With Jimmy Conway and Tommy DeVito
With a door
One, two, three, four
Ready to play
What's the day?
It's Tuesday you dumb fuck
By Karen Fenessey
"Not only will this take valuable time away from the significant
contribution veiled women make to the French economy via online poker,
but will also interfere with prayer mat routines and cooking along with
Shakespeareâ€™s been teaching me how to play darts and I'm entered into a
tournament next week. Darts is a bit different up here - this is Heaven
so it's obviously well fucking better.
SIR IAN BOTHAM in his local post office, asking how much it would
cost to send a two-litre bottle of sarsaparilla to North Korea...
'Sir Arthur used it to catch the dead ones out of The Golden Girls
and gently lick their faces before letting them go again. Cheeky
Gizmo news and reviews with Nicholas Bispen
FANS of the troubled Pernice Boomerang handset have been disappointed following the long-delayed launch of the v-shaped personal organiser.
"OI you, saggy flaps!" I shouted at the trolley dolly as she walked down the aisle to serve one of my six bodyguards, "I think you'll find that this is only a triple measure of Jack and I specifically asked for a quadruple. Be a luv and bring us the bottle."
This week's hottest new single releases
Das Shittz - You Are Not My Daddy
The band recently reported their producer to the musical ombudsman after he bricked them up into a chimney until they got a drum snare right.
Dispatches from Poppy Spalding
Thursday: New Orleans
'What's the biggest drag when you're at somebody's funeral listening to
the priest talk mumbo jumbo for what seems like hours?'
IT was Michael Jackson's first deathday celebration day last Friday and
to be honest, it was a bigger fuck-up than that time he hung the kid
over the balcony - the bloke just hasn't got a bloody clue.
Went round to Brian Clough's to watch the England v Slovenia match
the other day. Was planning to go to Don Revie's but when we got there
he was charging people twenty quid to get in and had put a ban on
everyone bringing in their own drinks.
By Karen Fenessey
WHEN people ask me, 'Karen! Been watching the World Cup?', I always respond, 'World Cup? World Crap more like!'. Normally, Wimbledon is the only sporting date in my summer diary. For me, football has always been something played by faceless alcoholics with clammy thighs and impenetrable regional accents...