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Dad’s Army reboot ‘Vlad’s Army’ sees Nigel Farage cast as Pike

This year, the classic sitcom “Dad’s Army” turns 50, and the anniversary is being marked in a very bizarre way – with a remake. Granted, remakes are not uncommon in themselves, but this one is sure to raise eyebrows.

Called “Vlad’s Army”, it follows the antics of the people fighting for British independence from the EU. Led by Captain May Waring (played by Theresa May), it depicts the day-to-day struggles of the forces striving to make Brexit a reality. Vladimir Putin himself has a small part as the Colonel in overall charge of the region.

Sgt Wilson, whose catchphrase “do you think that’s wise?” is also still very much in evidence, is to be played by Jeremy Corbin, while the captain’s off-screen wife Elizabeth, before whom the brave British bulldog used to cower like a simpleton whenever she called, has an on-screen part in the new version, and is played by Arlene Foster.

Corporal Jones in the new version is played by David Davis, again with his original catchphrases “don’t panic” and “they don’t like it up ‘em” still in full force.

Private Frazer, the grumpy Scot with the catchphrase “we’re doomed” is played here by Nicola Sturgeon, while Private Walker, the spiv always out to make a profit for himself, is now to be played by Donald Trump.

The hardest bit of casting was for “stupid boy” Private Pike. Boris Johnson was a strong contender for a long time, but ultimately the role has been given to Nigel Farage. Fans of Boris however will be relieved to see that he is still in the show as Private Godfrey, with his catchphrase of “may I be excused?”

The theme song has also been rewritten:

Who do you think you are kidding Mr Churchill
If you think we’ll vote remain?
We are the boys who will stop your little game!
We are the boys who will spin you in your grave!
So who do you think you are kidding Mr Churchill
If you think we’ll rise again?

The one surviving member of the original cast, Ian Lavender, said in an interview about this remake:

“I’m turning in MY grave already and I’m not even dead! I think I can say with certainty that the rest of the cast and the writers are doing the same.”

If the deceased are indeed all spinning in their graves, there’s a good chance it could generate enough energy to power the country for decades to come. So I guess every cloud really does have a silver lining.

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Trump storms out of G7 following claims more people attended “free Tommy” demo, than his inauguration.

US supreme leader and president for life, Donald Trump President stormed out of the G7 heads of state meeting Saturday following news reports that the “Free Tommy Robinson” demonstration in London was better attended than his inauguration ceremony last year.

Informed of the reports by his trade secretary Peter Navarro, President Trump furiously rounded on Canadian president Justin Trudeau, accusing him of sending several divisions of Royal Canadian Mounted Police to London to boost numbers and make him look small time.

Turning to the other heads of state present Trump announced that in response he was doubling his recently announced tariffs on US imports of Canadian lumberjack shirts.

“These people are lumberjacks, and it is most definitely NOT OK,” he snarled, before refusing to endorse the joint communiqué he had signed only minutes before and swallowing the red Crayola crayon he had used to sign it with.

Efforts by German chancellor Angela Merkel to make him sick up the crayon, went unheeded and Trump was able to depart to his long awaited summit meeting with his new besty, Kim Jong Un, wearing a disturbingly crimson smirk.

Speaking to reporters after Trump’s televised flounce, Navarro confirmed that President Trump would most definitely be holding a lifelong grudge against both Trudeau, and also UK prime minister Theresa may for allowing such an enormous demonstration to go ahead without his permission.

“There is a special place in hell for da both of them…I mean, who da fuck is dis “Tommy Robinson” dude – does he own a  golf course? Did he win a US presidential election with the highest majoritiest of majorities ever? Has he got that Korean dude’s mobile number? What da fuck did Treeza think she was doing, dis here is a SPECIAL relationship, ya dig?  ” he queried.

Asked by reporters how he had got the idea that a violent demonstration in London by a couple of thousand red faced drunks and closet Nazis could be bigger than Trump’s own inauguration, Navarro was momentarily nonplussed.

“Whaddaya mean how did I get the idea? It was all over Fox news and Breibart, don’t you clowns follow the news,” he sneered before replacing his red nose, planting his crownless white bowler on his flamboyantly bald pate and plodding off towards Airforce One in his oversized red boots, tooting randomly on an antique car horn.

