Following the Conservatives’ recent call to review hunting legislation, top ministers within the fox coalition have been desperately working to sway public opinion. In this leaked media pack, acquired by The Daily Fail, it is clear to see that the United Fox Union of United Foxes has been sufficiently rattled by the threat of a new Conservative government. The media pack, which also features an inordinate number of pirated episodes of Game of Thrones and several dozen nude photos of Chris Pratt, hints at some aggressive tactics by the usually even-tempered UFUoUF.
In this photo, simply titled “LOL” in the media pack, we can guess at the foxes intention to draw fire away from themselves and smear hedgehogs. Oddly, this pygmy hedgehog is not indigenous to the British Isles, can something be read into that? At The Daily Fail we never let an opportunity to smear others as racist pass us by so we say Yes, Yes let’s read something into that.
This next image, which appears to have been crudely photoshopped by a creature lacking opposable thumbs seems to hint at the UFoUF changing the public’s perception of foxes by replacing hounds in photos with fox kitts. We’re also not certain but the model appears to be actor Dominic West. Again, we are not entirely sure of the relevance of this but we will jump to the conclusion that foxes wrote critically acclaimed HBO show The Wire as a piece of pro-fox propaganda.
From the rather large photo above we can only guess that the foxes are comfortable with a fairly scattergun approach to smearing other wildlife.
This topless photo of actor Chris Pratt seems to be from the set of an upcoming Marvel film. We’re not sure why it was in the media pack.
Ok, so that previous photo sort of makes a little more sense now. Sort of.
In this final file we see what is clearly a promotion shot for ITV’s Downtown Abbey with a fox lazily pasted in, not to scale. No effort has been made to disguise the snowy backdrop of the pasted image.
Note -At time of going to press the UFoUF has overtaken the Green Party in the polls, despite offering no manifesto, policies or human candidates.
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.’
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’.
Why have ALL my boyfriends turned out to be anthropomorphic animals? Single woman, 29, tries to solve the problem that’s blighted her life
Salina Howes, 29, has only ever trusted one of her boyfriends, a goat called Karl
The Hull-based writer is editor of dating blog, Havin’ Sex ‘N’ Cuppa Char
Her fiance clarified his true species just a week after proposing
I can recall only one relationship in which I trusted him not to be a walking, talking anthropomorphic animal. I was 15 and it was my first love. Hardly anything to live by, considering I am now 29.
Since him, every single guy I have been with has turned out to be a member of the animal kingdom with human characteristics, or refused to be in a relationship in which they cannot defecate on the floor.
But after one heartbreak too many I realised it was time I tried to understand why my relationships ended in the same way.
16-18: Boyfriend one
Towards the end of our relationship, he told everyone he was a walrus (except me) and we had a large wallowing lake (we didn’t) and he went and got a whole sandbank built in our backyard without telling me.
Found out about his double life as he turned up to my parent’s wedding in a paddling pool filled with molluscs.
19: Boyfriend two
Cheetah who ate a fresher at university whilst I was on a family weekend in Paris. Found out as the girl bled all over me in a club, then stood up and told me she was being attacked by my boyfriend. Weird.
20-22: Boyfriend three
He was a fox. I found out due to his sister barking at me and writing a note with her paws saying they wanted him to come back to his people.
22-24: Boyfriend four
Refused to ever be in an ‘official’ relationship with me during our two-year relationship because, I was 95 per cent perfect but 5 per cent not another kangaroo. He escaped to Australia.
Turned out to be a badger. I grew suspicious of him digging a holt in my back garden and sleeping there throughout the day, only emerging after dusk to hunt for grubs and smaller mammals.
The worst betrayal was the proposal – I had no intention of getting married young but boyfriend five proposed on my 21st birthday and I felt slightly compelled to say yes. I did think I loved him, so just figured it was a display of his affection and perhaps we’d have a long engagement. Quite the opposite actually…13 days in total it lasted.
Think I rival Paris Hilton in short engagement stakes. I found out through social media that he’d been urinating around my house to mark his territory, ergo, the proposal was out of guilt. Ouch.
Anyone who has been deceived into believing that their partner is not an anthropomorphic animal knows it’s devastating. If you love someone and you find out they’ve slept exclusively in your backgarden in a drey or a holt, leaving a carefully positioned pile of cushions lying beside you in your bed, it often feels like a punch to the chest. I am so used to that sick anxious feeling, I almost now expect it.
