Spain be?

The calm before the storm.

The calm before the storm.

With all this guff about a war with Spain in defence of Gibraltar we got to thinking: What would happen? How would it play out?

We’ve concluded that such an event would be an absolute farce. Probably beginning with:

Theresa May ordering a seaborne invasion of Spain with a ‘Task Force’ comprising of an aircraft carrier with no planes. The Spanish President responds by appealing for volunteer fighters, but the appeal falls on deaf ears as the only Spaniards with any interest in coming to the cold damp UK are already here working in bars and restaurants. The rest like their sunshine, their senoritas and their La Liga and can’t be arsed.

Arron Banks funds a home defence unit and appoints Nigel Farage Captain of the Walmington on Sea platoon.

Theresa May makes plans for a bowling game with Donald Trump at Plymouth Hoe on D-Day2.0 and promises to wear ‘fuck me’ shoes and test the weight of Trump’s bowls.

In the meantime while the Spanish are watching El Clasico between Real Madrid and Barcelona at the Bernabeu and lobbing pig heads onto the playing area, Britain launches a sneaky full on naval assault in a pincer movement, targeting the Northern port of Bilbao and the Med city of Barcelona.

In London, Spanish waiters retaliate by masturbating into the carbonara sauce of Conservative and UKIP voters.

The Royal Marines land on the beaches near Bilbao but the locals just laugh, befriend them and buy them Margaritas. The assault stalls as three Marine battalions are pinned down on the beach drinking and singing Julio Iglesias songs deep into the night. Fireworks are let off by the locals. Initial concern by the Marines is not in evidence.

“They’re just fireworks,” one says. “Best war I’ve ever been in. Apparently the lassie in the flamenco costume wants to take me for a paella. Wah hey! Get in!”

The Spanish President interrupts all media broadcasting to announce that Neymar’s third goal was a blatant handball after Barcelona’s 6-5 win at the Bernabeu and slams the Brazilian for being a “dirty cheating hijo de puta.” (Son of a bitch.)

Boris Johnson likewise interrupts all UK public broadcasting to complain that the Spanish aren’t taking this seriously.

The Spanish President responds by saying: “How can anybody take a gringo oaf like you seriously? You mop-headed Bullingdon Club muppet?”

Nigel Farage deserts the Walmington on Sea platoon and in defiance of orders commandeers a Piper Comanche light aircraft, which he proceeds to fly to somewhere near Berlin in order to beg for Angela Merkel to intervene and call for a halt to hostilities.

Theresa May would probably get very shouty and sweary.

Theresa May would probably get very shouty and sweary.

The SAS storm the beaches at Barcelona but it’s too hot so they doff their uniforms and make camp. Before long they’re approached by hordes of weed dealers, prostitutes, human statues, jugglers and beggars. They all get stoned while they wait for orders. To keep the troops hydrated a convoy of waiters in tuxedos serve our boys absinthe and cocktails and tell the troops they’ll have to up sticks and move if they aren’t dining or have a pre-booked reservation.

One irate SAS officer on Barcelona beach threatens to shoot a particularly aggressive waiter in the head over a tipping argument but the face off is defused by a passing taxi driver who takes the SAS man twelve metres further down the beach for 20 Euro.

UKIP leader Paul Nuttall announces that he’s been awarded the Victoria Cross for storming and holding single handedly an ice cream van on Las Ramblas as he penetrated enemy lines. Strangely the Twitter message bearing the announcement was posted from an IP address in Birkenhead.

Nigel Farage cocks up on the map reading and instead of landing in north-eastern Germany actually parachutes into North Korea. He is picked up by Kim Jong Un’s security forces and taken to Sandow Prison where he is interrogated by North Korean agents. Farage offers to treat Kim Jong Un to a black forest gateau, a bottle of Grouse and a bag of Walker’s crisps by way of a bribe. Jong Un refuses.

Angela Merkel tells Britain to stop being stupid. Douglas Carswell announces that he can’t take it any more and he’s moving to North Korea. ISIS release a video stating that they’re totally confused by the whole situation and can’t make head nor tail of it.

Donald Trump flies into Heathrow on Air Force 1 and tells everybody to calm down. “Just calm down,” he says. “Calm down. Right down. All the way down. Get Zen. Do it bigly. Chill the fuck out,” as he waves his tiny hands in soothing gestures.

Vladimir Putin calls Trump a “yellow bellied bastard” on Russian state TV. According to Trump’s spray-tanning technician and chief advisors there isn’t really any point arguing with that, so Trump lets it go. For now… He later calls Putin a “gay Russki poisoner” on Twitter but subsequently announces that his Twitter account has been hacked by a mysterious man in a hat in Manhattan.