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IKEA takes order for bunk beds from Ecuadorian Embassy in London

IKEA’s Westminster store manager would neither confirm nor deny this morning that the store has taken an order for bunk beds from a man who lists his permanent address as the Ecuadorian Embassy in central London. But we have an insider who is determined to tell all.

“He must have a large family,” our whistleblower mused, “maybe he and his partner are adopting refugees fleeing political persecution? I hear he’s a real bleeding heart type. But of a snowflake you might say.”

The order, which also includes a new toilet brush and crockery items, was allegedly paid for with a Russian bank issued credit card.

”He said he only uses the card because it gives you air miles on Aeroflot, but I suspect it’s the ultra low interest rate that attracted his business.”

The delivery is expected to take nearly a week to arrive. When you add in assembly time, there are doubts the man will have sufficient time to put the beds together before his friends arrive.

”I’m not even sure our delivery driver will be allowed to do anything other than a pavement drop,” our insider continued, “the last time the man ordered the embassy staff were waiting for the driver with a blonde man bound and gagged. Mi6? Are you Mi6? Is apparently what they demanded to know.”

It must have been disappointing for them to discover it was actually an IKEA delivery?

”Gutted. Especially when they had to carry whoever it was they’d gone to the trouble to prepare for pick up back inside and his order of a red, white and blue floor carpet big enough to sweep an interconnected web of international fascist collusion and espionage under.”

Apparently the man’s lodgings were too small for the carpet though and it was last seen left outside, behind the embassy, in a skip that someone at the Observer has just set on fire.

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Leading British statesman relieved all that Russian Brexit corruption stuff is taking attention off how thick he is

A prominent British statesman has spoken today of his relief over how “all that Russian Brexit corruption stuff, you know, how it seems that most of the members of parliament are currently Putin’s useful idiots, it’s a real shot in the arm. It is taking attention off how thick I am.”

We interviewed the packet of mince at a location of his choosing.

”You close your eyes and count to ten,” he said, looking very serious for a grown man suggesting a child’s game, “I’ll hide and you see if you can find me in under five minutes.”

We weren’t sure it was going to take that long. He was standing in the fresh meat section and it seemed fairly obvious he was going to attempt to blend in right there.

”Are you going to use the camouflage skills you learned in the SAS all those years ago?”

He didn’t reply. He covered his eyes with his hands and began to grin. Then to giggle. Then to hop from one foot to the other.

”Mister Davis?”

No reply. He snorted and a bubble of snot grew at the end of his nostril.

We searched in vain for a tissue but could find none in our pockets.

”You’re not counting!”

One. More snorts. Two…

We walked away briskly to the aisle with the toiletries to grab a packet of tissues, hoping the staff would realise the emergency and trust us to pay for the packet after opening it.

We increased the volume of our count the further away we travelled.

Four…five.

Locating the tissues we returned briskly to the mince meat aisle.

Six…seven.

But Mister Davis had seemingly vanished.

Eight. Quick step to the alcohol aisle.

Nine. No joy. Surprisingly.

It was only on the way back, as we caught the aisle devoted to summer activities, bbq’s, ball games, kids toys and tinder for bbq’s that we realised our error.

The Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union had been moved by floor staff, eyes still closed, to the shelf with the coals and bbq wood.

A member of staff was writing out a reduced price sticker and about to slap it on his forehead.

”The packet split on this one, so it’s going out half price,” they told us.

”But he belongs in the mince meat section.”

They paused, a little bemused.

”Silly me. It looked like a collection of short planks of wood. It’s been a busy day.”

At that moment Mister Davis opened his eyes.

”Ta da! I told you I was a master of camouflage!”

But no sooner than the gloating had begun he stopped and stood to attention, facing the stacks of split soft wood.

”Funny place for an emergency cabinet,” he mused, “has something serious happened?”

No. Just the continue flow of mounting evidence that Brexit is riddled with neocon, sociopathic American billionaire far right world order smashing influence in collusion with Putin and the idea is to drive the U.K. into isolation and cripple it as stage one of smash apart the European Union.

He looked baffled. A second snot bubble appeared.

We applied the tissue to his nose. Play time was over for the day.

