Category: Observing the human

The High Church of Brexit, Britain’s new official religion, has registered its first martyr. The first priest of the Church has been defrocked because he gave a sermon without using either CAPS LOCK or excessive random punctuation.

The defrocking was carried out by the Head of the Church, the Irreverent Nigel Farage. The unfortunate priest was dragged in front of the Irrev Farage’s sacred barstool in the St George & Dragon pub in Kent. “WE DONT WONT CROSS DRESING NANSYS IN ARE CUNTRY?!!/,” read his defrocking speech. “THIS IS INGLAND,,,,,ARE INGLAND,,,IT SNOT RITE’!11$%”

The priest, who has not been named, has been made a sacrificial lamb to the cause. Parents are reminded to name their children, to prevent such an incident re-occurring.

The Church is gradually updating its Scriptures, so that the commandment “Thou shalt not murder” remains in place – for now. The defrocked priest has instead been made to run around the Garden Of England in just his Y-fronts, since no fig leaves were available.

In the course of the inquisition, it was also discovered that the nameless priest bought The Guardian, used French communion wine, and, worst of all, attempted to explain precisely what Brexit means.

He is to be cast out into outer darkness, where there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth. The precise location is unknown, but it is believed to be in post-industrial Lancashire.

The Church of Brexit will not tolerate love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. The response of the Irrev Farage demonstrated this. Hatred, fear, war, intolerance, unpleasantness, faithlessness, violence and knee-jerking will henceforth be known as the Fruits Of The Brexit.

Farage, his work done, procured another pint of Olde Random Bluster and continued in prayer and contemplation. Well, shouting at the football match on the large screen TV, while his subjects scrabbled in the bins outside for morsels of leftover food.

His Irreverence has issued a proclamation, to be read out in all branches and franchises of the Church of Brexit. It reads: YUO SHALL HATE UR NAYBUR,,,!? THAY SHUD GO BAK WERE THERE CUM FROM??!,!

Scientists working at the world famous University of Strife have released details of an eighteen year long study into the millennium bug, or Why2K?, as it was also commonly known in 1999.

“We should have just let it happen,” lead researcher Professor A Pocalypse reveals, “we’ve been running the real world simulation for years, where we prevented the bug, and it’s a bloody disaster.”

The professor points to the actual situation as it is now.

“But in the simulations, where the millennium bug was allowed to proceed, there were a few days of lost productivity, airlines were grounded, but mostly people were forced to stay home and enjoy time with family and friends.

There were food shortages in industrialised societies within days.

But suburbs reorganised their social structures into clans again.

Pretty soon everyone got over the raiding neighbouring districts for food thing, and sources of forced labour, and just settled down to a close lifestyle with nature. As they had the cultural memory to not repeat those mistakes for too long.

Everyone worked out how to grow their own food again. Fish stocks suffered a bit.

At the moment, in the simulation where Why2K? occurs, the palace of Westminster is being torn down and rebuilt as a pyramid. It’s very impressive.

There are no longer parliamentary expenses scandals. There’s no Brexit!

Ray Winstone is King of Luton. No one saw that coming. He’s currently fortifying the city before the fighting season begins again against Rees-mogg’s slave empire. Ray is very down on that sort of thing.

And the northern regions of England are much happier.

They’ve worked through back to refighting the Wars of the Roses already.

It’s hoped this time they’ll agree on a colour pattern for a rose that everyone will use in their pubs.

And there is no Trump. No threat of climate change. Actually, the Earth is about to experience an ice age. Which should be very interesting to witness.

How will southerners cope without central heating?”

Critics have pointed out though that as the simulations do not include the other nations of the United Kingdom, or even seem to realise the Midlands exist, they’re not a part of the “north”, it’s hardly conclusive, especially as the late 1990’s were perhaps more progressive in these ways.

Head of Social Sciences at the University of Life, Dr Fu Wobble, is also scathing,

“It’s pointless. It’s just more money wasted on modelling something that was clearly never going to be a problem, as it never happened. They’re wasting hard earned taxpayer’s money on this rubbish? I bet they think we can’t achieve a deep and special relationship with other countries by acting like a toddler too? Muppets.”

But Professor A Pocalypse is not having that,

“The University of Life is full of people who think Donald Trump and Nigel Farage aren’t racists. None of their research is worth spit.

And besides, do you see them answering the question, exactly how cold does it need to get in the north for someone to put on a coat?

Another year or two, once the mammoth has evolved again out of Jersey cows, we’ll have the answer.”

