EDITOR’S NOTE. If you or a family member have a drink problem, put a stop to it at once by sending all your surplus income to us here at The Whitechapel Whelk. Our caring editorial team will ensure that it is spent on the finest grog available to humanity.
Policing a sprawling, multi-cultural city like London during a pandemic can be a tough and pretty exacting job at times.
Take last Saturday for example. Our team were deployed to Trafalgar Square where a bunch of anti-mask headbangers were staging a demo, defending their right to give their fellow human beings a killer disease by not wearing a face covering when popping into Greggs for a sausage roll.
These fruit loops were causing a major disturbance, harassing innocent members of the public and interfering with traffic flow, so we were deployed to break up the demo and restore order.
When we arrived on the scene, things immediately turned nasty and we started getting pelted with bottles and other missiles.
A decision was quickly made to steam in and feel a few collars, so the lads drew batons and started piling into these chumps a bit lively.
Fortunately, at this point I noticed that The Moon On The Mall boozer in Whitehall was open, so while the lads broke a few heads I dived in and spent the next three hours drinking heavily at the bar until I collapsed in the gents’ toilet in a pool of my own piss and sick.
PC Ted is vice-chairman of The British Chronic Liver Disease and Projectile Vomiting Foundation
Policing a diverse, sprawling city like London is often a very challenging and even hazardous business for a Met Police copper, particularly during these unprecedented times.
So when my team received a shout that a group of around fifty, anti-lockdown merchants were staging a group ‘hug-in’ in Hyde Park in direct contravention of lockdown directives we realised at once that we were going to be in for a tough time dealing with these unhinged chumps
When we arrived on the scene, a rowdy demo was already underway with banner-waving protestors shouting about 5G death rays causing covid-19 while milling around in close proximity to one another in clear breach of the social-distancing guidelines.
Realising that time was of the essence and that our beloved National Health Service was being put at risk by these clowns, we began wading in with our batons.
Taking absolutely no chances with public safety, we beat the absolute crap out of them before tossing them into the Serpentine to drown.
All-in-all, it was a highly successful operation and I celebrated on the way home after my shift by joining a lock-in at a boozer in Victoria Street with about twenty others where I drank around twelve pints of heavy before spewing my ring up over the barmaid.
I was later found sprawled in a shop doorway in a pool of sick and with my heavily-soiled trousers round my ankles by two colleagues from Ebury Street nick who took me down the cells where they hosed me down with freezing cold water and stole my wallet.
PC Ted is vice-chairman of the Metropolitan Liver Disease and Projectile Vomiting Appreciation Society
It was a regular Saturday night in downtown Whitechapel. The bars and pubs were packed with revellers, letting their hair down after a long week on government hand-outs.
High in his eyrie above The Marquis of Granby public house in Whitechapel High Street, the drink-addled, crime-busting superhero, Stuporman, was staggering over to the fridge to get another can of Skol Special Strength.
Suddenly, the shrill scream of a woman rent the night air, followed by a yell of alarm: “Oh blimey! It’s Chunder Woman, and she’s been drinking!”
Hearing the name of his arch nemesis, The Lush of Steel, felt every muscle in his body tense. He knew that there was no time to lose.
Racing to his Drinking Den of Solitude in the basement, the drink-ravaged stumblebum hurriedly downed eight cans of Blackout super-strength cider in readiness for the desperate clash of the alcohol-fuelled titans that he knew was about to come.
Staggering into the street and collapsing in a doorway, he heard the familiar, guttural shriek of his arch-foe throwing down a garbled challenge: “Are yoush starin’ at my pint? I’ll tek the fuckin’ lot of yersh! Yer me besht mate you are! Gissa fag!… G’wan gissa fag!… Yer fuckin’ bashta yersh!”
Raising himself unsteadily to his feet, Stuporman picked up an empty Guinness bottle from the gutter and hurled it at his foe, striking her a glancing blow on the temple.
The booze-addled harridan let out an ear-splitting bellow of pain before crashing face-first to the pavement.
Realising his work was still not over, Stuporman reeled across to the stricken body of his adversary and began rifling through her pockets, searching for the prize that he hoped would be there.
He was in luck. Belching with triumph, the super alkie pulled out a bunch of crisp, new five pound notes.
It was Chunder Woman’s Child Benefit and Incapacity Allowance payment, and, apart from a few pounds spent earlier on strong grog, it was almost intact.
Realising that every second was now of the essence and that valuable drinking time was ebbing away, Stuporman crashed through the doors of the of The Blind Beggar and flung himself at the bar.
“Ten pints of London Pride barman” he barked. “And keep ’em coming until I’ve collapsed in the bog and shit me pants”
NEXT WEEK: The Lush of Steel finds himself locked in a grim life or death struggle with the arch-alcoholic fiend, Liver Disease Man, as they battle over a part-time job emptying the slop trays in The Lord Rodney’s Head on Saturday afternoons.