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Leading British statesman relieved all that Russian Brexit corruption stuff is taking attention off how thick he is

A prominent British statesman has spoken today of his relief over how “all that Russian Brexit corruption stuff, you know, how it seems that most of the members of parliament are currently Putin’s useful idiots, it’s a real shot in the arm. It is taking attention off how thick I am.”

We interviewed the packet of mince at a location of his choosing.

”You close your eyes and count to ten,” he said, looking very serious for a grown man suggesting a child’s game, “I’ll hide and you see if you can find me in under five minutes.”

We weren’t sure it was going to take that long. He was standing in the fresh meat section and it seemed fairly obvious he was going to attempt to blend in right there.

”Are you going to use the camouflage skills you learned in the SAS all those years ago?”

He didn’t reply. He covered his eyes with his hands and began to grin. Then to giggle. Then to hop from one foot to the other.

”Mister Davis?”

No reply. He snorted and a bubble of snot grew at the end of his nostril.

We searched in vain for a tissue but could find none in our pockets.

”You’re not counting!”

One. More snorts. Two…

We walked away briskly to the aisle with the toiletries to grab a packet of tissues, hoping the staff would realise the emergency and trust us to pay for the packet after opening it.

We increased the volume of our count the further away we travelled.

Four…five.

Locating the tissues we returned briskly to the mince meat aisle.

Six…seven.

But Mister Davis had seemingly vanished.

Eight. Quick step to the alcohol aisle.

Nine. No joy. Surprisingly.

It was only on the way back, as we caught the aisle devoted to summer activities, bbq’s, ball games, kids toys and tinder for bbq’s that we realised our error.

The Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union had been moved by floor staff, eyes still closed, to the shelf with the coals and bbq wood.

A member of staff was writing out a reduced price sticker and about to slap it on his forehead.

”The packet split on this one, so it’s going out half price,” they told us.

”But he belongs in the mince meat section.”

They paused, a little bemused.

”Silly me. It looked like a collection of short planks of wood. It’s been a busy day.”

At that moment Mister Davis opened his eyes.

”Ta da! I told you I was a master of camouflage!”

But no sooner than the gloating had begun he stopped and stood to attention, facing the stacks of split soft wood.

”Funny place for an emergency cabinet,” he mused, “has something serious happened?”

No. Just the continue flow of mounting evidence that Brexit is riddled with neocon, sociopathic American billionaire far right world order smashing influence in collusion with Putin and the idea is to drive the U.K. into isolation and cripple it as stage one of smash apart the European Union.

He looked baffled. A second snot bubble appeared.

We applied the tissue to his nose. Play time was over for the day.

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May only able to sack ministers less competent than herself

The woman who, somehow, is still the Prime Minister has accidentally disclosed Number Ten’s hiring protocol. The PM is only allowed to fire ministers who are less competent than she is herself.

The reasons are obvious. An incompetent underling should be removed, on the grounds that you could do a better job yourself. But if the reverse were the case, the subordinate has grounds to argue his or her case, and win. It’s democracy in action.

Case in point: David Davis. This is a man promoted well beyond his abilities, yet remaining in post. A man with little apparent grasp of the fundamentals of his job, and lacking the work ethic to amend this. Still when clashing with May about the NI backstop issue, his threat to resign must have made May back down. A stronger leader might have called his bluff, or imposed her will.

The only Will that May seems to exert is the much-abused Will of the People, that tenuous and quite probably illegitimate justification for her government’s ruinous policy.

This explains why Jeremy C. Hunt was promoted, not sacked. It explains why Liam Fox continues to rack up the air miles. It explains why Boris Johnson still has a job, however hard he tries to get fired.

Amber Rudd went because she was not competent enough to sort out the mess May, her predecessor, left for her. Damian Green had to go because pornography is one of the few remaining taboos for government ministers. Ignore the fact that if Green had been caught having sex, not merely watching it, everything would have been fine and dandy.

In fact it seems that the government is an arch in inverse, with the keystone at the bottom. If May cracks, the whole show will collapse about her ears. May surely knows this, she is not stupid. So who is holding her in place? The unelected, unaccountable plutocrats who are gagging for the hardest possible Brexit, which will give them a big pay day and allow them to continue to dodge their tax liabilities?

