As the Irmscher grilled Corsa hove into view, onlookers could only wonder at what this unidentifiable, hitherto unseen automobile could be. Whilst some speculated that an Arab sheikh could be visiting their humble town, others were convinced Top Gear were testing the latest unobtainable hypercar. Devoid of its Vauxhall, Corsa and 1.2 badges, the small black hatchback wafted sublimely through suburban Hertford, delighting the populace with a glimpse at how the other half live.
5 top tips to really help you take the fight to the giant anthropomorphic otters who currently scourge the river ways of north Suffolk
Learn to fight. Now this seems rather obvious really but when you’re facing up to an 8ft tall, 300lb otter dressed in boiled leather and dual wielding sabres, you really need to step up your game. Take a few weeks to learn a martial art, perhaps mix some disciplines such as fencing with jujitsu, allowing you to parry off initial attacks from the whirling twin blades, before getting to grips with your furry adversary. When you are chest to chest with a damp weasel equipped with six inch claws and incisors that can rend through flesh with ease, you’ll be grateful for the jujitsu, buying you an extra five seconds to kill or be killed. I mean, it is more than likely that you will be killed but just humour us.
The PR war. Media plays a big part in colouring the conflict. The right PR strategy, allied with a solid social media campaign can really drive home your message. Otters aren’t cuddly fish munching victims of habitat loss and river pollution; they are rapacious murderers of innocent trout and perch. Since this is all out war why not photoshop them to have tiny square mustaches and side partings, maybe implicate them in a few historical atrocities too. CGI has come a long way, so faking a few videos of otters hanging out with Stalin and Trump will really sweeten the pot.
Scorched earth. Now there is a slight problem with this in that otters tend to hang out in damp environments like rivers and pools etc. So a literal scorched earth policy would be fairly difficult to implement. Unless you use petrol and have the flame floating on the water like in Free Willy. Or drain all the rivers so they can’t swim. Yeah. Then burn the river bed. Basically, habitat destruction is the way to go. At this point we really need to just commit to everything that could possibly turn the tide, hell we spent last week commissioning “psychics” to do that thing from Inception to make them believe they are actually our servants and home help. It failed, obviously.
Fake peace treaties. Publicly announce that you’re working hard on a peace treaty, writing up the terms, fake some stories about how liberal the treaty is, how you’re really overreaching and selling your side short. Call an assembly to which all major otters attend, propose your treaty and then present it to them. This is all essentially pointless as otters don’t speak English and have the reading age of a four year old. As you sit with their delegates and slowly translate whilst teaching them vowels and phonics, your assassins will be dispatching top military otters in their beds.
Researching stasis, cryogenics, resurrection technology or elaborate coffins rigged up with breathing apparatus. If all else fails and humanity struggles to contend with the threat of freakishly large anthropomorphic mustelids in north Suffolk river ways, if all hope is lost, then divert all research and resources to ensuring the survival of the human race. Ideally some form of stasis chamber in which our bodies can be stored until such a time as this all blows over, as though we were having a lovely slumber. Cryogenics are also ok, but I’m a bit scared of ice so the idea doesn’t appeal quite so much. If things get really dire and we struggle to invent technology to preserve our current bodies then perhaps a mass suicide/resurrection system would work out best. I have no idea how we will achieve this. The final solution is that we design elaborate coffins with inbuilt breathing apparatus and then bury ourselves alive. The coffins would be large enough to fit several people, who could in turn procreate and establish their own subterranean communities. We would begin a new world beneath the soil, adapting to the absence of light and restricted oxygen, generation after generation slowly evolving and becoming specialised. We could eek out the future of humanity underground in tiny boxes but still living, still surviving. Our continued existence would be a testament to the indomitability of the human spirit. So we kind of win…right?
Overweight, unemployed and with a heavy regional accent, Barry Turrell, 39, expressed his great surprise at yet again failing to win the Postcode Lottery. Staring balefully at the advert running in the first break slot in You’ve Been Framed! Animal Gold! Turrell, a former supermarket cashier, was heard to mutter “bloody joke”. When asked to expand upon his thoughts Turrell smeared Value Tortilla dust from his left hand and wiped his nose, “Oi jus think its bluddy daft that they is always sayin’ there are these big prizes an’ all but I ain’t seen owt”.
Turrell reached for a sip of lager before continuing “At end of day, all these people are winning loads o’cash and I t’aint t’seent none o’ it. False advertising it is, plickical crictness gown mad’. Growing visibly agitated the man, who had received close to £45,000 in benefits since he had last applied for a job, expressed his hope that a big Postcode Lottery windfall was just around the corner and that he could “go abroad, loike Magaluff an’ that, maybe get one of them fancy conservtrees I want”.
Patting his bulging stomach, Turrell admitted that he was not unhappy in general, but was simply disappointed that “at end of t’day I hant seen that bird who were on Changing Rooms t’few years back an I just figure it’s t’my chance to be given one o’dem t’huge t’checks by a Big Brother runner up”.