The Daily Mail, Sun, Express and Telegraph newspapers were in a celebratory mood today with the news that a major social media platform has changed its timeline algorithm to force youngsters to talk to their racist uncles.

“It’s going to mean young people flocking in droves to read the Daily Mail again,” P Dacre, speaking while shopping for a brick, told LCD.

“It’s really important that social media platforms help print media survive in an environment where advertisers are withdrawing their money from patriotic publications out of a fear of getting ink on their fingers.”

Under the changes conversations between family members will reappear constantly in everyone’s newsfeed until they go in and contribute a minimum of thirteen “engagements”.

“Families should talk to each other more,” Facepamphlet’s CEO told us, “recent studies reveal no family members on the globe have spoken to each other since 2000. It’s probably the fault of the millennium bug. We’re going to stamp it out.”

The real impact will mean that if you’re friends on Facepamphlet, with, for example, an uncle who constantly shares racist misinformation, but you haven’t unfriended him because you don’t want your Mum (or worse, the uncle) phoning up to ask why, the new algorithm will force you to read his posts, and engage, to make it go away, even if you’ve unfollowed him.

“It’s going to do a lot for community cohesion. It will effectively rebuild civilisation overnight.”

But our own social media analyst, Professor Addict, is not so sure,

“I wish facepamphlet would introduce a model like Spotify, where you can pay a small subscription to get free of the advertising, or accept them if you don’t mind or can’t afford it. I would pay not to have my mind constantly analysed.”

The other option is to just stop messing with it out of some need to feel godlike, and set newsfeeds back to just the most recent post and let people choose what to interact with.

“Remember when you could catch up with the latest news from your family and friends just by scrolling down the timeline? Yeah, forget that, it’s gone for good.

Get ready for the phone call from uncle whoever demanding to know why you blocked him so you didn’t have to constantly read his conversations with one hundred bots about how Western society is over.”

We wait expectantly for the change to facepamphlet to bear fruit.

LCD Views can exclusively reveal this afternoon that bride to be Meghan Markle is to wear the famous Windsor family hat on her wedding day just to completely destroy the minds of Daily Mail readers.

“I’m not sure what colour dress she will be wearing,” LCD’s only royal watcher commented, “But I know from my source inside the royal wardrobe that the Queen’s famous EU flag hat is being moved to secure storage as we speak to prevent any attempt to sabotage it before the big day.”

It’s believed the choice of hat is a response to the suspected struggle most Daily Mail readers are experiencing over a non-white woman marrying into the royal family.

“It’s an incredibly difficult issue for them,” our correspondent continued, “I understand the Mail is to set up a special helpline just to help talk to any readers with barely concealed, or totally revealed, racism through the brain busting news that yay! there’s to be a royal wedding, but omfg the bride is not British.”

It’s believed the Queen herself offered the hat to Ms Markle just as she was in the process of asking for it.

“They know they’re going to get on. The first thought both had was how to quietly comment on the lunacy the country is embarked on in a way that was as subtle as a brick.”

The Daily Mail itself is said to be close to boycotting the entire event, unless they can find some dirt on Meghan to sour the ceremony for everyone.

“Believe me they are hard at work digging holes to try and find anything to smear Ms Markle with. She is their worst nightmare. Mixed heritage. Foreign born. Humanitarian worker. Europhile. It’s like the end of the world has come for the Mail, that she should be engaged to a royal.”

The official spokesman for the Yaifo tribe phoned LCD Views via satellite phone this afternoon to express the tribe’s distress that Benedict Allen wasn’t able to find them and give them the latest cold and flu virus.

“We presume he flew to Papua New Guinea from Europe?” the spokesman asked, “in a pressurised aircraft with hundreds of other people from all over the world? That would have given him the best chance to catch the latest viruses that we don’t have deep in our jungle.”

The spokesman went on to say that they haven’t removed themselves from all contact with the outside world because they saw what happened to tribes that didn’t.

Neither did they worry about being harassed by well intentioned religious zealots from the West who believe changing all their names to ones from the bible and wearing ties would be better than whatever ancient traditions they are just playing about with now.

“It’s a real shame he couldn’t make it. I was hoping to see what an iPhoneX looks like and potentially get myself hooked on social media staring at a tiny screen all day posting my thoughts, rather than being so bored with trees and waterfalls and family members and magic and stuff.”

Maybe that helicopter could bring Benedict back and just drop him right on top of the Yaifo this time?

