Yorkshire chips n gravy campaigner Ken Mither to join Cafe Spike

Proper chips, pictured wi gravy.

Proper chips, pictured wi gravy.

It’s been a case of hard times here at Cafe Spike recently as almost our entire writing team have gone either absent without leave or lobbed in a sick note, so we’re delighted to announce the signing of legendary Yorkshire chips n gravy campaigner Ken Mither to the team.

Known for his typically dry Yorkshire wit 69 year old Ken is a fanatical promoter of ‘proper gravy’ – especially with chips – having spearheaded the 2012 campaign for chips to be served with gravy after being repeatedly served chips “as dry as chaff” in the south of England.

“Tha can’t beat proper gravy,” Ken told us. “It goes well wi’ just about owt. An’ I’ve seen it as my mission to spread the gravy gospel – especially to them Philistines dahn south. Tha can’t have dry chips. They don’t even serve proper mushy peas dahn south. They have what they call ‘pea fritters’ – which is like a ball o’ peas. It’s indecent.

“I’ll be spreading’ the gospel o’ proper gravy here on Cafe Spike. And mushy peas. And probably beetroot too – although I don’t much care for beetroot really but it was written into the contract. I expect I’ll talk abaht other stuff too. If I can be arsed.”

PB

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What Do You Mean, Are We Still Here?

Dip your bread - get in there!

Dip your bread – get in there!

As our regular reader – who has probably wandered off somewhere – and one or two others may be aware, we’ve been offline for a while recently. We’re not telling you why, because frankly it’s none of your business. What we are prepared to reveal is that we haven’t been in prison or been sanctioned by the internet or anything like that.

Or at least not that we noticed.

But now we’re back, hopefully to amuse and entertain. That’s if we can root out stuff to write about that’s either amusing or entertaining, and if we can be arsed to do it. What we won’t be doing is posting poxy links to nonsense sites. There’s way too much of that going on in the wacky world of the internet as it is. After all, there are only so many vines showing kittens cuddling up to babies and dickheads trying to be gangstas that a person can stand, without putting one’s sanity at risk.

It’s the same with memes – Facebook is plastered with them, and in our opinion they’re all shite. Faux words of wisdom and advice put out by cretins.

If you’re offended by our attitude, please feel free to fuck right off. We’re as grumpy as shit and proud of it. It’s what happens when you spend too long reading Mail Online comments – you begin to loathe humanity, that’s if there’s any humanity on show there in the first place. And don’t even get us started on the Express comments – they make Iain Duncan Smith look compassionate by comparison.

Speaking of Iain Duncan Smith: Is it just us or is he getting to look more like a shark with every passing day? A voracious and ultimately merciless predator? Something to ponder. Can’t help but think his mother would have been doing the world a favour if she’d sat on the little fucker at birth and crushed the life out of him. We can imagine the birth – he’d have chewed his way out of his mother’s womb and erupted into the world with the ferocity of the chestbusting alien out of that old film. The one with John Hurt in it.

We need a bit more practice at this, obviously. It’s like a footballer or a boxer coming back after a lengthy lay off. One gets a tad rusty.

This article – if you can call it that – was written as an off the cuff tribute to that wonderful composer Johann Sebastian Bach – who popped his clogs a long time ago, but whose musical gifts to the world live on.

Paddy Berzinski

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Captain America Unmasked?

Captain America or just some silly old sod playing Penny For The Guy?

Captain America or just some silly old sod playing Penny For The Guy?

We got a really weird email today at the café, consisting of a picture of some old geezer posing alongside some as yet non-gender specific shrivelled specimen which looks like the type of thing that would enjoy an occasional sojourn with a sailor in a foreign land for a penny or two. Frankly we were utterly baffled. The accompanying text was even more baffling. It simply read: “Captain America unmasked? Do your research. The answer is out there.”

Not having the faintest idea what this nonsense was all about, we ran a Goggle search on Captain America purely out of curiosity.

It seems that Captain America is a Marvel Comics superhero who made his debut in 1941, that his real name is Steve Rogers, that he wears some kind of stupid body stocking, that he’s an expert in Morse code and that he carries a shield that vaguely resembles a dustbin lid with a star drawn on it. The impression we got was that Captain America is the sort of reactionary right wing mug who these days would probably watch Fox News and suck up everything that idiot Sean Hannity says and perceive it as wisdom.