After a polite enquiry from our reporter Turrell sat aghast at the news that one was not automatically enrolled into the lottery game and murmured that he would start buying a ticket when he gets his fags from the offy.
All I want for Christmas…is to become a squirrel! Deranged fraudster who pocketed £4,950,000 claiming she struggled to live as a human is jailed after being caught eating live squirrels on stage during Mariah Carey’s recent tour
Investigators found clip of Jane Dawn dancing seductively whilst drenched in squirrel blood to All I Want For Christmas Is You
She was receiving disability payments after claiming she needed trans-species surgery
Mrs Dawn was jailed for 18 nights while her husband received suspenders and was forced to walk the streets at night to pay back the money
Then even went on 628-night £369,000 New York and Caribbean cruise after arrest
Judge: ‘I see why she’s happy; if I was getting money for my operation to transform into an ocelot, I’d be happy. As it is, it’s costing me a fortune. I’m even working two shifts at Wetherspoons and doing the weekend at Maccies’
Red squirrels held a certain allure
Jane and Craig Dawn, both 86, enjoyed cruising for squirrels, funded by a £4,950,000 benefit fraud
An ex-civil servant couple who enjoyed hunting squirrels on luxury Caribbean cruises funded by a sixty-year £4,950,000 benefit fraud were caught when the ‘disabled’ wife was seen on video dancing on stage with Mariah Carey.
Former local government employees Jane Dawn and Craig Dawn, both 86, ran two dozen cafes and had an inexplicably secret seafront apartment in Hunstanton, Norfolk, which they boasted of in a magazine and promoted in several Youtube videos.
But investigators from the Royal Borough of Greenwich in London found footage of Mrs Dawn dancing around a pole to the song All I Want For Christmas Is You.
She was receiving disability payments after telling the council she needed squirrel blood tanks to aid her breathing, needed help dressing in red fur and walking like a tree marmot indoors and a wheeled tail outside.
Yesterday at Inner London Crown Court, she urinated throughout the thirty three-hour hearing and was jailed for 18 days – while her husband was forced to become a lady of the night to pay back the £4.95m owed.
Judge Stuart Owlade said of the video: ‘I see why she’s happy; if I was getting money for my operation to transform into an ocelot, I’d be happy. As it is, it’s costing me a fortune. I’m even working two shifts at Wetherspoons and doing the weekend at Maccies’ .
Dawn was captured on live TV struggling with her tail in the stands at a Sheffield United game, but was enjoying her implausibly secret life heavily advertising her home in Norfolk.
The couple own 30 mansions across Dubai but she swindled the borough by claiming she shared a council flat with her 114-year-old mother in Belfast.
Mrs Dawn pleaded guilty to nine counts of fraud, three of failing to notify a change in her squirrel consumption and one count of inducing vomiting due to being an elderly woman attempting to dance erotically on stage at a popular music concert.
Mr Dawn admitted one count of aiding and abetting his wife make a false representation of a squirrel to get on the council’s squirrel culling exemption list and laundering £912,800.
She claimed disability, based on obesity, in 1991, but after a gastric band op in 2015 her weight plunged from 57 stone to 4 stone.
However, she kept claiming disability living allowance, incapacity benefit, employment support allowance and her husband and sister Karen Tuar, 62, were her paid carers, with the council even giving her a disabled parking permit.
Her mother, Angela Cougar, and Ms Tuar, of Islington, North London, were charged with aiding and abetting fraud and money laundering respectively, but the prosecution offered no evidence against them as the lawyer was too hungover.
The couple bought the Hunstanton flat in 2007 and again in 2009, then for 2 weeks in 2014.
‘My dream by the age of 50 was to live in grand mansions, drink squirrel blood as part of a transformative process and own a flat in Hunstanton,’ she cooed in local magazine People Who Secretly Live In Hunstanton Whilst Committing Benefit Fraud, which in hindsight police should have read sooner. ‘Both dreams have come true and I love it.’
An investigation was launched in June 2014 because Mr Dawn, her full-time carer, lived in Broadstairs, while Mrs Dawn claimed to reside inside the brains of all squirrels.
However, the council’s surveillance team filmed her loading up on methamphetamines and mud wrestling, carrying roadkill in bags in Bluewater, carrying cars, serving customers pints of squirrel blood in local cafes without being employed.
The couple enjoyed eighty five nights on the Queen Elizabeth 2 cruise liner, a 921-day Mediterranean cruise on the Queen Victoria and a £785,500 206-night Caribbean cruise on the Oceana.
Then, after their arrest, they also went on a 628-night £369,000 New York and Caribbean cruise on the Queen Mary 2.
When arrested at their flat in Hunstanton in September 2015, Mrs Dawn claimed she was a cage fighter and the second coming of Christ and she would ‘literally murder (their) asses’.