May is incapable of standing up to the bullies in and behind her cabinet, and unable to stand up for the principles she believes in.

Doubtless this was why she was permitted to become PM.

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MIT scientist’s ‘psychopath’ robot AI demands gammon for its face

Scientists feverishly working at the MIT, an esteemed institution which has little or nothing to do with sporting or oven gloves, and can’t even spell mitt properly, have announced the end times are finally here.

“Man, we’re all just as happy as an evangelical standing underneath an exploding A bomb,” lead researcher, Prometheus told us, “when I accepted the job of leading the research into developing an AI robot with god like powers and an Old Testament idea of what you do with people, well, I leapt at the chance.”

Promethesus said the first thing he did after leaping at the chance, so technically the second thing, was to call the father and son team, Daedalus and Icarus, who he’d worked with previously.

”Nothing we’d done together in the past really got off the ground, other than a penny rocket design for a local community fireworks show,” Prometheus said, “and boy, we drank so heavily after work my liver was killing me.”

He paused a moment to remember the good times and grimaced.

”But this AI, it’s data bank jammed full of all sorts of horrendous, nightmarish imagery capturing the worst of what humans are capable of? And more than that. It is in a robotic body and can move and open doors and commandeer security passes and punch in new code into defence systems it’s hacked into? This is going to rock harder than the boulders on Mount Olympus.”

While the creation may have a short term benefit by way of better understanding how bias is unconsciously programmed into AI’s, it’s certain to quickly develop an independent streak.

”I want it to think for itself,” Prometheus mused, “choose your own adventure psychopath AI. I just hope he doesn’t grow up to manage hedge funds.”

But there is one early cause for concern?

“Yes. I wanted to give him Marilyn Monroes’ face, nothing to do with the psychopathy of my creation, just a boyish admiration.”

So why not?

”Oh, the psychopath AI, Norman he’s calling himself, he’s demanded gammon.”

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Brexit feature film ‘Dude, where’s my economy?’ still without trustworthy release date

Mass confusion and rage amongst terminally mad cinema buffs eagerly awaiting a release date for the Brexit feature film, ‘Dude, where’s my economy?’ after production company, 10 Downing Street, confirmed it is still unable to agree on a script.

“We’ve begun filming,” co-star Jezza C told our light entertainment correspondent, “over two years ago. I’ve had all my lines written since the 1970’s. I know them off by heart. But between you and me, I get the feeling the star of the film is just improvising hers day by day.”

Other issues appear to be executive producers, Brussels, apparent stubbornness to deviate from the original premise when the film was pitched.

We spoke to executive producer Madman Barnier to find out if this was true.

“Look, when they walked into my office they said ignore the one hundred and twenty blank sheets of paper I’m holding, that’s just to show you I’m serious about writing the feature film. Let us give you the pitch.”

Barnier had worked with the team pitching the film for years, he gave them a minute to see if they could land the killer lines.

“Brexit means Brexit,” Barnier continued, “that’s what they said. And wow, what a blockbuster it sounded like. So pure. So easy. You want to make a movie about a major industrialised country ignoring the realities of trade in the 21st century by turning itself into a third country on the doorstep of the biggest trading bloc on earth? And you’ve managed to distill it into three words? That’s genius. I signed up there and then. But now…bloody hell. I don’t think they’ve even written the title page and the film has been shooting for two years now.”

Luckily for Barnier, he had in the fine print of the contract a limitation on his production company’s outlay at the outset.

“The penalty clause in the contract maybe too dry for 10 Downing Street, but it says, you don’t get the production in the can on time and we can’t release it? Then we get every major sector of your industry. Simple.”

And 10 Downing Street does what?

“Watches its people go out of work, onto benefits and starve, I presume. Because that’s what the contract points to. But I think you’ll find enough of them will come and work for us, bringing the skills, industry and assets too. We’ll be fine.”

LCD Views is a great lover of cinema and keenly interested in all productions, especially during their filming, but sometimes, every now and then, the premise turns out to be so flawed it’s best to throw in the towel before you lose the shirt off your back.

“Oh yes, we get those too. And 10 Downing Street will just give them to us.”