All of which means exactly jack shit to us.

Looking at the guy in the fuzzy pic, he could be a Steve we suppose, at a stretch. The poor guy looks henpecked all to hell and back and probably talks the talk when he’s fraternising with his jock buddies, although it seems pretty certain that he wouldn’t know where the house trousers are because his wife is wearing them. Probably, if not almost certainly.

Further research revealed that Captain America is a popular character in the motion pictures, played by Chris Evans – who we thought was a ginger British TV and radio presenter, but it seems it’s a different Chris Evans, who also isn’t the bloke in the email pic we got. Although the bloke in the pic may well be a hundred years old, judging by the look of him.

And probably resides in a gated community because he’s paranoid about people with a slightly darker skin hue than himself, especially if their surname happens to be Obama.

The problem for us here at Café Spike is that even though the answer may well be out there, we have no wish to find out what it is. We’re Café Spike, not the bastard X Files.

So please don’t send us any more moronic emails about Vikings and stuff because we’re busy people and we don’t care.

Reporter: Burgess “Never Seen Combat Because I Made That Part Up” Butthole

*No xenophobic, homophobic, paedophilic, racist, hate-mongering nut-jobs were hurt in the process of publishing this article. Which is a pity really, but you can’t have everything.

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Britain First Left Bewildered By Latest Edition Of Charlie Hebdo

What Does It Mean?

What Does It Mean?

Unprecedented demand for the first edition of French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, since the Paris massacre a week ago has resulted in an unprecedented print run of 2 million copies, one of which we brought back to London in the early hours of this morning. The 16 page edition continues the exuberant and anarchic tradition of the magazine, and to our surprise, one person who was chomping at the bit to read it was Britain First member Conan Templar.

“It’s anti-Muslamic innit?” Templar said as he examined the magazine. “That’s what it’s all about. Anything that’s anti-Muslamic is okay by me. I’m with Charlie Hebdo all the way, and wiv all them Frenchies what come out on the anti-Muslamic march on Sunday. Fair play to the old snail scoffers – they ain’t ‘avin’ it no more. ‘S a pity more of our own people aren’t filled up wiv the courage of their connections. We needs to make a stand and take our country back. Like wot the Frenchies are doin.’ They showed what they’re all abaht on Sunday – patriotism – not sittin’ abaht like hippies singing bladdy John Lydon peace songs.”

As Templar tucked into a pie n mash breakfast washed down with a mug of builder’s tea, his expression changed radically as he thumbed through the Charlie Hebdo magazine.

“What’s this crap?” Templar spluttered. “It’s all in bladdy foreign innit! Bladdy Frenchies! What’s up wiv ’em? Don’t they speak ‘er Majesty the Queen’s bleedin’ English or wot? This is no use to me Chief – can’t understand a bleedin’ word of it. Might as well be in hydroponics as far as I’m concerned. What a load of old shit!”

At which point our reporter made his excuses and left.

In the brave tradition of Sky News we can’t show you the cover of this edition of Charlie Hebdo because it would be irresponsible and we don’t want nutters with guns coming after us.

In related news, both Britain First and Fox News have been nominated as ‘Best New Comedy Act’ in the Perrier awards at the Edinburgh Festival.

Or so we’re told.

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Our Facebook Friends Aren’t Really Friends – They Just Don’t Care

This 'Friend' Offered To Sell Us Viagra

This ‘Friend’ Offered To Sell Us Viagra

Café Spike is in crisis. And the reason is simple. We just found out that our Facebook ‘friends’ don’t really care about us. Not that we have that many Facebook friends anyway, because generally speaking we do tend to be a little obnoxious and patronising towards certain intellectually challenged ‘friends’ or ‘friends of friends’ when they can’t spell proper like what we do, or when they insist on communicating in upper case shouty capital letters.

So we decided to put our friends’ loyalty to the test.

We sent out personal messages to all our friends relating that our pet crocodile – Josephine – had been stricken with mumps and that we needed donations urgently to relieve Josephine’s pain, and to prevent his testicles from atrophy. Which would have rendered him a sterile crocodile. We asked for any donation from 10p to a million squids.

Result: nothing.

So we determined that our friends don’t really give a toss about animal welfare.

