Comrades!: An Everyday Story of Heroic Soviet Folk

MoNdAy

The temperature dipped a bit today. When we thawed out the thermometer it read -35.C. Heroic Comrade Cat is missing. We await his glorious return.

“Winter draws on” said Comrade Wife. – I thought that she’d put them on at the start of November! Still, we have a roaring bar on the electric fire and plenty of electricity to power it thanks to our glorious state energy produc…

WE THRUST THE BANNER OF FREEDOM INTO THE TESTICLES OF OUR CRAVEN ENEMIES WHO FLEE BEFORE US LIKE CARRION CROWS!!!

TuESdAY

Comrade Wife has injured herself by slipping on a frozen cow-pat at the collective farm and will be off work for 2 weeks. The doctor has told her to take things easy. I have thoughtfully advised her to take her wheeled shopping trolley with her when she sets off on the ten-kilometre journey through the snow to get my vodka from the market in Voldosgrad. It was touching to see the tears of gratitude well up in her eyes. Still no sign of heroic, Comrade Cat

OUR WOMENFOLK LAUGH AT THE PAMPERED WESTERN TROLLOPS WITH THEIR DECADENT, LABOUR-SAVING, TESCO ‘BUY-ONLINE’ HOME DELIVERY

WedNEsDaY

Had a nice quiet night in with Comrade Wife last night. We settled down in front of the TV to watch a heroic, 2-hour display of Cossack dancing by the 731st Infantry Regiment, followed by, ‘Denounce Your Traitorous Neighbour,’ hosted by ‘Cheeky’ Colonel Boranavich from the 21st Moscow NKVD death squad. How the poor downtrodden workers of The West must envy our cultural superiority. Have sent Children #3 and #7 out into snow to search for Comrade Cat

OUR GLORIOUS PIANO ACCORDIANS BRING JOY AND SUCCOUR TO THE WORLD!

ThURsDaY

Spectacular display of the Northern Lights last night. We were totally spell-bound as we looked out of the hole in the wall where the window used to be; marvelling at the coloured beams of light swirling in every direction. How foolish we felt when, this morning, Mr Danolski from downstairs told us that it was actually the local nuclear power station going into melt-down. Comrade wife and myself seem to have developed a slight rash. Still no sign of Children #3 and #7 or Comrade Cat.

WE JOYOUSLY VIOLATE THE SOFT UNDERBELLY OF THE IMPERIALIST JACKALS!

FrIdAy

Joyous news comrades! Heroic Comrade Cat has returned!. All of the family are delighted to see him as we’ve been worried for weeks. There will be special celebratory roast dinner tonight as he has brought a mouse back with him. Have sent Children #2 and #9 out to search for heroic siblings.

RAISE YOUR VOICES IN EXULTATION COMRADES AS WE MARCH ON TO A GLORIOUS NEW DAWN OVER THE TWITCHING BODIES OF OUR IMPERIALIST FOES!

SaTuRdAy

Beetroot gruel supply now dangerously low. Comrade Cat has gone missing again.

“Comrades” was devised and written circa 2010 on a tight budget by decadent plutocrat and Whelk editor, Danny SoZ, and Western imperialist hyena, Gary Moore.

I’ll Form Bombproof Canopy Over Gaza With My Big Face, Vows Olly Murs

Pop icon, Olly Murs, has revealed that he intends to shield the wartorn Gaza Strip from further destruction via Israeli airstrikes using his big face as a bombproof canopy.

Murs, 65, told newsmen: ‘I’m appalled by the destruction and the loss of innocent life that we see on our TV screens daily and have decided I can no longer stand idly by.

‘I have emailed the head honcho of Gaza, telling him that I’m more than happy to use my massive dial to provide shelter for these poor devils.

The Dance With Me star went on: ‘It’s the least I can do, and as soon as I’ve finished filming a Stars In Their Eyes Xmas Special, I’ll be on the first plane out there.

‘It’s not that I’ve got it in for the Jews per se as my next-door neighbour’s one and we get on pretty well, but you can’t have innocent women and kids getting blown to buggery can you?’

It is understood that Murs will be lifted above the area using a number of cranes which will position his enormous face above some of the hardest hit areas, including a recently targeted Gaza City refugee camp and a number of hospitals in Khan Younis that have been threatened with destruction by the Israeli Defence Force.