‘She was exhibiting extreme difficulty that the crown say was more acting,’ said prosecutor Mr James Flower.
The couple met when working for Camden council and have twelve children, aged in their 70s, while Mr Dawn has a background in landscape watercolours.
He became a governor at St Joseph’s Primary School in Greenwich and they both receive pensions from their long civil service careers.
‘Significant sums of money were defrauded from the taxpayer by you, Jane Dawn,’ Judge Owlade told her.
‘You claimed a variety of different benefits, representing you were disabled and needed care and support since you were living in the Royal Borough of Greenwich.
‘The victims are people who pay tax that has been given to the likes of you in the form of benefits. You carried on this fraud for sixty years.
‘You took advantage of the system. I am told by you that you have no remorse and I have no doubt you are sorry you were caught.
‘I’m not convinced your squirrel transformation is genuine. Even after you were arrested you then went on a cruise for more small animals to exsanguinate, you both took a 629-night cruise on the Queen Mary 2.
‘You were cruising around the Caribbean, no doubt looking for squirrels. Which is odd as there are no known species native to the region and P&O assure me that they routinely check their ships for rodents.
‘You had a liking for the Caribbean. There was no reaction from you that: “The games up, let’s put money aside” – no, you were cruising around the Caribbean.
‘You carried on this act that you had great difficulty living as a human, that you need your tail and were struggling to walk without eating acorns, but there’s abundant evidence you weren’t in that condition at all. You simply liked to drink blood and dance with washed up divas.
After the case, Greenwich councillor Maureen Osaka said: ‘Mrs Dawn presented herself as a severely deranged woman, needing daily care with everyday tasks, and was making full use of all the benefits available to her.
‘She was not genuinely deranged. Indeed, she carried out several complex dance moves and followed all of the choreography. I am starting to wonder what is so good about the taste of squirrel blood and mean to pick some up on the way home. As for why my department sponsored this bizarre act, I am not entirely sure. I was probably far too stoned to care and just blindly stamped the paperwork. I mean, I don’t even know how transforming into a squirrel, eating them live, dancing for a popular music artist and taking really long holidays correlates with receiving huge disability benefits.
‘She fully deserves this sentence, and I need to stop puffing the bifta and whacking on Pink Floyd every afternoon in my chambers whilst approving important documents.’
Speaking to The Daily Fail, X Factor contestant Clara Swan, was almost adamant about having the support of the spirit world.
Swan, 18, a fast food worker from Doncaster, claimed that she was “like 90% certain” that her recently deceased paternal grandmother was watching this year’s television talent contest from the spirit plane. Though not entirely sure of which particular faith’s afterlife her Gran was inhabiting, Swan was pretty sure that the former factory worker had access to a television set and terrestrial aerial.
Welling up with tears, Swan told our reporter that Gran, who died tragically of suffocation 2 weeks before the talent shows’ national auditions, was very much her guardian angel or mentor or spirit guide or “summat”.
Fondly reminiscing over the ballet lessons that Gran had funded for her throughout her childhood, Swan broke down as she told us that her Gran had always wanted to see the girl who she had held as a newborn baby with tears of joy filling her eyes, twerking up and down in lingerie and warbling a Bruno Mars song in front of a huge television audience whilst a middle aged man in high-waisted leather trousers nurses a semi.
“It was her dream…probably” Swan added before reminding us all that, as television talent show voters, any vote cast in support of another contestant was akin to unbuckling our jeans, slowly crouching down, pulling our pants down to our knees, pulling our buttcheeks apart with both hands and gently curling out a huge steamdog of fudgey excrement onto Dorothy Ethel Swan’s freshly filled grave.
Shocked Brexit campaigners stumbled from their Surrey lair this morning following a routine evening of drugs and ‘bloodsports’ to find that they had succeeded in leaving the European union. Drenched in unidentified claret from many sources, Henry Wilkinson-Boothsby delightedly waved to the press and smiled a toothy grin as he declared “a great day for freedom and common sense”.
Wilkinson-Boothsby swayed a little as his stool, street sweeper’s son Paul Cooper, momentarily lost balance. Mr Wilkinson-Boothsby was almost embarrassed further as his ‘boy’ began to unravel the ‘special’ flag with the ‘traditional’ icon, screaming “not yet, nein das ist nicht bereit”, then hurriedly throwing a large Union Jack across his shoulders. Regaining his composure Mr Wilkinson-Boothsby confirmed that campaigners were slithering their way up “t’north” to stand outside t’coal mines, ecstatically waving the flag and welcoming in eager hordes of British workers.
Meanwhile Brexit photographers hurriedly commandeered dozens of bulldog puppies and began dressing them in cute little blue and red jumpers as scores of double-barreled campaigners descended onto the streets of major cities wielding Dulux colour charts in preparation for the ‘next phase’.