Super words by Danny Soz
Tea, gin and sympathy by Sensational Sofia Dee
Ultra Super Duper graphic by Jif out of Procrastinator’s Day Off
Policing a sprawling, multicultural city like London can be a taxing and often hazardous task as I found out to my cost last night.
At around 15.00, our sarge summoned us into the briefing room and told us that we were being assigned to police the Brexit leaving party scheduled for 19.30 in Parliament Square.
We arrived in plenty of time at around 17.00 and while my colleagues deployed around the perimeter I began searching for drink.
It was a pretty fruitless task initially as the Mayor had declared the area an alcohol-free zone to prevent the Brexiteers from getting rowdy and poking each other in the eye with their little Union Jacks on sticks.
By 20.00 my mouth was like the bottom of a baby’s pram and I was seriously thinking of abandoning my post and going for a few jars in The Albert in Victoria Street.
Then, I spotted a group of elderly revellers who had somehow managed to smuggle a crate of Wincarnis tonic wine past the cordon.
With not a moment to lose, I raced over, snatched a couple of bottles and began tucking in as if there were no tomorrow.
At just after 23.00, I celebrated Britain leaving the EU by spewing my ring up all over one old grunter’s zimmer frame and pissing in the ear of an old dear in a wheelchair while she sang the national anthem.
PC Ted Stupor is vice-chairman of the Metropolitan Liver Carnage Society
A habitual Whitechapel drunkard has been lauded by reality TV star, Honey Boo Boo, who yesterday praised the man for mirroring the chaotic, drink-fuelled life of royal bad girl, Princess Margaret.
Miss Boo Boo, who was a guest at a Whitechapel town hall dinner and dance, spoke out in praise of homeless Toby Dell, 54, after spotting him slumped on the steps of the Royal London Hospital with his dog on a piece of string, surrounded by empty cans of strong lager and attempting to tune in a radio with no back to it.
Pointing towards Dell, the Here Comes Honey Boo Boo star told newsmen: “That guy encapsulates the rebellious nature and wayward lifestyle of Princess Margaret.
“In fact, if he was sitting on a sunlounger in Mustique, having suncream rubbed into his thighs by toyboy, Roddy Llewelyn, you could be forgiven for thinking it actually was her”.
Boo Boo, 52, is well-known for her love of the British royal family and once declared that she wouldn’t mind testing the theory that Prince Edward was gay by offering him, “some real red-hot poontang”
Royal Footnote: In 1967, Princess Margaret once drank 15 pints of heavy in The Moon On The Mall public house in Whitehall, after which she staggered into Downing Street and began raining down punches on Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, who was leaving Number 10 to attend a miners gala in Barnsley.
Policing a great metropolis like London can be a challenging and highly stressful business at times which is why I went on holiday to Hong Kong last week.
After 7 days and nights on the grog, I found myself at Hong Kong airport waiting to check-in for my flight back to London City Airport.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose as student demonstrators armed with clubs started attacking some of the airport security cops just a few metres away.
One officer was getting really badly beaten, making me fear for his life.
I immediately felt my copper’s instincts kick in and pulled out a bottle of Brazilian pure cane spirit that I’d just bought in duty-free
Within minutes, I’d finished the entire bottle and ended up spewing my ring up all over one of the stricken cops who was lying bleeding at my feet.
Ted Stupor is the editor-in-chief of Popular Liver Damage Monthly
Policing a sprawling and densely populated city like London can be an arduous, and sometimes, extremely perilous task.
Take last Tuesday for example
There were tens of thousands of anti- Donald Trump demonstrators marching from Trafalgar Square to Downing Street to protest the president’s state visit
At about 13.00, we received a shout that scuffles were taking place outside The Lord Moon On The Mall public house in Whitehall between protestors and a gang of pro-Trump supporters.
We arrived on the scene to be met with an ugly brawl and a number of casualties lying in the street.
Fortunately, the guvnor of the pub hadn’t closed the doors, so while my colleagues waded in with their truncheons, I went to the bar and drank steadily for 3 hours until I spewed my guts up over the barmaid.
Ted Stupor is vice chairman of The Dangerously Enlarged Liver Society
Policing a big city like London can be a challenging and even a hazardous job on occasion which often results in both myself and my colleagues finding ourselves in harm’s way.
Take yesterday’s pro-Brexit demo outside Parliament, where literally hundreds of people with low IQs vented their anger at the fact that Britain still hasn’t left the EU.
At around 22.00 last night we were called out to an incident involving drunken Brexiteers and a number of left-wing Remain supporters who were holding a noisy counter-demonstration in Whitehall.
We sped to the scene and immediately deployed in a line, separating the two rival groups.
Fortunately, I noticed that The Moon On The Mall pub still had its doors open, so while my colleagues deployed shields and batons in preparation for trouble, I went to the bar and necked lager and Old Bushmills until I spewed up over the barman and shat myself on the way to the gents
PC Ted appears courtesy of The Unsteady Gait & Advanced Cirrhosis Bugle