In other news, roly-poly Jewish broadcaster, Vanessa Feltz, told a rally of Pro-Israeli demonstrators in London yesterday that she intends to shore up Israel’s vulnerable northern border with Lebanon using her gigantic, wobbly arse.

New TV Series Will Document Murders Committed in ‘The Smallest Room’

A new documentary series from the Crime Investigation TV channel will chart the various murders that have taken place in the lavatory during the last hundred years.

Following the successes of shows like: Murdered By My Mom/Dad/Aunty/Member Of Parliament/Woman Next Door etc, the channel hopes to boost viewing figures even further by chronicling the events leading up to and including the brutal killings that have taken place in the toilet, either before or during the time when the victim was having a shit or piss.

Entitled, Killed In The Khazi, the series will be on our screens in the new year.

Rival true crime channel, Sky Crime, has also announced plans to make a drama documentary based on the brutal slayings perpetrated in the East End of London by the notorious 19th-century Whitechapel fiend who murdered at least five prostitutes while they were on the toilet and was subsequently dubbed by contemporary newspapers as, ‘Jack In The Shitter.’

Local man ‘totally spent’ following concerted effort not to break wind on train next to attractive woman

A 54-year-old Whitechapel man has told The Whelk that he was, ‘close to complete exhaustion’ after feeling compelled to bottle up what he thought was going to be an explosive fart while seated next to an attractive female on a train.

Toby Dell, from Leman Street, told us: ‘I’d just boarded the train at London Bridge and had settled down in an empty window seat.

‘The seat next to me was empty right up until the train began to pull out of the station when a really nice-looking young woman moved in next to me.

‘Almost immediately, I felt the telltale sensation of a fart on the brew and realised I would have to keep it tightly bottled in the bomb bay at all costs.

‘As station after station went by I could feel the pressure increasing until it was almost unbearable.

I began toying with the idea of unleashing a series of small squeakers to release the pressure a bit but I couldn’t run the risk of letting fly with an explosive ripsnorter by mistake.

‘By the time I got to my stop at Stratford, I was in very bad shape. My stomach was bubbling something cruel and there were tears running down my cheeks.

‘I mumbled my excuses to the girl as I tried to squeeze past her, but the effort was too great and I unleashed a deafening thunder-blast right in her face.

‘The stench was outrageous as I rushed out onto the platform, sick with shame and almost totally spent.

‘On the bright side, as I climbed the steep ramp from the platform, I managed to squeeze out a few more fairly decent botty burps which seemed to help propel me up to the ticket barrier.’

In 1967, a 47-year-old man from Bromley-By-Bow in East London collapsed and died from a brain aneurism at St James’s Park station on London Underground’s Circle Line after struggling to avoid unleashing a noisy ‘crowd-pleaser’ while seated next to a dancing girl from Soho’s Windmill Theatre.

Local man sues daughter following overly large dessert spoons incident

A 54-year-old Whitechapel man is suing his own daughter after a set of spoons she gave him as a gift caused a jaw dislocation due to their huge dimensions.

Toby Dell, a forklift truck mechanic from Leman Street, told The Whelk: ‘I knew those spoons were going to be a problem as soon as I set eyes on them.

‘The width and length made them more suitable for shovelling coal than for eating fruit pie and custard.

‘I told my daughter they looked a bit big when she gave them to me but she became abusive so I left it.

‘Sure enough, I was eating some bread and butter pudding that my missus had made with one of these utensils when I heard my jaw crack and I felt this shooting pain.

‘I have now instructed a solicitor to take legal proceedings which will hopefully result in crippling damages being awarded against her’

Mr Dell’s announcement comes two weeks after a Clerkenwell woman successfully sued her son for a sum in excess of ten thousand pounds after a pair of tight-fitting slippers he bought her as a birthday gift caused her to develop hammer toe.

Golf: BBC Make Successful Bid To Screen Tiger Woods Loafing Around In His Underpants During Open

The BBC has announced that they have secured exclusive rights to broadcast recorded highlights of golfing legend, Tiger Woods, mooching around his apartment in his boxers during The Open Championship tournament being played at Royal Liverpool this week.

It is understood that the BBC paid in excess of thirty pounds for the rights to screen footage of Woods, who is unable to take part due to injury, lazing around on the sofa in his pants, watching his fellow pros tackle the course and conditions in a bid to win the famous claret jug.

However, Woods has insisted that an extra sixty pounds is paid into his personal bank account if he is filmed fooling around with whores or crashing his car into a traffic sign due to being ripped to the tits on booze and pills.

