Welfare Reform Dramatically Improved My Life – Says Dead Man

Police issued a picture of a possible suspect today.

Police issued a picture of a possible suspect today.

Speaking through the channel of an accredited Spiritualist a dead man today claimed that welfare reforms had dramatically changed his life for the better. The 58 year old who collapsed and died an extremely undignified and public death on the grubby floor of a British factory whilst working shifts for the ‘living wage’ in an intensely stressful environment had nothing but praise for the government’s radical welfare reform programme.

“I had heart trouble,” the man revealed. “It was so bad that I could barely manage a single flight of stairs without having to stop and sit down for a rest. I felt completely useless to be honest. It got to a point where I couldn’t walk more than a few steps without feeling dizzy and nauseous, living in constant fear of losing my balance and falling under a bus or cracking my head on something sharp and suffering some kind of terrible brain trauma.

“I felt like my life was finished and that I’d become a burden to my family and society as a whole.

“Then I was invited to attend a Fitness For Work Assessment and it changed my life in the most positive way possible. I was judged to be fit for work by a fat cunt with his arm in a cast who basically ignored everything I said, but who dramatically improved my life by asserting that I was 100% fit and able to work and subsequently cut my Employment Support Allowance by £30 a week and told me to get off my lazy arse and contribute something to society, which at the time I thought was a bit of a liberty coming from a government funded prick who earned more in an hour being a twat than I could earn on the living wage in a month, but in the end the fat wanker was absolutely correct.

“It changed my life for the better, giving me the confidence to apply for various positions, including Head Goalkeeping Coach at Sunderland FC and sparring partner for Floyd Mayweather in Las Vegas.

“Suffice to say that I didn’t get any of the more glamorous posts that I applied for, but after being sanctioned by the DWP and forced to rely on food banks for basic sustenance I got offered a job in a factory on a production line where you had to have the hand speed of Muhammad Ali in order to make a go of it, whilst being berated by a fat bastard of a supervisor who just stood around shouting at people and watching them struggle whilst making no attempt whatsoever to assist.

“On my third day I wasn’t feeling too well but I went in to work regardless. Seeing as the DWP had declared me fit and healthy enough to work I mistakenly believed I’d be okay.

“Then we had a bit of a pile up on the line where I couldn’t quite keep up, but I did my best because anything is better than being at the mercy of the psychopathic DWP and this bastard of a government, but I keeled over. I hit the floor like a sack of shit and lay there helpless, twitching in my death throes as my workmates went into panic mode.

“I’d have loved to have spent my final minutes on this earth telling my nearest and dearest that I loved them unconditionally, but I drew my last breath on that shitty factory floor surrounded by strangers, and I was grateful to the DWP for making my life better. At least I was in work.

“And the employment agency who employed me offered discounted trauma counselling to my fellow employees, which really made my day as I watched from the firmament above.

“Thanks to the DWP I at least died with dignity. I’d rather that than to pop my clogs on the sofa eating macaroni cheese and watching Judge Rinder.

“It was all for the best really. I just hope my co-workers weren’t too traumatised watching me thrash about in agony and spit my dentures out as I shuffled off this mortal coil. I’m not bitter. Just very, very dead.”

(This article is dedicated to Iain Duncan Smith, the Department for Work and Pensions (DWP) ATOS assessors and that poor dead pig whose head suffered a fate worse than death even after death.)

*With all due respect to Judge Rinder.

PB

Share

The Late Jackie Collins – RIP But Your Books Were A Bit Shite Really

The Bronte Sisters pictured recently

Gone but not forgotten.

Nobody can say that we aren’t fair here at Café Spike, and we certainly aren’t the kind of people to kick a person when they’re down. Or when they’re dead. We sympathised with friends and family of the late Jackie Collins for their sad loss, and we admired Ms Collins’ fortitude on facing her illness in a selfless and courageous manner. Admirable to be sure. During her 77 years on this planet she did well for herself, selling something like 50 million books, and she amassed a considerable personal fortune.

All very commendable indeed.

Ms Collins was lauded and praised, quite rightly so, but what stuck in our craw were the inevitable grief junkies who took to the airwaves saying what a fantastic writer Ms Collins was, and that got us thinking.

Way back in the day when Jackie’s elder sister Joan was doffing her kit in filmed versions of Jackie’s steamy novels, The Stud and The Bitch the late Ms Collins was the talk of the town and her books were all the rage. They were said to be raunchy tales of international jet-setters told by one who was in the know.

