Category: Playing up

LCD Views feels coerced to reassure fans of four alleged Russian agents today that none are afraid of Kremlin attack as none are double agents.

”We allegedly work direct for the Kremlin,” the first to speak reassured, “and only for the Kremlin. Absolitely nothing we do is in the British interest, or the American interest while we’re on the subject. So sleep tight tonight knowing no shadow force will harm us.”

The statement is a timely one and one people on both sides of the Atlantic are no doubt happy to hear.

”Look, without me they would have one less alleged channel of laundering money out of the Russian state and into foreign accounts,” the second commented, “do you want to buy insurance? I don’t have any personally. What would I need it for with such a teat to suckle on in the dark?”

While the narcissistic rabbit in headlights who currently placeholds as British Foreign Secretary did give a carbon copy statement on such matters today, no one paid much attention, because why would they to that man these days?

”I’m not changing my routine one bit,” advised the third, “I’m busy googling away for any alleged sexual predator I can share a stage with to make sure people keep talking about me. I’d share a stage with Hitler if I had a time machine. Imagine how many BBCQT slots that would book me!”

The fourth was not available for comment as he was busy working out how he can screw up the green shoots of no threat of nuclear Armageddon starting on the Korean Peninsula with one perfectly misphrased tweet.

LCD Views has been given the exclusive by Lord Rothermere, owner of The Daily Vomit. His portfolio has broadened with the launch of Daily Smear Musical Theatre Productions.

A West End theatre on Shaftsbury avenue is to be the venue for Smear’s first production, ‘Enemies of the People’, which is described as:

‘A reawakening of the famous, multi score musical The Producers, and just putting more Nazis in to increase the fun for everyone!’

In a closely guarded interview we sent I P Standing along to gain insight into the production, which has been described by insiders as very much heart on sleeve.

“I feel that the hit ‘Springtime for Hitler’ blends in well with current political dynamic,” said Lord Rothermere, “I can’t stop humming it…..be a smarty join the Nazi party. I do it while I try to undermine the judiciary.”

The Lord went on to reveal it reminds him of “fond memories of my grandfather looking across at Adolf with all those impressive men doing what he wanted. Actually breaking real things, can you imagine?”

He even suggested Oswald Mosley should be the UK governor! What a pick.

“I’ve spoken to my editor, Paul Dacre of the Daily Vomit,” Rothermere continued, “and he can’t stop coming up with new verses to complement the songs in the production. He said he’s so fertile with ideas that it’s getting in the way of desperately digging for dirt on Meghan Markle.”

His current favourite is, ‘Enemies of the People, throw them from the steeple!’ set to a swinging drum and bass.

“We’re going to ask Stormzy to set the score for some of the new songs. If he refuses we’ll run articles all week in the Vomit blaming him for causing the riots in 2011. Follow it up by proving he causes fruit to rot in the fields.”

Lord Rothermere is putting real effort into the costumes too, “I’m currently designing the uniforms for the show. Broad lapels with a waspish Kate Hoey waist, hem at half thigh, and of course knee length black shiny boots.

It should be a fashion winner on the catwalks of Milan!

Dacre has said that once we are ready to launch the show, he will do an eight page spread.

It will be truthful, extremely positive, a serious pre-determined and critical acclaim of the show.”

When will it open?

“Oh, that’s easy, we have it scheduled for 10pm on 20th March 2019. Quite apt, don’t you think? Get the brown shirts swinging, singing and dancing again the old fashioned musical way.”

“Well, what do you think?”

I looked into the LCD Views editors’ eyes, trying to read their thoughts, Slowly a smile spread across their faces.

“Damn it Standing, I like it! I like the cut of your jib, but you are going to need my joke Swiss army watch. Here, I haven’t used it in years, I hope it still works.”

“What’s this big red button?” I asked as I pressed it….water sprayed from the watch into the editors’ eyes.

“You best leave now Standing, to catch your flight.”

Upon landing in the Virgin Is (USA) I hunted around for a fixer.

I explained I needed a small fast boat to take me to Thomas Island under cover of darkness.

“You can’t be serious? No one has ever returned from that island alive. It would be a one way trip!”

“Ok, I’ll take a single ticket, that should be half price, correct?”

That night with no moon, we set out for Thomas Island. The boatman was nervous:

“You know who lives there don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “That is why my country is depending on me, I need to get in to see and photograph the A4 sheet of the Brexit plans, they will be in the safe or on a notice board in the news room.”

The boatman drops me 25m from the shore. Just the right distance with my RLSS competent swim badge.

It’s so dark I can’t see a bloody thing, so I roll into a ditch just up from beach and wait until daylight.