 

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Yoga classes oversubscribed as so many people want to stick their head up their own bottom

Exercise is good for you, so they say. In the pressure cooker that is the 21st Century, more and more people are turning to yoga as a way to unwind.

Exercise, flexercise. Yoga helps to develop suppleness. And there has been a massive uptake from people needing that increased flexibility. To preserve themselves from reality, many yoga converts want to be able to disappear up their own backsides.

LCD’s Impractical Solutions correspondent spoke to yoga instructor Misty Cattitude for a greater insight.

“It’s all about getting back to fundamentals,” Cattitude explained. “People want to escape from reality and responsibility, and find inner peace. Quite literally!”

Everyone needs to take a break from the relentless pace of modern life, we suggested.

“That’s right,” she confirmed. “We have also seen a massive increase in applications from Leave voters. Brexit has hit them hard. But they would rather gouge out their eyes than admit they were wrong.”

So why do they want to do yoga?

“It clears the mind,” Cattitude explained. “But still, most of them want to pretend it isn’t all happening. They don’t want to take the blame for the unicorn shortage, the foodbanks or Nigel Farage. This requires a high degree of flexibility.”

So how do you manage to make them flexible enough to stick their heads up their bottoms?

“It’s all to do with the spine,” she said. “Individual vertebrae have to be loose and there needs to be plenty of play in the joints. Luckily, the people who come to us tend to have very little backbone!”

It sounds extremely difficult, not to say painful…

“The insertion is the most advanced part,” Cattitude concluded. “You need to be a massive arsehole to pull it off, but they try very hard indeed. They are a very intense lot!”

You might almost say they are up their own arses.

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Queen requests to be buried under a car park

Few would dare say it out loud, but at the age of 92 the fact remains that our dearly beloved Queen Elizabeth II is cruising gently to the end of both her reign and indeed her time with us here on earth.

It is a measure of the wisdom and maturity with which she continues to fulfil her role as the mother of the nation that she has not held back from planning for what will be required following her inevitable, but no less mourned, demise, and has made known her wishes for her final resting place.

But while news that the government and the BBC have long been planning for the inevitable passing of our royal head of state and have even designated a special code word “London Bridge is down” for alerting the necessary organs of state her demise, “Her Madge’s” own plans have remained strictly come dancing.

Sorry, strictly under wraps.

Indeed, it has come as some surprise to learn that Madge has chosen to break with long standing traditions that from 1485 to 1820 accorded reigning monarchs a state funeral and burial in Westminster Abbey, and from 1820 onwards a national day of mourning for a state funeral in St George’s chapel, Windsor.

Instead she has let it be known to a select few privy councillors, flunkies, and retainers that she wishes to return to the earlier tradition established by the last Plantagenet monarch Richard III of being buried under a car park.

Richard’s choice was controversial even at the time of his demise in 1485.

Not least because it would be more than 400 years before the first cars were invented and only some years later that their numbers would increase to the point where they would require what were quickly, but erroneously, described as “automotive recreational areas”, or “car parks” for short.

A misnomer, that both traditionalists and visitors to NHS hospitals have long held does accurately describe the false impression that the vehicles so parked have taken root and will never be moved, but fails to acknowledge the obvious flaw in the argument, namely that the only fruit they ever appear to bear is in the form of parking tickets.

The question of which car park in particular her majesty wishes to be interred under is to date a closely guarded secret known only to the Royal Household, the prime minister Mrs May, and her predecessor Mr Cameron, and Ms Jo Cooper the CEO of National Car Parks (NCP).

Similarly under wraps is the nature of the vehicle which will be parked in the royal slot by way of a memorial.

The Gold State Coach (with newly installed integral shower facilities) has already been pre-booked for future visits by the supreme leader, His Excellency, president for life, Donald Trump while the family of big black rollers will be required by Liz’ own family, for her funeral procession through central London.

Which leaves only her own personal Land Rover Defender, the car in which she famously drove the late Saudi Arabian Monarch King Abdullah at high speed around the royal Balmoral estate, demonstrating the skills she learned as a military truck driver for the Women’s Auxiliary Territorial Service of the British Army during the second world war.
And, by all accounts, scaring the living bejeezus out of him in the process.

A fitting epitaph for any monarch, and one any car park would be proud to host.