So we tried one, and quite frankly we found it massively disappointing. Maybe we’d just picked the wrong book, so we picked another title which was described as a ‘darkly disturbing thriller.’ That was a disappointing anti-climax too. It was about as dark as a sun lamp in a telephone box.

We didn’t read any more.

However, feeling we may have been too quick to judge and given the heaps of praise lavished on this wonderful writer we decided to have another look at Ms Collins’ work. So we toddled over to Amazon and had a preview of Rock Star or somesuch.

Our conclusion was that we were not mistaken in our initial diagnosis. The book – or what we read of it – was shite. No better than the dross put out by so many self-published writers operating under the illusion that they possess some modicum of literary talent. To call the poor lady a fantastic writer is just delusional, and we aren’t being snobby about this. Just honest.

The writing is stilted, awful and the dialogue is painfully unrealistic. The characters have stupid names such as Lucky Santangelo and they inhabit the luxurious world of Hollywoodland where the sun always shines and people never need a shit. The most honest summation we could give in two words would be: vomit inducing.

We’re sorry for Jackie’s family and friends who have lost somebody who was dearly loved, and words can’t convey the sympathy we feel.

But please do lay off with the ‘literary genius’ bullshit. There are thousands of talented people out there who can write a damn site better than Jackie could ever aspire to. They just didn’t get the breaks. Calling Jackie Collins a literary genius is somewhat akin to referring to Jim Bowen as the consummate stand-up comedian.

Or comparing One Direction with The Temptations.

Wishful thinking.

Ted Pemberton

Share

Predictive Text Screws Up David Bowie Tribute

Jim Bowie Knife Pictured Skinning A Deer On The Internet

Jim Bowie Knife Pictured Skinning A Deer On The Internet

Cafe Spike reporter Barking Mad Murphy intended to post a heartfelt tribute to the artist David Bowie, who sadly passed away yesterday, but unfortunately his copy got somewhat mangled up by predictive text. We thought we’d run it anyway as we reckon Barking spoke from the heart. It came in as follows:

Ziggy Starbuck’s Dead At 69th Street

Music fans the world over were left aloft this morning as news came in from New Yorkshire that rock ice cream David Bowling had passed away peacably at his Manifold apartment following an 18  month battle with a can opener. Bowling, 69th Street came to promontary in 1969 when he first entered the chasm with futuristic singleton Space Odyssey, the tale of an astroturf who gets lost in Spain after his radio conquers out.

Following a short spell in the wildebeest, Bowling reinterpreted himself as androgynous caricature Ziggy Starbuck, with a hit singleton Spartan, taken from the albumen Ziggy Starbuck’s And The Spiders From Marsupial. A caricature he killed off following a legendary giggle at the Hamburger Apollo with Charles Bronson on lead guitarist.

Bowie knife resubmerged with a new personal assistant, Saladin Flame with a new albumen of the same name which spunked hit singletons The Laughing Gnome, The Jean Genius, Drive By Saturday and Flies On Mars, among others. Some of which were not right. But I did this in a flurry.

Over the following decimals Blowy created severe new personals, The Thin White Dunce being one of the most deplorable. Indeed, Bowling went on to star in severe films as well, such as The Man Who Fell To Eardrum, Merry Christmas Mrs Lawrence Of Arabia, and Lady Beth, in which he played a mobster in tights.

In 1985 Blowy wowed the audience at the Wimbledon Stadium Live Wire event, to raise urgent fun for starving Afrikaners, introducing a harrowing vindaloo at the conclusion of his stint accompanied by music from the Car Parks which saw a spike in donations. Also disappearing were the Queen, Bob Gelding, Midget Urine, You Two and Fill Colander.

He also filmed a vindaloo with Mixed Jagged swinging Prancing In The Sweet, a covered version of a hit song by Martian Greaves and the Van Drivers to raise fun.

Always fashion unconscious and trend spitting, Bowling moved to New Yorkshire and even John Lemon joined him on vocalisation on the trick Fashionable, although that might have been before.

Blowy went quiet a bit for a while after that, mainly doing experiments with a Tin Machine and wearing a wide variety of hats.

He was offered a night in by the Queen but refused and was asked to reform at the 2012 Luton Olympus but was too busty at the time.

He released his final album on his 69th Street birthday and then died of Capricorn, after having been apparently ill for sumo time.

He leaves behind a wife and son among others and our hearts go out to themselves at this sadness timber.

David Blowy – 1947-2016 – RIP

Barking Mad Murphy for Cafe Spike.

Share