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.


It couldn’t possibly get any dafter.

Unless you know better…

Paddy Berzinski for


Spurned Husband Gives Love Rival Dirty Look

A happily married couple pictured in 1970's Torquay

A happily married couple pictured in 1970’s Torquay

Spurned husband, Julian Whiterock – who has been accused by his soon to be ex-wife, Jane Whiterock of being boorish, self centred, controlling, obsessive, slightly psychopathic, megalomaniacal and sexually deviant – got one over on his love rival by giving him a dirty look upon encountering him in the sliced bread aisle of a local supermarket.

The Whiterocks, who are in the process of divorcing since Julian’s behaviour became impossible to tolerate face a difficult situation, given that Jane has started seeing another man.

“I’m not having it,” Julian raged at the wet fish counter. “She married me for richer, for poorer, better or worse, in sickness and in health and that’s how things are and always will be. I know it’s rather unusual having a love triangle showdown in a supermarket but when I saw my wife with that man in the bread aisle something inside me snapped, and I gave him the dirtiest of dirty looks. This isn’t over yet, believe me.”

Jane Whiterock countered that Julian had treated her like shit for the most part of their marriage and that he’d refused to respond to counselling, or to change his ways.

“So what?” Julian fumed. “I’m the man of the house aren’t I? AND THAT is why I gave him the dirty look. Quite frankly he deserves it.”

The ‘other man’ in the tormented love triangle, Stephen Richardson reported that he hadn’t even noticed that Julian Whiterock was simultaneously shopping in the same supermarket, and claimed not to have noticed either Julian or the reported dirty look.

“I didn’t even notice that Julian was there,” said Stephen Richardson, the ‘other man.’ “And I don’t mean to appear rude but we’ll be approaching the checkout soon and I want to get some Belgian buns, a Ben and Jerry’s, an Eton Mess and a bottle of Courvoisier for Jane for when we spend Saturday night in watching a movie. She likes stuff like that. Toodle pip.”

“Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this,” Julian seethed at the checkout. “I’ve just bought her a foot spa, three cans of deodorant, a packet of corn plasters and a cook book by Rick Stein. There’s only ever going to be one winner in this love triangle. You’ll see.”

*Renowned TV chef Rick Stein was unavailable for comment but witnesses reported seeing Jane Whiterock leaving the supermarket carpark accompanied by Stephen Richardson in a Volkswagen Golf at roughly the same time Julian Whiterock crashed his BMW into a petrol pump.

If it’s any consolation we don’t know what any of this means either.

Cafe Spike.


Vladimir Putin nominated for Nobel Peace Prize by Mail and Express readers

Hmm..not at all sure about this one - V Putin

Hmm..not at all sure about this one – V Putin

Following his decision to take decisive action in Syria in order to prop up the Assad regime, Russian President Vladimir Putin has found a somewhat unexpected source of support from Express and Mail readers, who almost unanimously are suggesting that he be nominated for the prestigious Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts to end the conflict there by bombing the fuck out of everything that moves.

A Kremlin spokesman told us: “Mr Putin is determined to put an end to this interminable Middle Eastern mess by bombing the crap out of the place and then sending in ground troops to kill anything left alive and restore the country to its original state, which essentially means a windblown sand dune. If necessary he says he’ll nuke the buggers and turn the sand into glass – that is how determined Mr Putin is to bring peace and stability to the area. After that…who knows. Maybe Kansas, where Dorothy and Toto will be vaporised and definitely not Oz bound and she won’t be seeing no wizard. Having said that, Mr Putin has been overwhelmed by the level of support for his peace initiative from Express and Mail readers. By way of appreciation he’s thinking about targeting Brazil too, for a bit of a laugh like.”

Express readers, judging by their online comments will be delighted to learn that their lengthy discourses extolling the virtues of Mr Putin, maintaining that President Obama is a Wahabbist Muslim and basically that everybody who ever purchased a kebab, an onion bhaji, or a vegetable samosa should be shot on sight are actually being read by more than five or six like-minded lunatics.

“I’ve been warning people about the New World Order and the Leftist Cultural Marxists for ages,” Express reader stated. “I’m just elated that the message is getting through at last, and to such a dedicated peacemaker as Mr Putin. It would make my life complete if I could use this as a stepping stone to get a shot on the radio with Alex Jones or do a You Tube interview with David Icke. It’s all about truth and reality at the end of the day.”

Martin Shuttlecock