Postcards of red phoneboxes to show they're only used for crime

POSTCARDS featuring traditional red phoneboxes must now show they are exclusively used for sex, drugs and public urination.

The famous boxes, still a powerful symbol of Britain, are now only for prostitute’s cards, to arrange heroin deliveries, for illicit sexual liaisons and for drunks to relieve themselves.

Historian Roy Hobbs said: “Once commonly used to call home or perhaps have an affair, these fixtures of the UK landscape now serve a different but no less traditional purpose.

“When Britons need to meet a young model with O- and A-levels, when they need two bags of white and one of brown, or whether they simply want to piss without the rain washing it away, phoneboxes are always there.

“From now on postcards will feature teddy bears in Beefeater outfits shaking as they call for a fix or engaging in squalid knee-tremblers, and tourists will embrace this new vision of Britain.”

Postcards of rural phoneboxes will show enterprising locals adapting them for use as charming little cannabis greenhouses or free-to-take pornography libraries.

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

Harrison Ford: “I'll stop when I've ruined all of my films”

THE announcement of a Blade Runner sequel, starring me, has sparked the usual debate about whether it can live up to the original.

Let me answer that for you now: it won’t. It will be so bad that you will never be able to enjoy Blade Runner again. Because I am determined, in my twilight years, to destroy my own cinematic legacy.

Remember Indiana Jones? Not without a wince of pain, you don’t. Not without remembering the fridge and the aliens and Shia LeBoeuf from the execrable fourth film.

And these Star Wars sequels that you’re excited about, whoooh boy. I make out with Chewie, I repeat all my familiar lines like I’m reading the teleprompter in a Malaysian pile ointment commercial, and I have insisted on several unbearably explicit nude scenes.

I won’t stop there. There’s Surprise Witness, where I partner up with that Amish kid as an Amish cop, and then Before The Fugitive where we find out I did kill my wife after all in a plot that ensures the original will never make sense again.

After that I guess we can see about defiling Air Force One or The Mosquito Coast or whatever else anyone remembers fondly.

Then, and only then, can I rest, secure in the knowledge that my life’s work has been pissed on then set on fire and that I was the man to do it.