It's The End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Itchy)

Just a few quickies ... evil hangover ... work beckons ... must typo coherently sentancings ...

Grave news. There will be no more telly for the Open University. The last program was broadcast this morning at 5am. Insomniacs can no longer be comforted by the incoherent babblings of strange bearded men in kipper ties. This is indeed a tragedy.

For the first time in history the British Prime Minister has been questioned by Police, but because people will not let go of bloody Diana's dead corpse this story has been relegated to the middle pages of the newspapers. Let it go, she died of nothing more than not wearing a seatbelt!

Thought for the day: I find the use of the term 'prostitute' in the recent coverage of the Ipswich murders quite odd. The first word used to describe the victims is not 'person' or 'young woman'.
This may possibly be for the lazy minded, if the papers had said 'women murdered', people might have to read on thinking "but why?", but because it has been reported as 'prostitute murders' they can stop right there and smugly think "well that's alright then, there you go". The only other job that I can think of that would be used in this way would be the Police, but with the opposite connotations. When the words 'Police officer murdered' are used we are supposed to feel more sympathy, anger or indignance. Are not all lives just as precious as each other? Apparently not.

Ooh, that got a bit serious didn't it? Don't worry, here come the funny foreigners to lighten the mood. The Swedish village of Fjuckby is getting fjucked off with being the butt of feeble puns and have petitioned to change their name to Fjukeby. Fjukeing spoilsports (see, it still works, they can never escape their fate, ahahahahahah).