I’ve overslept, the sun is up and shining brightly. I gingerly look over the top edge of the ditch and I see this stunning woman rising out of the sea wearing conch shells in all the wrong places!

I hear the engine note of a speed boat, she runs and dives into the ditch beside me. I rearrange her conch shells so they are all in the right places.

“Do you speak Engleeesh?” I ask

“Yes, I’m from Deptford, what are you doing here Standing, this is my mission. Whoever gets that A4 sheet of the Brexit plan will make it big time in the main stream news media.”

We start to discuss terms, I suggest……no deal is better than a bad deal.

“Don’t be such a fool,” she says.

“Who opens a negotiation with that premise?”

Before I could answer, I feel a bang to my head and I collapse unconscious.

I awake in a room lying strapped to a table with a strange looking pointy thing hanging from the ceiling. To my left in pride of place is a life size statue of Theresa May all covered in gold with a silver anchor chain hung around the neck.

In walks the evil genius and the owner of the island.

“Aaah Mr Standing, we meet at last”
“Dacre you won’t get away with it.

The British people will see through your evil Brexit cult and you will be finished for ever,” I squeaked.

Dacre smiles an evil smile and throws a big lever by the wall. The big pointy thing in the ceiling starts to hum, suddenly a beam of red laser light starts to cut the table, slowly travelling towards my conch shell.

A CNC cutting machine! Oh, that is cunning.

“Dacre, do you expect me to talk?”

“No, Mr Standing, I expect you to die,” smarmed the evil Brexit genius as he leaves me alone in the room.

Suddenly I remember the joke watch the LCD Views editor loaned me.

I pressed all the buttons and then in desperation I pressed the big red button.

The water sprayed on to the laser light and the CNC machine instantly stopped due to electricity and water not being the best of friends.

Hours later, I manage to free myself and search for an escape route.

Upon running past a noticeboard I see the A4 Brexit plans with scribbled words in the margin (Mad Max, deep and meaningful, seamless border) written by David Davis.

I take a photograph and run onwards.

Time to text the secret rescue code to the orange satsuma visiting the Pentagon: ‘Virgin Islands ban guns’.
I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long. Within half an hour ten helicopters emblazoned with the NRA logo and brandishing every possible rifle, machine gun and rocket grenade launcher used for hunting squirrel, descended upon the island.

I held up a conch shell…..to show I was friendly.

In the big FA Cup match last night, the Magic Of The Cup™ was reignited as a football team beat another football team.

The football team that won famously played the football team that lost in an FA Cup Final some years back, and they won then, too. This match was billed as a rematch despite none of the same players playing.

LCD’s Ball Games correspondent spoke to the winning team’s manager. “I’m over the moon!” gushed Paul Manager. “The lads gave 110% for 110% of the match. You can’t ask for more than that. We can 110% beat anyone on our day. It’s eleven against eleven at the end of the day.”

Goal scorer Will Score gave his opinion. “The ball came to me, and I just kicked it,” he said. “Luckily, I made perfect contact, and the ball nestled in the net. It’s the best feeling in the world. That’s what it’s all about!”

In the Botch of the Day studio, the pundits were wetting themselves. “It’s the game of the weekend, definitely,” said Larry Gineker. “A proper old-fashioned David and Goliath story, isn’t it?”

“Why aye was so exci’ed when that canny goooal wen’ in,” claimed Alan Geordie. “I was runnin’ round the studio, with one arm half-cocked like, when Will Score scored!”

“Is the Magic Of The Cup™ back?” asked Gineker. “Here, Alan, have a packet of Smoky Bacon and calm down.”

“Yes, the Magic Of The Cup™ is 110% back, and it means that at least one football team from somewhere in the north goooes into the hat for the next round,” replied Geordie. “Ready Salted for me, please, Larry.”

The latest news is that the winning football team will play another winning football team in a few weeks’ time. Analysts believe that the football team has a 50-50 chance of winning, and the likelihood of a draw is 10%.

It’s all very exciting. Football means football.

There is measured fury today from Team GB at the news the International Olympic committee has refused Team GB’s request to have ‘the long game’ recognised as a sport and to be included in competition the next time London hosts the Olympics.

“It never ends,” Olympic official, Mr Un Bribable told LCD Views’ sports desk, “at first we thought they were talking about test match cricket. We considered that, now it has day night format, four day potential and different coloured balls.”

But it seems once the committee discovered it was actually a political game interest cooled quickly.

“Yes, the Olympics goes for a couple of weeks, so a game over a few days maybe possible, so long as not many countries in the world were interesting in competing in it.

But a game that goes over years? A movement game?

