Audiences Charmed By Random Collage Of Violence And Foul-Mouthed Toddlers

BALLBAG Explosion Ninja Die, a sequence of random acts of violence interwoven with toddlers uttering filth, is setting new box office records, it emerged last night.

The film, which has no connecting narrative, features nameless characters having their heads severed with a rusty scythe before a three year-old boy dressed as Hitler yells 'arse-bastards' at the camera and rips the legs off a toad.

The scene is followed by a pair of two year-old twin girls screaming 'cock-fucker' at each other against a backdrop of 16 nuns being cut in half from top to bottom by a vampire rock star wielding a six foot-long sword shaped like an erect penis ejaculating blood.

Screen writer Jane Goldman, wife of the jumped-up researcher Jonathan Ross, said: "I noticed that no-one under the age of 35 who's not gay leaves a cinema saying 'what an involving and original story'.

"They talk about the bits where someone's head explodes like a milkshake, or a gangster gets swallowed whole by a shark, then shat out and electrocuted before being fed into a threshing machine.

"And of course they also appreciate just how clever and witty it is to make little children swear, especially if it's cute swearing like 'c**tpuppy' or 'fuckmuppet'."

She added: "So there you go, a little glimpse behind the wizard's curtain."

A sequel Ballbag Explosion Ninja Die 1.2: Fuck Shit Chainsaw Wank, is already in the pipeline.

Producer Tom Logan said: "We're going to stay faithful to the vision of the original by making exactly the same film."

But reviewer Helen Archer said: "Ballbag Explosion is proof that we are so utterly deluged with cultural effluent that we will stare slack-jawed at anything, processing a stream of cinematic detritus as dumbly as an earthworm processes soil.

"So for that reason I'm only giving it four and a half stars out of five."


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Your Problems Solved, With Holly Harper

Dear Holly,
I've been big-boned all my life and no matter how hard I try, I simply cannot shift the pounds. I've started reading women's magazines in the hope that their pervasive and sinister message will somehow filter into my psyche and stop me from being so repulsive. If that doesn't work I might even have to consider reducing my vast daily intake of steak flavour McCoys, or even try to walk to the chip shop of an evening. Is it because of my genes?

Dear Jane,
According to my granny, before the Second World War there was no such thing as fat people, and the only available nourishment was the national anthem. While the British men were off fighting Rudolf Hitler, their wives were left behind with nothing to do but listen to the wireless and lick gravy off each other's stomachs. So when the American soldiers arrived at the end of the war, the British ladies were desperately bored and hungry and willing to do naughty things in exchange for calories. Soon traditional meals such as pease pudding and powdered cheese were replaced by good things like Kentucky Fried Chicken and Vienetta and by the time Robert Louis Stevenson invented the television in 1984, people were stuck to their sofas with ice cream all round their mouths and with a load of jelly in a bucket sat next to their toilets. But all that is starting to change now that Jamie Oliver wants to make everyone thin in time for the Olympics, starting with Opera Winfrey and one of those women from the television called Fern.
I know that Jamie doesn't have time to go to everyone's school but what I can tell you is that while McCoys are very god crisps they will make your genes much fatter. Try Wotsits and running around for no reason during playtime.
Hope that helps!