Concern Grows Over Lack Of Panic

CONCERN was growing last night that the British public is not freaking out quite as much as it was supposed to.

In the last week the government, the media and a range of experts have all thrown more resources at their swine flu panic inducement strategies, including a series of contradictory announcements, random, blood-curdling death tolls and a warning that Britain's fleet of ice cream vans will be needed to store all the dead bodies.

But despite their all-out efforts, millions of people across the country have decided to simply wash their hands twice a day and accept that if they do get swine flu the chances of them dying from it are so small as to be really quite tedious.

Nevertheless the department of health will today urge people to empty their freezers, stressing that is where they will have to store their grandmother until the army can collect her and throw her into a landfill.

Meanwhile the Daily Mail once again outlined its plans to go into administration after warning its readers that every single one of them would be dead by the end of August.

An editorial in today's edition said: "The department of health is saying one thing and the National Childbirth Trust is saying a different thing. How can that not make you want to rip your ears off in abject terror?"

But Nikki Hollis, a pregnant lady from Stevenage, said: "From what I understand the National Childbirth Trust would like me to continue being pregnant until the pandemic is over, but, as I told a reporter from the Daily Mail, my due date is September 14th.

"And while I am aware of the heightened risks and the possibility of feeling yucky for a couple of days, I am slightly more focused on being about eight weeks away from pushing a human through my vagina."

She added: "That said, I will continue to avoid crowded places and wash my hands regularly because I have actually worked out that swine flu is an airborne viral infection and not some sort of ninja."

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One Woman's Week: If You're Thinkin' About My Baby...

By Karen Fenessey

YET another day passes where I must bite the tears and press on in this terrible world where there is no Michael. His message to the world 'It don't matter if you're black or white' has never been so relevant – especially as I recently learned from the BBC series The Incredible Human Journey: Out of Africa that in fact all humans are black, regardless of the colour of their skin.

I've had a long relationship with Michael ever since I discovered Thriller in my dad's record collection as a child. I said then he had a real talent. It was never easy though: when the paedo stuff kicked off, I nearly finished with him. It's only through my experience as a primary school teacher that I grew to appreciate how evil and conniving children actually are. It's like the time some pupils accused me of swearing at them. What actually happened was they waltzed into my class at playtime yelling that Fiona McVitie had a nosebleed. I said 'Not now, I'm going for coffee'. They told the head I'd said 'Not now, I'm going. Fuck offy'. As if I would have added a 'y' to the end of it.

It never ceases to amaze me that Michael penned Black or White years before the 'Incredible Journey' was even aired. How could he have known? In this series, the BBC presented damning evidence that humans left Africa some 30 million years ago as a pack of savages, yet somehow ended up turning white, taking in the ambience at Starbucks and wearing appropriately sized earrings such as mine.  At first, I was shocked by this news. But then it all started to make sense: people said it was as if by magic that I won the Year 8 girl's 100 metres in record breaking time. And what about the day I went along to Donny's band practice and revealed a mesmerising talent on the congas, even though I'd never taken a drumming lesson in my life? Now I see these events were no coincidence.

Most people probably haven't seen 'Human Journey' and don’t know how this is scientific fact; that's why they claim Michael's children aren't his on account of them being white. As something of an expert in this field, I put it to those people that if this phenomenon can happen to humans, couldn't it also happen to Michael Jackson's children?

So the next time I hear you hissing 'Darkie!' at the black assistant in Tesco, or yelling 'Sambos!' at my cousins, The Jackson Five, be warned that I will take this insult personally because I am black where it counts: in the heart. With my position of influence, it surely won't be long before we can achieve Michael's dream and then they really will know it's Christmas time.