Where you have to build a movement and the nurture it, and then deal with factional infighting at the same time as your opponent is dealing with factional infighting and is incredibly vulnerable, but you refuse to go on all out attack?

What is the point of that? When you see an open goal but refuse to strike because you’d prefer to strike in the 52,000th minute, just because.

We understand the scoring system deducts points from your team in penalties while you refuse to attack a weakened opponent and gives it to them too.

I don’t see how anyone is going to win, given there is no actual specified length of play either and the team captain is generally only found in small halls complaining no one gives him attention.”

Asked for comment, Team GB financial director, John said,

“I like that the first half of this game doesn’t finish until 2022.

That’s several years away and I rather like a movement game that never ends, it makes me feel important every morning with no possibility of having to stop playing, or even winning.”

The poster boy for the Victorian throwback wing of the Conservative Party was involved in fisticuffs yesterday at a University somewhere quite a long way from London. Jacob Rees-Mogg, normally urbane and peaceful, has clearly been radicalised. The finger of suspicion is being pointed at Jeremy Corbyn.

“This distinct shift towards violent behaviour is typical in individuals who have been radicalised,” explained Prof Brian Washing, who specialises in such cases. “Mr Rees-Mogg must have been exposed to radical and subversive views. The most likely situation is one’s place of work. The most likely agent is someone you don’t suspect. Like a gentle, elderly man with a white beard who wouldn’t say boo to a goose.”

Rees-Mogg’s fan club has seized upon Prof Washing’s words with glee. “It’s so obvious!” spluttered long-standing Tory backbencher Sir Ebenezer Tophinose-Chinlack. “Jeremy Corbyn! His radical extremist left-wingery has infiltrated the House Of Commons. It’s a deliberate ploy to undermine democracy!”

Sir Ebenezer, who attends sessions in the Commons whenever the bar closes, warmed to his theme. “It’s part of a Marxist conspiracy, stirred up by the disgusting left-wing media,” he continued. “Unfortunately, Jacob seems to have been infected by it. These people are poisoning the public debate in the name of balance. It has to stop! The Commie press are having a field day.”

Labour failed to put up a spokesman to argue their case. This, admittedly, is in part due to new reporting rules, brought in by the government and meekly endorsed by the BBC. It decrees that there should be two sides to any debate. These are, roughly speaking, pro-Brexit and anti-Corbyn.

Meanwhile, back at his home in London, Corbyn was surprised by reporters as he stepped out this morning to do a little light weeding. “What? Young Jacob involved in a brawl?” he stuttered, clearly surprised. “Not possible. Check your sources. It sounds like fake news to me.”

At these dangerous words, the police were called. Corbyn was dragged off to a correctional facility, where he will be forced to say “Brexit Means Brexit” over and over again until he means it.

Anna Catharina Bischoff has spoken only to LCD Views’ family tree reporter today to refute claims of links to Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson, claiming “he’s adopted and I’ll go on Jeremy Kyle to prove it”.

The mummy, discovered in its testing place in a church yard in Basel in 1975, has refused to talk to the press for decades out of fear of scandal.

“I was worried the media would obsess over my syphilis,” Anna said,

“it never occurred to me the prophecy that haunted me while I was alive had come true.”

Anna goes on to state that she wasn’t superstitious in life and she’s not about to start being so after death.

Rejecting claims she was the great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother of Boris Johnson, she advised,

“Those boffins with their fancy toys best run that silly DNA test again, but this time on TV. That’ll set the record straight. If they will not I will sue for defamation.”

But how does she account for the prophecy?

“You mean related to the rumour, which I deny, in which a blonde beggar woman, who I refused shelter for a night, which I also deny, cast a spell on me?”

That one yes.

“In which she cursed me to be the great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother of a blonde haired, narcissistic, man child who would attain high political office only to use his position and influence to risk plunging Europe back into a spiral of division that could eventually lead to repeating the bloody and horrifying lessons of the 20th century?”

Yes, that one.

“Bollocks.”

Anna went on to offer her other big toe for testing but warned that if it came anywhere near the Foreign Secretary she’d jam it, “so far up his waffling ass he’ll curse the day he invented the banana straightening machine.”

Jeremy Kyle’s production company is reportedly ready to offer a six figure sum to ensure everyone has heard of the escalating scandal. Tune in. Drop in. Tune in. Drop out.

Breaking news reports this morning indicate that Saint George has been rushed to a local accident and emergency department this morning after mistaking a steam train for a dragon.

It appears the well known saint and monster killer was out early walking his poodle Montagu when he witnessed what he believed to be smoke rising from a nearby ravine.

LCD Views spoke to the only witness.

