BP Funds New Generation Of Country And Western Music

BP is to set up an oil spill compensation fund which experts say will ultimately be used to buy country and western music and books about creationism.

The $20bn dollar fund will be used to support communities in Louisiana, Alabama and Mississippi, where most people believe that Charlton Heston made the world in a giant heterosexual frying pan.

The company admitted it had a responsibility to help the people affected by the disaster, but stressed that eventually someone will have to clean up the mess made by the compensation fund.

Nathan Muir, oil spill compensation analyst at Donnelly McPartlin, said: “Given the demographic spread and intellectual capacity of the likely recipients, it would seem that Barack Obama has succeeded in channelling large sums of money directly into Sarah Palin’s presidential campaign.

“And if Mrs Palin is elected she will, of course, allow oil companies to go fucking mental, meanwhile the rest of the money will be used to buy massive, stupid cars that do about four yards to the gallon.

“BP may actually have played this brilliantly.”

Corinne Whitman, a high school principal from Gulfport, Mississippi, said: “Ah is gonna spend that money on a new tooth, a hunk o’ cheese the size o’ ma head and a book about how Barbara Streisand wants to kill ma family and eat their hearts with a spoon.”

The compensation fund was also welcomed by Billy Jim McDonald, one of the new wave of singer-songwriter-pig molesters out of Chickasaw, Alabama.

“Ah sure done wanna thank the good folks at PB for givin’ money to all them people so they can done go out and buy ma compact discs.”

He added: “Ah done wrote a new song about a man who falls in love with a pig, but they can’t get married ’cause the pig don’t believe in Jesus.

“So after one last night of sweet lovin’, he kills the pig and then eats it so that they can be together for ever.

“Or at least until he has to go to the toilet.”

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Diana In Heaven

I put a bag of my hair shavings on eBay this week – genuine stuff, and although I’m not saying where it came from, you can probably make an educated guess. Five days later and the top bid was 20p. Shocking.

So I pulled the auction – if that’s the best you lot can do you can fucking swivel on it. They flogged one of my scabby old dresses for almost £200k last week but a bag of freshly-trimmed Diana short and curlies doesn’t even rake in the price of a finger of Cadbury’s Fudge.

If you’d made an effort and put some serious bids in there’d be some landmine AIDS kids larking about on a new see-saw now, paid for by the proceeds of my hair sale. Sleep tight, fuckers.

Gary Coleman’s been turning up the heat as he tries to woo yours truly. He’s got himself a shopping mall security guard uniform like he used to wear on Earth and has been hanging around outside my gaff, directing the traffic and bollocking litterbugs.

It’s not all impressive stuff though – I caught him in the garden, standing on the wheelie bin to reach my washing line and wearing one of my bras like it was a pair of glasses. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he thought he’d seen an injured sparrow.

Still, I’m pretty desperate these days so I’ll probably string him along for a bit and then give him a night he’ll never get over…

Egon Ronay is here, and he got himself into a punch-up with Keith Floyd within an hour of pitching up. They were arguing over whether a Weetabix with jam on top is an acceptable starter – Floyd said yes while the new lad disagreed.

Giant Haystacks was on hand to calm them both down and couple of hours (and bottles of brandy) later, they were best mates, getting stuck into a big plate of rusks covered in squirty cream.

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