Theresa May is absolutely gutted when a glamour photographer – mistaking her for an aspiring model – says that he wouldn’t waste valuable film on her. She retreats to Downing Street and kicks Geoffrey Hammond’s cat on the way in, sparking cries of outrage from animal activists. She will go on to call a halt to hostilities, recall the troops from Spain and cry herself to sleep.

Patriotic UKIP supporters would probably be cheering our boys on from the safety of their own living rooms.

Patriotic UKIP supporters would probably be cheering our boys on from the safety of their own living rooms.

In an effort to secure Nigel Farage’s release, intrepid Mail reporter Katie Hopkins jets out to Pyongyang but turns back at the airport after discovering that North Korea is chock full of “smelly yellow low rent people.” She is violently sick on the return flight and an emergency landing in order to secure medical attention for the withered hack is only averted when Ms Hopkins reads a comment on Express online where somebody calling himself “RockHardJohnson” from Bromsgrove wrote: “She’s a bit of a pig but I’d give her one. For spite.”

Meanwhile back in Blighty everyone celebrates VE day (Victory over Europe day) by going down the pub and grumbling about gays and Muslims, apart from the Remoaners – who aren’t actually moaning any more, simply making plans to get the hell out while the going’s good – and Jeremy Corbyn calls for an election whereby he has as much chance of winning as he has of backing an athematic in a blow-football game against a free diver.

In North Korea Nigel Farage announces from his prison cell that he’s forming a new party – NKIP – North Korea Independence Party, based on anti-American propaganda and an inherent fear of the Japanese, calling for mass rallies and an end to immigration. Kim Jong Un laughs in his face, telling Farage that no fucker in his or her right mind would want to immigrate to North Korea but tacitly agrees to the proposition.

Arron Banks offers financial backing to NKIP, Douglas Carswell declares his intention to stand as the Member For Pyongyang Western Ward but is bitterly opposed by Paul Nuttall – winner of 8 Victoria Crosses in the Anglo-Spanish War.

Guy Verhofstadt reportedly died laughing and Paul Golding and Jayda Fransen invited Pippa Middleton to be Chief Bridesmaid at their impending nuptials in The Grand Central Mosque in Karachi, Pakistan.

Kim Jong Un advised North Koreans to “Keep Calm And Carry On.”

That’s enough.

ENOUGH!

It couldn’t possibly get any dafter.

Unless you know better…

Paddy Berzinski for www.cafespike.com

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Our Christmas message to politicians

Theresa May - hasn't got a fucking clue what Brexit means.

Theresa May – hasn’t got a fucking clue what Brexit means.

Dear politicians

Whilst we – the great British public – truly appreciate that you’ve taken the time and trouble to record personal Christmas messages to the nation, you really shouldn’t have bothered. [Read more…]

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Macho man Trump does a runner in Reno after gun threat

I'll put my hands up! Just don't shoot!

I’ll put my hands up! Just don’t shoot!

Oh Donald…in a scene reminiscent of Stephen King’s novel, The Dead Zone, you ducked and ran for cover when security identified an armed threat.

Oh dear.

We thought you liked guns…

We thought you were a tough guy…

We thought you’d protect us…

There you go.

Byee…

Cafe Spike

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Couple laugh off lop-sided boob job

Andy and Kate in hysterics as the rogue left boob makes a break for freedom.

Andy and Kate in hysterics as the rogue left boob makes a break for freedom.

Andy and Katie Earnshaw, a young married couple from Harlow today saw the funny side in what could be construed as a personal disaster after a plastic surgeon got his implants mixed up and fitted Katie with a D implant in her right breast and an FF implant in her left breast, leaving the young bride spectacularly imbalanced in the Bristol City department.

“I was really flat chested at school and the other girls used to laugh at me,” Katie explained. “Then I met Andy and he’d always fantasised about having a wife with massive wonky tits but he couldn’t find one. So he got me instead. But he always vowed that one day he’d pay for massive wonky implants.

“I wasn’t keen on the idea at first, so I insisted that the implants would have to be symmetrical, and Andy reluctantly agreed. The guy who performed the surgery had really bad eyesight and I was horrified at first when I woke up and saw what he’d done, but I love my new boobs now and wouldn’t change them for the world.”

“I’ve been advised to sue the surgeon,” Andy told us. “But truthfully I’m delighted with the end product. When we go to bed at night I get Katie to do naked star jumps and it makes my day when her boobs bounce in opposite directions. The right one is a delight but the left one really makes my day and cracks me up. It sort of droops a bit then sticks out to one side and it’s mesmerising watching it bounce about like a partially deflated rugby ball. You’ve got to laugh…”

“I laugh my head off too when I’m doing the naked star jumps,” said Katie. “It’s really funny, but I have to be a bit careful. If I get too enthusiastic my left boob drags me off balance and I’ve banged my head on the wardrobe a few times by accident. Some people might think it’s a bit odd but it’s no different than having bunk beds really.”

Erm…

Whatever that means…

Ted Pemberton.

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