Heathrow Installs Roulette Wheel Luggage System

ALL luggage checked-in at Heathrow airport is to be thrown onto a giant roulette wheel in a bid to increase its chances of arriving at the correct destination. 

Under the current system bags are checked-in electronically and then transported on a computerised conveyor belt system to a central hall where they are smashed open, urinated on and then set on fire.

Airport executives claim the installation of the roulette wheel will improve the odds of your bags arriving at the same airport as you to at least 36-1.

At the same time a new customer information system means that as soon as you land in Zurich you will receive a text message telling you your luggage has arrived safely in Caracas.

Wayne Hayes, head of baggage handling at Heathrow, said: "Our new system enables us to track your luggage through every stage of the process, from when it is checked-in incorrectly, through to when it is mislaid, and then when it is finally ditched over a large body of water.

"We can tell you exactly where your luggage is at all times even though we still have no idea how any of it gets to where it does. Sometimes I think the whole place is infested with naughty elves."

He added: "Last week we had to ship a dead old lady from Alicante to Birmingham. She was finally discovered propped up in a corner in Aberdeen, but only after one of the sniffer dogs got to her first. We managed to sew the legs back on."

Holidaymaker Bill McKay said: "It's eighty degrees in the shade and I've been wearing the same pants for a week. My trousers stand up on their own when I take them off at night. WHERE. IS. MY. FUCKING. STUFF?" 

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'I Was There'

Great moments in sport No. 87: Joe Pesci remembers the 2002 Winter Olympics.

THERE are a few things in life which get my back up: one is the way that fat mook Tony D picks pieces of food out of his fuckin' teeth at the dinner table; secondly, I got no fuckin' time for Mormons – comin' round my house and knockin' on my fuckin' door; and three, I ain't no fan of the Games of the Winter fuckin' Olympiad, if truth be told.

Which kind of explains why I was not filled with excitement regardin' a business trip I took to Salt Lake City a few years back. Someone needed someone to take care of this thing – you know, that thing that Mo-Mo don't want no-one to talk about no more. Anyway, they picks that asshole Tony D and myself to do the job. And if spendin' time with that miserable, piece a shit mook wasn't bad enough, it turns out Salt Lake City is infested with these fuckin' Mormon pricks.

Now, I'm not prejudice against no-one – except fuckin' Arabs, single moms, Polaks and freeloaders on fuckin' welfare – but these Mormons are some piece of work. How many fuckin' wives do you need, you degenerate fuckin' mooks? Anyways, to my further annoyance, it transpires that the Winter Olympics is in full swing when I gets into town. I just don't get all that snow and ice bullshit. If I had my way I'd take the whole thing and bury it in the fuckin' desert.

Day one we takes a look at the ski jumpin'. Most people who was there, was goin' 'oooh' and 'aaah' while these fuckin' mutts go flyin' off the big fuckin' ramp. Speakin' personally, I was prayin' some dumb Polak fuck would land on his stupid fuckin' head with a big 'whack', you know what I mean? He won't be flyin' too high when he's hooked up to some fuckin' iron lung and shit. Then we drops in on this ice rink place. I'm thinkin' maybe we can see some hockey, but all we gets is one homo after another skatin' around the joint like Greenwich Village fairy boys.

The next day we goes back to the rink: Still no fuckin' hockey, so we pitches up and watches these broads playin' this stupid fuckin' game where they scrub the ice with a stick while this big fuckin' stone slides down to the end. There's this prick in front who keeps gettin' up every time the stone stops in the big circle. Now I'm not one to ask nicely, so I jabs him in the back of the neck with a screwdriver and tell him if gets up again I'll take one of them big fuckin' stones and drop it on his fuckin' head. Whadya know, he don't get up no more.

Anyways, the English broads – weird lookin' dames with real big feet – won the gold medal cause they got more stones in the circle than the fuckin' Canucks or French or whatever. To celebrate I balled this Dutch speed skater chick and bitch-slapped her boyfriend when he walked in halfway through, the degenerate fuckin' mook.

As told to Matt fuckin' Owen