“There was a strange man all kitted out in armour, with a sword and a flag, one of those ones with a red cross on a magnolia background,” Ms Charlie Capulet observed,

“I thought he was a film extra. They do filming around here a fair bit. Anyway, the local steam train appreciation society, the Bluebell Railway, do a run every week and I could hear the train coming and see its plume.”

So could Saint George.

“He started shouting at me in a language that sounded arabic but not? Maybe actually an archaic form of Turkish? It had Latin words mixed in.

Anyway, when he could see I didn’t understand he switched to olde English. He was trying to warn me and pointing at the steam. He gave me his poodle and rushed into the gully with his sword raised shouting about saving me. It was a little dim, but very heroic.”

It seems Saint George managed to stand in front of the steam train and face it down, but the cowcatcher at the front lifted him clean off his feet as he was swinging his sword.

“He flew through the air for about ten metres and landed in a bramble patch. I tied his dog up to a tree and rushed down. He’s just bruised and shaken up I think. I called an ambulance and put him in the recovery position. That was hard! Plate armor and chainmail is very heavy.”

Reports from The Royal Infirmary suggest Saint George is expected to make a full recovery, once some bruising and concussion clears, although that is likely to happen while he waits in the ambulance to just get inside A&E.

“He’s very sweet. He keeps dispatching pigeons to ask if I’m alright? I don’t know why he doesn’t just phone me? The big duffer.”

Virgin Media has come under fire today for continuing to stalk lost customers even after death, once they’re in the afterlife.

The shocking revelation came about after a bereaved widow successfully contacted her deceased husband during a seance with a local psychic.

“We got hold of Barry,” a distressed Mrs Barry told LCD’s Virgin never gives it up correspondent. “I had expected him to say it’s alright love, don’t worry about me, I’m in a better place now, but that wasn’t how it went.”

It seems the psychic, famous locally for predicting the winner of the 1974 Grand National, advised Mrs Barry that she could only keep contact with her lost husband for seconds, so not to waste a moment.

“I said Barry, Barry? Can you hear me love?” Mrs Barry related, “He replied, yes my flower, the line is a bit scratchy but I can hear you.”

Mrs Barry then started to ask Mr Barry what he has done with the little slip of paper that had the BT broadband wifi password written on it? But Barry interrupted her, sounding angry and frustrated.

“Tell Virgin to sod off! We switched from them five years ago because I didn’t like the service. They chased me into the grave with sales letters and now I’m getting them in the bleeding afterlife! Enough is enough. Cut it out!”

Mrs Barry was unable to ask anymore questions because the psychic lost the connection at that point and Barry drifted back across the division between the mortal plane and the afterlife.

“I’m gutted. I haven’t been able to get online since Barry passed away and now it seems I’ll be stuck without Netflix forever.”

LCD write to Virgin Media to inquire if they didn’t think their chasing of lost customers was a little too persistent?

They sent us four hundred and fifty seven sales letters in reply and more are arriving each day. We are to move offices shortly to make them go away.

The UK intends to split quotas of food imports with the EU after Brexit. The current favourable deal will have to be renegotiated. Australia’s trade minister Bruce Pombasher is unimpressed. He says, no deal unless the Aussies triumph in the Ashes.

LCD spoke to Pombasher in the Test Match Special commentary box over an improbable amount of cake.

“Yeah, it’s a bloody disgrace,” he opined while munching Battenberg. “It’s gonna wreak havoc over the next three years. There’s no pace, and precious little spin. England haven’t helped themselves by dropping catches all over the shop. They look horribly underprepared.”

Pombasher referred to the close of England’s innings in the first year of the match. “The last wicket was a close call,” he said. “Pretty much 50-50. Well, it went to review and was given out. The strange thing was the Barmy Army. They were shouting ‘Out! Out! Out!’ and started to celebrate.”

“I just don’t get it,” says Pombasher, through a mouthful of black forest gateau. “Normally you Poms are rubbish, but at least try to win a bit. You guys have given us catching practice, and celebrated with us. You can’t trade with people with that attitude. What’s your game?”

It seems like England actually want to lose the Ashes. Barmy Army representative Johnny Bullock took a moment out from constructing a beer snake to talk to us. “We’re all out, and that’s what really matters,” he says, adding another plastic pint glass to the snake. “I’ve always said that it is vital that we get out as soon as possible. Beer snake means beer snake.”

The Aussies have piled on the runs, but the England camp is still bullockish. “They need us more than we need them,” said England coach Oswald “Ozzie” Boycott. “So, in the end, they will capitulate, and we will take the Ashes home as usual. Stick that in your deep mid-wicket and smoke it.”

Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust. There’s many a slip ‘twixt wicket-keeper and gully. Deal or no deal? It’s just not cricket.