GOR' blimey guv'nor and gadzooks! Thrice I had partaken in the devil's dandruff that very morning, and now I was well and truly off me crust, ta very much. The willing young lady of the night what I'd procured the previous evening was still wriggling around on me boat race like an eel on a bleeding frying pan. "I've had enough of this lark - now begone scarlet woman and leave me a couple of Rizla on your way out," I tell her.
HE is one of the biggest stars of his generation, known for his acid wit and his flamboyant sense of style. Boy George - icon, artist, enigma - gives the Daily Mash a privileged peek inside his luxurious London home...
By Mervyn King, Governor of the Bank of England
NORTHERN Rock? Knob-gobblers, more like. That bucket-fanny chairman turns up at my gaffe, pin-striped, watch chain, Saville-fuckin'-Row. Says “Merv, I’m out of my depth, need 30 bills for a bail or we are getting arse-banged by the regulator and, by the way, so are you.” Cock-swiveller.
Great moments in sport, No.87: Travis Bickle remembers the 1981 Headingley Test
It’s been three days of Australian dominance. I’m thinking the only thing that can save England from certain defeat is for a real rain to come along and wash away all these scum-sucking Aussies…fucking Mau-Maus.
Great moments in sport, No. 87: Grace Jones remembers the 1973 FA Cup Final, Leeds United v Sunderland
Ommmmmmmmmmm! Screeeeechhhh! The entire Leeds United team wanted to eat my black ass out with their boys’ lips... arghhhhhhhhhhhh! I needed something to bring me down fast, so I stole some quaaludes from Johnny Giles’ locker... dance for me Reaney, you’re my fucking slave - do you hear me? Dance!
By Karen Fenessey
ANYONE who knows me will be able to tell you that I am one of the most inclusive and sympathetic women you will ever meet. This is why, without any prompts, I go to great lengths to help my down-and-out sister who, if I must speak frankly, is a fat cow.
Great Moments in Sport, no. 87: Joe Pesci remembers the 2003 London Marathon
I HAD the privilege of witnessing my first London Marathon a few years ago when some business associates and myself were in town to take care of this thing. To many, this fucking global event conjures up images of thousands of deadbeats running 26 miles dressed as fucking turkeys in order to raise awareness for retards with learning difficulties.
GETTING up at some horrible time of the day to do the show is rubbish, especially when you’ve been out on the pop all night. Last night was no exception – blimey, if I had a quid for every pint I drank, I’d be even richer than the rich man I already am (thanks licence payers!). It was a pretty heavy session - I was hanging out with a few pals of mine, you know, Pete Doherty – lovely bloke, Kate Moss – top lass, and some hangers on from Big Brother.
I read an article in Time magazine about a year ago and apparently, okay, and this is no fucking bullshit - it's a fact that all women, and when I say all women - I'm talking Madonna, the woman who works in the 7/11 down the road, every woman who ever appeared in a Russ Meyer movie, those women you see carrying big jugs of water on their heads in Africa - okay, so you get the picture, we're talking all women okay - would rather listen to Johnny Cash Live at San Quentin than have oral sex with their husband. Fact.
By Karen Fenessey
THIS week, I have gained a glimpse into the disturbing mess that fills up the minds of today’s youth. My investigative senses were pricked by a discovery in the school computer lab which thrust me into the distasteful world of eating disorders, such as bulimia. I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of pointy, jabby little women with downy coats of body hair will grow out of the morons who make up the female contingent of our school’s P7s.
THIS is a very exciting time for myself and Peter. He's writing his life story, which his agent told me is going to be 'An Autobiography'. I don't know about you, but I thought that was a well weird name for a book – I mean what has that got to do with my Pete's life story, hey? Why don’t they call it What I've Done So Far In My Life So Far By Peter Andre, Husband Of Katie Price?
By Karen Fenessey
IT’S a sad day that sees artists with real integrity beaten down by loud-mouth sensationalists. This week, I have found myself in the same boat as the prominent female art lover, Tracey Emin, who has always struggled against the thousands of Philippines who want her silenced. And I have been seriously reconsidering whether I want to keep working at my school, if it means having to tolerate these imbeciles.