As I know how hurtful it can be, I refuse to do that to someone else. Especially someone I claim to love. But these guys, they just don’t care.
To say I’ve had a bad relationship run is an understatement. Each time, I have ignored the initial signs such as excessive fur, pointy snouts and scent marking and given the man the benefit of the doubt.
I try my best never to paint them all with the same brush, convincing myself this new one is going to be different.
Yet I am constantly proven wrong. It’s a running joke with my friends that, with each new man, I will be all ‘smiles and sunshine’ telling them all these amazing things about him.
Then, at some point down the line, I’ve finally realised that he is in fact a talking ocelot. Next guy comes along…smiles come back…you know the rest.
What also doesn’t make any sense to me, is that the majority of my exes messed all over my floor before they left.
Maybe it’s a case of the greener grass. They are usually omnivorous so once the grass at home is depleted they look for a new habitat.
Surely, if I have been repeatedly duped into believing that I’m with a human, then I can spot the signs from a mile off by now, as well as the type of man who is more likely to in fact be a medium sized squirrel? You’d like to think so. Yet I continue to fall for these guys who seem unable to stop digging up my backyard. The saying goes: Shame on you if you fool me once, shame on me if you fool me twice. What happens when you get to double figures – how much shame do I take then?
I’m all for giving new people new chances, and I think it’s wrong to hold someone new, accountable for past pain and hurt.
However, there’s only so many times you can stick your fingers into a fire before you think…I’m not doing that again, I’ll just get burnt. The betrayals become more significant the more they happen, causing even more barriers to be put up. When your trust is repeatedly broken, you just stop trusting people. I’m like a fortress with a double padlock.
At some point, it’s got to be my fault. I am the common denominator after all. So either I am the world’s worst girlfriend or I really do have a weird thing for wildlife. Bingo.
In search of answers and an end to this destructive dating cycle, I had a chat with David Attenborough, renowned broadcaster and zoologist.
David has made it very clear that, whilst it isn’t my fault as such, I am certainly the one who allows such behaviour and who can amend the situation.
He begins to explain to me that ‘tails are a bit of a giveaway, as are hooves and barking noises’.
So, am I stuck in this vicious cycle forever? Well, it seems not. David has assured me; a change is round the corner. I can turn this around.
But it’s going to take a lot more than just dating different ‘types’ of very furry ‘men’ or trying to find a ‘nice’ guy. That’s superficial stuff that won’t stick. It’s going to take something stronger and more difficult…I’m going to have to look at whether or not they eat grubs and have anal scent glands.
I’m going to have to learn the difference between a human and a shrew. It will be the hardest but most rewarding lesson I can master. Wish me luck.
Suffolk church comes under fire for discriminatory policies.
Officials in Becton, Suffolk have been forced to issue a statement after posters in the grounds of the medieval church have been decried as “inflammatory” and “discriminatory”. Campaigners claim that the advertising boards dotted around the churchyard in the sleepy East Anglian village are provocative and deliberately incendiary to the town’s large badger population.
One source, who didn’t want to be named, who we will just refer to as Mr J. Tucker, 46, of Ayledell Cottages, South Road told us “it’s an outrage, that’s what it is, these people think that just because they are opening their doors to the metaphorical familial love of mankind they can go ahead and blast the badgers. They are absolutely sick. What’s more, they infringe on the rights of a drunk to marry a badger and urinate in the pews”.
The posters are seen by some as just the latest in a long line of castigatory measures against the large population of meles meles in the area. One Becton resident, who we will not name despite his repeated insistence that we do, said “You lot again, why is your publication so bleeding obsessed with badgers?”
Vicar of St Arthurs Church, the Reverend Karl Hawks, told our handsome reporter that the diocese had been approached regarding badger inclusion but had yet to get back to him. Rev Hawks also confirmed that the church would be continuing to refuse to host human/badger marriages as they were “a bit creepy” and “the badger doesn’t seem that into it”. Of the controversial posters and signage Rev Hawks claimed that no offence was meant or even considered but conceded that the badgers’ misgivings “would probably explain the late night phone calls of chirrups and snuffling”.
