subscribe
/ Sign Out

Danny Dyer's father of the bride speech, in full

DANNY Dyer expertly blended emotion, Cockney pride, West Ham fandom and liberal obscenities in his speech at his daughter’s wedding yesterday. Read it in full: 

Alright, you muppets.

If the Irons had got themselves relegated, this day wouldn’t have happened. No way. I’m not having a Championship striker servicing my princess.

And she is a princess, no facking about. I’m royalty and this should have been an all-day event on the telly but ITV4 were being cheap twats.

Who would have thought, watching Love Island, my Dani would end up with a totally different fella? Though proper geezer he was, did time for fraud and kept it schtum.

Anyway, she met this lad, and he’s alright. 14 goals in a season like we’ve had is decent. Has to do better, but then I’m a national treasure just for going down on her from The IT Crowd with this Spitfire ace’s moustache.

The Dyer family is now supreme in all three areas of the arts: EastEnders, reality telly and football. There’s still darts we haven’t expanded into, but give us time.

Thanks to all the guests whether friends, faaaamily or Britain’s hardest men over there by the pavlovas. There’s a special roped-off area for fighting outside, lads, I know, health and safety gone facking mad.

And now to the couple’s first dance to celebrate their marriage, dealing in real romantic facking verities about what true love’s really like: Rabbit, by Chas and Dave.

Sign up now to get
The Daily Mash
free Headlines email – every weekday
privacy

Why hawking whiskey sold by criminals is the only path to salvation for the West, by Liz Truss

THE world order trembles on the edge of collapse. Only principled politicians attending whiskey launches by convicted criminals at Scunthorpe FC can save it. 

When I was deposed from my rightful office on October 20th, 2022, not that I’m counting the days, and the country lost its greatest prime minister since Disraeli, I found a new mission. Stopping the Blob, ending wokeness, and ultimately saving the West.

It’s a big job. Can I do it? Yes. Can I do it so well I ultimately reverse time, go back to the mini-budget and explain it properly so the markets don’t melt down? I believe so.

Have I found important allies in this fight? Yes. President Trump, obviously. We don’t meet, but we communicate all the time on the astral plane. Cryptocurrency experts. Far-right Hungarian leader Viktor Orban. All of Israel.

Perhaps it seems that Dougie Joyce, a bare-knuckle fighter who beat up a 78-year-old in a pub then got in a subsequent fight at a wake, is another strange bedfellow. Or perhaps he is exactly what true conservatism needs.

For in the fight to get our country back, will we not need footsoldiers? Will those footsoldiers not need to be tanked up on whiskey? Will they not meet as a mob somewhere akin to Glanford Park, home of The Iron?

When I swigged that whiskey from the bottle as a crowd chanted ‘Truss! Truss! Truss!’ as all crowds should, I had a vision. Of once again being MP for South West Norfolk. Of being returned to cabinet. Of swaggering back into Downing Street, cage-fighter by my side.

It is the way forward. I urge everyone in Britain to move to Scunthorpe, acquire a criminal record for violence and get wrecked on whiskey. Because that’s the country I’d like to see.

Next story ›