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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Jeremy Corbyn Fails To Feed 5,000 Supporters With Five Loaves And Two Fishes

"Who brought salt and vinegar?"

“Who brought salt and vinegar?”

Under siege Labour Party Leader Jeremy Corbyn today was forced to admit that he isn’t actually divine following a failed attempt to feed five thousand supporters in Parliament Square using only five loaves and two fishes.

“I’m a bit disappointed in Jeremy actually,” said Labour voter Tristram Helvellyn. “He promised us a meal, and he sent a tray round with five loaves of Hovis, and two kipper fillets, assuring us that there was enough to go round. There wasn’t. From what I heard afterwards, one bloke whacked the two kippers between two slices of Hovis and scoffed it, and a few others got a slice of dry bread. It’s just not good enough. I think he should resign.”

“This is what you get with the Islington set,” a disgruntled Labour supporter from Sheffield complained. “Delia Smith’s not good enough for these bastard champagne socialists, oh no, they have to go all fucking Nazarene on us. No wonder Labour are in the shit. They’re so fucking out of touch with reality that they’ve allowed that absolute tit, Farage and his apostolic knuckle dragging racist morons to take the initiative. For fuck’s sake – we just want a Labour party to represent the ordinary people, a fair party who fight for what’s right and don’t serve the ruling elite by tolerating tax evasion, and don’t kiss the arses of the banks and the globalist elite. Five loaves and two fishes, I ask you – it’s a fucking joke. Why not play it the SNP way and actually try representing the people? Or is that too much to fucking ask, coming from the mugs who pay these pricks wages?”

In related news – England are still crap at football, although no-one can accuse the current squad of inconsistency – they bottled it. As usual.

Ken Mither

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We don’t know what Sky News have done but Jeremy Corbyn is still talking to Café Spike

Jeremy's still talking to us - if that's really him

Jeremy’s still talking to us – if that’s really him

In scenes which brought to mind the classic line “Don’t tell him Pike!” it was a strange sight, seeing Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn walking down the road and studiously ignoring questions fired at him by Sky News reporters, before hopping into a car and clearing off. We can’t imagine why anybody in their right mind wouldn’t want to talk to Sky News. It’s not as if they’re biased or anything, or like they’ve been guilty of phone hacking…hang on…roll that back. We’ve just spotted the Murdoch connection – don’t worry, it’s Monday and we haven’t woken up properly yet.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we were a bit concerned that Mr Corbyn wouldn’t talk to Café Spike either, so we decided to give him a call on a mobile number that we paid thirty quid for off a contact down the pub.

When we called the number, somebody who sounded a bit like Jeremy Corbyn answered, so we asked him why he’d maintained a stony silence when questioned by Sky News.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now,” the person on the end of the line told us.

Concerned, we asked if Mr Corbyn was still talking to Café Spike, and he said he was, although he admitted he’d never heard of us. “What do you do?” he asked.

“As little as possible really,” our reporter answered with painful honesty. “What can we talk about?”

“I don’t know,” Mr Corbyn replied. “Anything really, apart from those wankers at Sky News.”

“Did you see the United v Liverpool match on Saturday?” we probed.

“I did,” Mr Corbyn said. “Not much of a game first half but it livened up a bit in the second. United murdered them really, but the highlight for me was Christian Benteke’s spectacular overhead kick. That was a peach of a goal and he executed it to perfection.”

“What about the boy Martial’s goal? And the Blind set piece goal? And the Ander Herrera penalty – the first penalty he’s ever taken as a pro?” we asked Mr Corbyn.

“They were good, and on any other day Martial’s effort would have been goal of the month, but I still think Benteke’s was better.”

“Jeremy,” we asked in no small degree of exasperation. “Are you a fucking closet Loonypool fan or what?”

“Are you sure you aren’t one of those wankers from Sky News?” Mr Corbyn asked, suddenly adopting a menacing tone.

At which point we made our excuses and hung up.