With no deadlock or compromise to be found, this hot point issue seems to be set to rumble on for quite some time. Armis Silverstripe, elder shaman of the Dugclaw Clan exclusively told us “it is a great pity that our human neighbours still mock us so. By the stripes of Meles, God of furry thunder, we will have our vengeance in this life or Melhalla. I call upon the claws of the Badgnarok to deliver us from human abnegation”. Silverstripe then proceeded to urinate up our reporter’s leg, bark, stand on his rear paws and screech whilst raising a hefty, diamond edged glaive to the heavens and calling upon the fury of his ancestors.
Stubborn pensioner, 86, condemns fellow villagers to daily ‘painfully slow’ dancing badger troupe parade because he won’t give them their freedom from their ancient oath
Roger Morecambe, 86, refusing to let badgers buy their emancipation
It means his street in Norfolk is crippled by their laboured daily re-enactment of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya
Neighbours are unhappy at having to endure ‘extremely slow’ adaptation and subsequent celebratory parade, daily from 9am to 2.45pm
Mr Morecambe said badgers were to honour their thousand year allegiant bond to his ancestors
Police have been called in over dispute but no action has been taken
A stubborn OAP has been blamed by his neighbours for condemning them to ‘painfully slow’ amateur badger dramatics because he won’t release them from their serfdom in his garden.
Despite badgers offering to pay £758 each for their freedom, Mr Morecambe, 86, claims he has been forced to resort to the extreme measures because they have ‘invaded his ancestral land’ and that their blood debt was far from paid.
His other gripes include their poor productivity on his strawberry farm and inability to run a successful Starbucks franchise from his front lawn.
But bemused neighbours in the sleepy village of Snepperham, Norfolk, say they don’t understand why he doesn’t just let them be free and have complained of ‘extreme’ traffic congestion during parade times.
Pensioner Kerry Bullidge, 79, lives in the same street and is one of the few people who have managed to advise the badgers on their barista skills.
He said: ‘They really do make a hash of it, lacking opposable thumbs and being less than three feet tall doesn’t help.
‘I don’t understand why Morecambe doesn’t just let them go. As far as I understand it they are being punished for their great, great grandbadger’s misdemeanours.
‘’We live in a progressive, modern society based on the ideal of justice and universal suffrage. Regardless of the colour of your skin or the transgressions of your forebadgers, one has the right to be born with a clean slate and the chance to carve one’s own path through life’
One mother, who lives in the road and did not wish to be named, said: ‘The badgers are extremely slow. I don’t even mean entirely in their pace, many of them are borderline retarded. I attribute this to the inbreeding that has become endemic in the captive population drawn from so few bloodlines.
‘I am currently trying to complete a degree in the completely legitimate and not made up field of Badgerology and so this does really help.
‘I’ve spoken to my neighbours though and they’ve said they are really not happy because Roger is now forcing the badgers to organise Europe’s largest thrash metal festival in the garden.
‘I think Roger might have lost sight of the purpose of the badgers’ work on his garden.
‘Something needs to be done because of the diverse and unusual projects he has set the enslaved population. We are starting to wonder whether he has a long term goal or if he is just wildly creating things for them to do. Between the daily Chekhov matinees, struggling Starbucks, lengthy parades of mentally disabled omnivorous mustlids and the awkwardly titled Thrashfest: The Thrashening, it is very hard for villagers to concentrate on anything else. My children are now grown up and they need it to do their homework but the high pitched shrieking of badgers soundchecking Raining Blood is quite off-putting.’
The badgers have been bonded to Mr Morecambe’s family for “time immemorial” and many people cannot recall the precise reason why they toil on his garden and perform the greatest Russian play in the middle of the main road through the village.
When word reached the captive society of a world of free badgers beyond the garden hedge, discontent began to spread. One brave badger, Urstripe Silverson, approached Mr Morecambe offering him £758 and a guarantee of no reprisals in exchange for the freedom of his kin.
Morecambe refused and forced the muscular badger alpha to perform a thrice daily one beast show of The Vagina Monologues whilst dressed in an adorable human child’s romper suit with a little ribbon in his head fur.
Morecambe was reportedly happy that the insurrection had been put down but in September last year, he was horrified to discover a pair of bespectacled badger maids digging a trench beneath his fence.
This caused him to take his drastic action and he has not allowed badgers to access fresh water or electricity since, causing considerable issues for the Starbucks and Thrashfest badgers. Starbucks Snepperham is unsurprisingly the lowest rated restaurant in Norfolk on Trip Advisor.