I Made Love to Myself While I Watched: Local Man’s Shock Admission

A 54-year-old Whitechapel man has told The Whelk that he engaged in a steamy romp with himself at his home in Dock Street while his wife of twenty years visited a sick relative.

Toby Dell, a forklift truck engineer, told us: ‘The wife had gone to visit her cousin in Spitalfields who was feeling poorly, so I settled down in front of the TV to watch some sport.

‘As I reached for the remote control, I caught sight of my reflection in the shiny surface of the coffee table.

‘It was then that I realised how damnably attractive I was and knew almost at once that I wanted to take things to the next level.

‘Scarcely able to breathe, I moved my hand onto my knee before sliding it slowly along my inner thigh.

‘At this point, I realised that my defences were down and that it was now or never.

‘I undid my braces from behind, lingering sensuously over the clasps, before lowering my trousers to my knees.

‘I was at the point of no return by now and eagerly thrust my hand inside my underpants, searching feverishly for the engorged member within.

‘I then lost all control, and to my dismay, it was over in seconds.

‘I felt a deep sense of shame and disgust at what I’d done with myself, but after I’d made a pot of tea and had a couple of biscuits, I found that I wanted myself even more urgently than before.

‘This time, the loving was intense, passionate and prolonged as I explored every forbidden part of my own body, climaxing time after time as I rolled around with myself in front of a roaring log fire.

‘It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

‘The next morning, after my wife had returned, I tried to act as if nothing untoward had happened but then found myself exchanging glances with myself in the mirror on the lounge wall, knowing that this crazy, out-of-control thing I had with myself was too big to deny and that the aching longing I had to be in my own arms again could never be harnessed’

At the time of going to press, Mr Dell has left his home and is living with himself in a small lodging house in Bermondsey amid complaints from neighbours about the noisy and prolonged nightly romps he has with himself inside the apartment and even outside in the shared garden.

Letters To The Editor

Dear Sir

In the smash hit, Club Tropicana, Wham lead singer,George Michael specifically states that ‘The drinks are free’

And yet, when I visited the Tropicana Dance Bar in Hoxton a few weeks back I was beaten bloody by two burly doormen after refusing to pay for my bottled Guinness, citing George’s statement as an explanation.

The lyric also states that ‘All that’s missing is the sea’

Well, not for me it wasn’t as they then tossed me into Wapping Dock, from where I was dragged out to Shoebury Ness on a strong ebb tide.

Where’s the fairness or accuracy in that then?

Bill Sideboard-Arse

Hospital

**************

Dear Sir

How come none of the thwarted criminals, exposed by amateur sleuth and major irritant, Jessica Fletcher out of Murder She Wrote have ever bashed her interfering head in with a metal bar.

I know I would have

Jane Marple

HM Prison Wormwood Scrubs

Violent Offenders Wing

***********

Dear Sir

I have overcome my fear of enclosed spaces by going into lifts looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars

Marvin Fuck

Ashton-Under-Lyme

***********

Dear Sir

Unlike Mr Fuck, my fear is of wide open spaces which I have managed to eradicate by remaining in my cellar for the past forty years.

Both myself and my wife are entirely happy with this arrangement and so are all her fancy men.

Wilson Picket-Line

23 Arnhem Drive (Basement Flat B)

Bow

*************

Dear Sir

Why is it that men’s bicycles are designed with a crossbar but not women’s?

Surely, if a man had to brake suddenly, causing him to slide forwards from the saddle, the damage done to his testicles would far outweigh any trauma inflicted on a female’s lower parts.

Indeed, I would even suggest that a woman might find the experience of sliding her Jack and Danny along a steel bar quite stimulating.

Come on bike makers, let’s have a little gender egalitarianism here.

Wilf Pentagram

Whitechapel E1

***********

Dear Sir

My wife has managed to make an ‘arse Kazoo’ by wrapping toilet paper around a comb before placing it between the cheeks of her bottom.

By controlling the volume and power of her farts, she has now built up quite a repertoire of tunes and regularly entertains friends and family with little impromptu botty burp renditions at our home.

Neddy Breastpump

West Ham E7

************

Dear Sir

I’m sick to death of people who keep banging on about how wonderful our police are.

I’ve watched a number of TV documentaries featuring these individuals patrolling the streets and flying around in helicopters and it seems to me that they just go around looking for trouble.

Det Insp Bob Ripper

Spitalfields

Song Lyrics For Intellectuals #385

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