“Well make sure he is sneezing first. I personally have a sneaking suspicion that it was foreign bacteria or viruses that wiped out those Neanderthal once they reconnected with modern humans.

It would be good to see if a group of modern humans, only having been separated from the rest of the population for a few decades, would be just as susceptible?

Or if it takes tens of thousands of years and divergence genetically to do it? Mind you, the fate of “New World” peoples suggests it doesn’t take that long.”

Benedict Allen could not be contacted for comment, busy being irritated that people tried to rescue him when he was perfectly fine dealing with malaria in a jungle on his own without medication.

He wants to be left alone now, okay? Media types should probably respect that, rather than presuming he wants to talk to them just because he’s ignoring everyone.

LCD Views has exciting news for defenders of democracy today with the news splash that all ministers in the current government are to undergo replicant tests to weed out any remaining humans from the cabinet.

“Its vitally important, as we move forward into the future, as one people with a unified purpose,” begins the press release from the Downing Street computer, “that we ensure only easily programmable robots are working for a certain megalomaniac, multi-agenda billionaire across the sea, on your behalf.”

The release goes on to explain that all serving ministers will be required to attend an interview this week with a ‘Blade Runner’ and undertake the Voight-Kampff test in reverse.

Questions in the test are expected to be similar to the following,

“Q. You see an opportunity to sell off portions of an NHS trust in a neglected area of the UK to a tax haven loving offshore billionaire, how does this make you feel?”

“Q. You have a chance to regain sovereignty, even though you never lost it, do you…”

“Q. An MP is butchered by a far right terrorist with a headful of fascist horror during the EU referendum campaign, do you take that as a warning of what rides with Brexit, or stand like a rabbit in the headlights as the far right coup strips your country of all international standing and threatens to destroy it economically and just vote with the government to facilitate Brexit?”

“Q. You hear the phrase, ‘You lost, get over it!’, how does it make you feel, knowing you are allowing a narrow win in an advisory referendum to be used as a mandate from God to ignore all evidence that the advice was stupid and based on lies, and just charge headfirst in the hope of turning the entire UK into a tax haven with no regulations, so very greedy men and women can get richer?”

“Q. You receive your 200th request to play ‘Candy Crush’, how does it make you feel?”

It’s unlikely any humans will be found remaining in the cabinet, but there maybe one or two taking shelter behind a hat stand.

“Johnson, Gove, Hunt, May and others will be exempt from the test,” the press release adds, “because the result is blindingly obvious.”

The latest outrageous claim from the Animal Kingdom dares to suggest that lower life forms, such as politicians, are incapable of feeling, well, anything.

A paltry attempt at self-justification was made by spokes-animal Y. Lee Fox. “It’s quite clear that these creatures are incapable of emotion,” said Mr Fox. “One glance at their record on welfare, for example, is enough to tell you that!”

Other animals joined the baying mob. “They think that they can hunt us!” exclaimed K. Charles Spaniel. “The country’s going to the dogs.”

It is clearly a man-bites-dog story, suggested LCD’s Primates And Other Mammals Correspondent. “Not at all,” retorts Mr Spaniel. “It’s barking mad to suggest that this is in any way unusual. The mutineers must be muzzled.”

The big beasts have been rolled out to confront angry human rights campaigners. “This is not really news at all,” trumpeted Nellie D. Elephant. “You guys have been too busy flapping your big ears in your ivory towers. My good friend and colleague Donald Tusk assures me that there is nothing to get hot under the collar about.” And off she went with a Trumpety Trump.

The protestors, small rodents in the main, were not convinced in the least. “They have pulled this stunt before,” claimed spokes-rabbit Bunny Hopps. “Think of the poor Mays, Goves and Johnsons, whom we injure daily with our cruel jibes. But the Animal Kingdom refuses to take us seriously. We have a mole on the inside who believes they will rat on any deal we make.”

Meanwhile, in secret “black labs”, it is believed that highly-qualified owls are running experiments upon live humans. LCD Views believes that these poor creatures are subjected to animal behaviours and habits. Some subjects are fed catnip, others made to spend all day running inside a wheel. Still more are obliged to poo in the garden and lick their own bottoms clean.

After all, they are only human.

Archaeologists working with wonder lasers have successfully burned a tunnel through the hard shell of the Great Pyramid of Giza to access a mysterious void deep inside the famous landmark and discover what secrets it holds.

“It’s simply amazing,” Prof Knot Reel enthused to LCD Views’ second best historical correspondent.