Our Editor in Chief, Martin Shuttlecock had this to say: “I thought Jeremy Corbyn was a breath of fresh air in British politics, a man with a vision who is taking the Labour party back to its traditional roots. The thought of him being a closet Scouser is quite frankly devastating. I’m crushed I am. That’s if it really was him. Somebody tell me it’s just an elaborate hoax.”

*Jeremy Corbyn’s office (allegedly) confirmed that Mr Corbyn won’t be speaking to Jeremy Clarkson any time soon either. Even though his name is Jeremy too.

Or so they say.

Paddy Berzinski

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At Last – Cafe Spike Gets The Chance To Put The Boot In On Jeremy Corbyn

Keeping Schtum - Jeremy Corbyn - A Pic We Nicked Off The Internet.

Keeping Schtum – Jeremy Corbyn – A Pic We Nicked Off The Internet.

In the complicated world of international news media, poor old Café Spike comes way down in the pecking order when it comes to publishing articles of national importance. It’s been six weeks since we submitted our application to run an article slamming Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn – and we finally got permission from the Ministry Of Disinformation this morning, personally signed off by Robert Danvers-Fotheringay, the Ministry’s Senior Minister.

Our brief was simple – dish the dirt on Corbyn and spread it liberally all over social media. Except…it wasn’t quite so simple. As any reporter worth his/her salt would do as a matter of course, we trawled through existing articles which purported to dish the dirt on Corbyn, and quite frankly they weren’t very impressive.

As usual the Express and the Mail led the pack with a zeal bordering on bloodlust, and the remarkable revelation surfaced that Corbyn has been married twice! Oh, the scandal! The impact of this hard hitting exclusive was somewhat dulled when his first wife revealed that they had separated amicably and remain on good terms. She also revealed that Jeremy was the stay at home type who liked to spend his evenings relaxing and eating cold baked beans from the tin. The late Keith Moon probably wouldn’t have been very impressed by that – Moon probably had more remarkable trips to the toilet in his heyday.

‘He talks to terrorists!’ the tabloids screamed. People like Hamas, the IRA, Hezbollah, and probably Hannibal Lecter, the Yorkshire Ripper and Satan himself. Corbyn supporters argue that the job of a politician is to tackle problems, and that problems can’t be tackled without dialogue. Bugger! That’s another angle flying out the window.

All that’s happened in the concerted media campaign to blacken Corbyn’s character is that it’s backfired spectacularly. Instead of smearing Corbyn – they’ve served only to enhance his reputation as a straight talking, thoughtful, honest politician. Until now.

In a shocking Café Spike exclusive, we can exclusively reveal in our exclusive that Mr Corbyn has an Achilles heel. When tasked with dishing the dirt, Café Spike never fails to come up with the goods, and it all happened right under the noses of hordes of press and TV reporters.

Following the announcement of Mr Corbyn’s landslide victory in the Labour leadership election, his first move was to go with crowds of supporters and the media to The Sanctuary, a pub and hotel situated on Tothill Street in the heart of Westminster, a short walk from Parliament and St James’s Park underground station.

One of our reporters has been in The Sanctuary – Martin Shuttlecock once visited the establishment to attend a meeting, and from what he says about it, it isn’t the sort of place where a potential Prime Minister should be hanging out.

“As soon as I walked in there the alarm bells started ringing,” Shuttlecock told us. “Somebody said that a rat had poked its head in the door – and this in broad daylight – but the barman put it down to construction work going on down the street. Then as I purchased a drink from the bar and took a seat I immediately noticed a crowd of men huddled around a TV set watching a West Ham game on the TV and cheering every time the Hammers did something useful with the ball. Suffice to say, they weren’t cheering much, but West Ham? I’ve seen ‘Green Street Hooligans’ so I know all about West Ham. For Jeremy Corbyn to go in that pub is a disgrace. He ought to be ashamed of himself. I know I was.”

Reporter – Paddy Berzinski

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