So we decided to appeal to our friends’ humanity.

We posted personal messages appealing for donations, scurrilously claiming that our entire editorial team had been smitten with scurvy and an unspecified sexually transmitted disease. And that we were running low on booze and pies. We went to great pains to explain that our situation was becoming intolerable and that the atmosphere in our office was becoming unbreathable due to fart gas and halitosis.

Nothing.

Nobody offered to help. (With the possible exception of Frank Jordan who offered to send us a pile of cabbage. Thanks Frank – but it would only have made matters worse on the fart gas front. And in such an enclosed space it was never really going to be a viable option.)

Our final throw of the dice was to admit that we’re dirt poor, that we’ve got the bailiffs in and that our families are facing a phantom existence of drug addiction and sexual slavery unless somebody could raise $1 Million or £750,000 UK quids for a world cruise to temporarily alleviate the suffering.

Nobody sent us any money.

All we got back in the end was a pile of memes featuring fluffy kittens, puppies, and quotes from everybody ranging from Nietzche and Einstein through John Lennon and Timmy Mallet.

Our conclusion was that our friends don’t really care about us.

Are we bothered?

Are we f……..

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Derek Philpott – A Letter To Bruce Springsteen

The Boss - Doing His Thing. In Happier Times.

The Boss – Doing His Thing. In Happier Times.

Dear Boss,

Firstly, I would ask you not to be alarmed by the above salutation – although he is thought to have sent a mocking letter to Scotland Yard that commenced in the same fashion, I can assure that I am not Jack The Ripper or indeed any other unaccosted Victorian ne’er do well, although I have been known to ‘murder’ the odd song at the local karaoke in my time!

I am Derek Philpott.

But I digress. I am sorry to learn that, having discovered that one ‘can”t start a fire without a spark’, it would sadly seem to have transpired as detailed in your ‘brooding lament’, ”I’m On Fire” that you are now ablaze. [Read more…]

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Bonding Between Father And Son Can Cause Permanent Scarring

Testors and Testes. To this day, those words are interchangeably woven in my mind, and so, I was ill prepared for the terror they would again conjure when my son, who just turned eight years old, asked the inevitable question, “Dad, where do model airplanes come from?”

It’s the question I’ve been dreading since little Harry Jr. was old enough to realize that other kids had toys that you couldn’t just go to a toy store and buy, but came from a magical place and were proudly displayed on his friends’ toy shelves. Thinking back to my own childhood gave me the shivers as I recalled one of the most horrific father/son projects of my adolescence. [Read more…]

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Letters of the Sukebe Kamikaze #3

kamikaze

神 風 Honourable Mother and Father.

Now that I have the assistance of my new navigator/wireless operator Oshji I should have no trouble finding the hated Americans and flying my slow flimsy aircraft into their heavily armoured warships to please the Emperor. As you are aware I can hardly wait to have my bloody entrails draped over the barrels of their guns in the defence of our homeland. [Read more…]

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Travels With The Popinjays: Rome (Including Roma v Arsenal)

With Dave and Penny Popinjay.

I’m not one for waxing lyrical about the merits or otherwise of travel destinations, but I was really looking forward to visiting Rome. It’s the Eternal City after all, the city of the legendary seven hills, founded by Romulus, who with his twin Remus was suckled by a wolf – after being chucked in the Tiber. It’s the epicentre of the ancient Roman Empire, replete with ancient monuments, the core of Christianity, the cradle of civilisation as we know it. Alongside Athens, Istanbul, Cairo, and Timbuctoo to name but a few. Makes you wonder how many ‘cradles of civilisation’ there are. But I digress.

What could possibly go wrong?

On day one – just about everything. I was desperate to fall in love with Rome, but the harder I tried, the more Rome seemed to reward me with a kick up the arse. [Read more…]

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Letters Of The Sukebe Kamikaze #2

kamikaze

神 風
Honourable Mother and Father,

It’s been very quiet this week at the 202nd Kamikaze Air Group as we seem to have run short of pilots and aeroplanes again. We do tend to get through a lot of them, and it’s only due to my misfortune that I’m still here toasting my departed comrades with their sake as they rise up to heaven. How lucky they are! I long for the day when my splattered remains are hosed off the foredeck of an American battleship after I’ve crashed my aircraft into it to please the Emperor. [Read more…]

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