“You know, in the old days, it would take us months to get this far into an ancient building. But these lasers? Wow.

No more messing about with toothbrushes and trowels. Thank God.

I used to be so envious when I watched Time Team on television and saw them rip off feet of dirt with diggers, seemingly without a care. But now I have this laser gun!”

We agreed the new technology was very good at burning through the millennia thick crust that obscures the good stuff.
“You aren’t worried about the curse of the pharaoh?”

“Why would I be with this puppy? How well do you think a zombie mummy is going to fare against a laser? A toothbrush and a trowel? Yeah. You were in trouble before, unless you can run fast. Let’s get in and see what’s inside, shall we?”

We did.

The tunnel burned into the pyramid’s mass was still a little smokey. Still glowing a bit. But with only superficial burns we arrived at a void that had heard no human heart beat for 1,000’s of years.

“Look!” Prof Knot exclaimed. “It’s a plastic wrapped booklet. It must be the last thoughts of that fellow wrapped up and shoved in the corner over there.”
The fellow was presumably a previously unknown pharaoh.

“You can’t buy class,” Prof Reel commented. “Too much bling on him for my liking. Imagine turning up at the local looking like that? Flash jack.”

“Let’s have a look in the bag doc.”

“Okay.”

Cheerfully our second best correspondent (now our third, we’ve hired) assisted the professor in ripping away the outer cover to get at the papyrus inside.

“You’re kidding me.”

What? Quickly!

“The Pyramid is supposed to be a fucking square.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look at these, these are the assembly instructions. It’s all here. Look at the cover picture. It’s supposed to be a big square. And look, against your foot, there’s two spare screws there. They just knocked it together, got to what they thought was the end of the build and shrugged at clear red flags that said go back, try again.”

Sod that.

“No wonder they covered their faces. How embarrassing. Build all these pyramids only to discover they should have been squares? Cripes.”

So the ancient Egyptians were just your basic family struggling to put together a bloody flat pack cabinet?

“Maybe not a cabinet. This could perhaps have been a chest of drawers? Like they have at Skara Brae.”

Analysis of the stone suggests it was quarried in Sweden. A sales booklet has since been found in the pocket of the chap in the corner, confirming the hypothesis that IKEA was established thousands of years earlier than initially believed.

More revelations from the void as they come to light, if the laser doesn’t burn them to dust first.

A Milton Keyne man’s favourite t-shirt has passed the all important sniff test for a fourth consecutive day.

LCD Views sent our menswear correspondent along to speak to the relieved citizen. A Mr Colin Mullet, 47, married, three kids, one dog (old), he’s currently on long service leave.

“It’s my favourite tee. I’m really relieved not to be able to smell perspiration on it.”

It is a good t-shirt and LCD Views understands his visible relief.

“You see the genius?” Colin continued, “A chicken and an egg in a photo finish? It cracks me up. Who came first? We’ll never know!”

Colin’s wife, Katherine, was present when we visited.

“I married a genius,” she declared, deadpan, “he actually designed that t-shirt and had it printed himself.”

“You drew it,” Colin interjected.

“That makes me talented too then I suppose. Although I wished you’d had it printed on more expensive material. Something that breathes.”

The doorbell rang at that point and Mr Mullet left the room to answer the door.

“More tea vicar?” Katherine considerately asked our correspondent.

“I am not religious.”

“Do you want more tea or not? Coffee?” Katherine persisted.

“Coffee, but only if it’s real and not some powdered nonsense.”

“You and Colin will get on fine. He insists on making real coffee with a real expresso maker over the gas, won’t drink any other sort, but has the hygiene levels of a thirteen year old.”

“So you don’t approve of the sniff test? Surely it keeps the laundry lighter? My own t-shirt is on day five.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? You had nachos last night. There’s a friggin’ chip stuck to the bottom of the shirt!”

Colin returned at that point, a package clearly concealed under his shirt. We used the moment to discretely pick the shard of corn chip off the t-shirt, although the red smear of salsa remained and maybe a bit of cheese?

“Who was it?” Mullet asked Mullet.

“Nothing. No one. Don’t worry about it,” Colin continued through the room and on.

“What do you think is in the box he’s got shoved up his smelly old tee?” Katherine asked.

“An incubator, some eggs and tape?”

“Oh my god. Do you think so? Wait. How do you know?”

“We’ve decided to help Colin answer the eternal question. It will make a great follow up article.”

“You’re a prat,” Katherine asserted, but with a smile, “The eggs have clearly come first this time.”

Bugger.