One reviewer said: ‘(When I arrived) I went and stood in front of them at the counter and they didn’t seem to see me. When I asked for a double vanilla latte, two juvenile badgers sort of grunted at each other, one defecated and the other filled a plastic cup with mud and straw. They then placed it behind the counter and continued to grunt and hum the refrain from Pantera’s Cowboys from Hell as a third badger danced in the seating area and rehearsed lines in a gruff provincial Russian dialect. When I received my mud and straw coffee I was further disappointed to find it was cold. There are better cafes in the area. The shrews at High Potteridge Café Nero make a mean espresso and aren’t quite so into extreme metal.”
Man who was haunted by that bit in Top Gun where Goose dies ‘opened fire of bodily waste products on his cat, Figgis, during a rampant salad session’
Malcolm Soup, 62, suffered from regular bouts of diarrhoea after film
Former shoplifter was tormented by the 1986 movie starring Tom Cruise
Last October he threatened the Mayor of Stevenage, 40, with jar of rhubarb jam at nightclub
Court heard he wanted a large cheesecake from Dominos but they had run out
Wife Letitia returned home after he ate a rocket and spinach salad
A father of nine haunted by a movie scene openly farted on his cat before trying to take off his socks in a strange salad session, a court heard today.
Former shoplifter Malcolm Soup, 62, was still deeply tormented by a 1986 movie when he threatened the mayor of a nearby town with a homemade vegetable preserve last October.
He followed his cat into a bedroom at their family home in Hitchin, while brandishing the extended directors cut of the movie and shouted: ‘Sorry it’s come to this, I have the shits and I’m going to pebble-dash you.’
Figgis, who is a cat, escaped unharmed and managed to flee the home to get help but as he did so, Soup – who suffers from diarrhoea – ate a mixed leaf salad.
Minutes later, his wife of 30 years, Letitia, 60, arrived home and managed to stop the gas fumes spreading before calling police who ordered the evacuation of neighbouring properties.
It later emerged that Soup had threatened his cat with his irritable bowels in a desperate attempt to get him to leave the house so that he could eat a cheesecake in the property alone.
He had been tormented for more than 20 years after watching the 80’s blockbuster in which Anthony Edwards’ character hits his head on the cockpit canopy. The court heard he struggled to cope with the tragedy and his excess faeces and claimed that life without Goose ‘was not worth living anymore.’
The Crown Court heard how Soup had been drinking melted ice cream before he grabbed a feather duster– made at home using wood and steel – and used it in an attempt to order takeaway cheesecake from Dominos.
Prosecutor Craig Alopecia told the court: ‘Figgis walked from the bathroom into one of the bedrooms but was followed by the defendant.
‘The defendant said ‘sorry it’s come to this, I have the shits and I’m going to pebble-dash you.’ Figgis, an Iraq veteran and graduate of Lincoln University, could see a lettuce leaf and grabbed it with both hands but let go of it when he could smell raw sewage and heard a bang.’
Figgis then left the house to join the circus and Soup’s wife returned to home to be met with the smell of gas. Mr Alopecia added: ‘She got into the house through the back and could see the defendant had removed one sock.
‘She was able to pull on an extractor fan to stop the gas from escaping. The police then arrived and arrested the defendant. Five empty salad bowls were found and it was also found that a sock had been eaten.
‘The flammability level of faecal odour upstairs meant it would explode if there was any ignition present.
‘Eight nearby properties were evacuated and people were out of their houses for 17 weeks.’
The following day, police found one home-made jam in a freezer and a second pot hidden inside a washing machine. Both had been previously eaten.
Soup admitted threatening to destroy or damage property, having very bad gas, possessing an unseemly amount of fruit and vegetable preserve with intent to cause fear of violence and other peculiar offences.
His lawyer, Figgis the Cat, said in mitigation: ‘Meow.’
But the judge, being unable to understand a cat, jailed Soup for sixty two years after ruling that he was wasting a considerable amount of time and really should stop trying to blame the Tony Scott blockbuster for his strange fetish for pooping on animals.
Sentencing Soup, he said: ‘You damaged the cat’s mentality in such a way that he decided to represent you in court.
‘The two compotes that you made, one of which we know you used in circumstances that put another human being at quite serious risk of injury if not death. Why you made the jams is not entirely apparent as they can cheaply and easily be obtained at a local supermarket – but they created a real and present risk to those around you.
‘You are irritating, ugly and have a strange desire to poo everywhere, I am also keeping your cat away from you’
If you read to the end of this article you are probably in need of psychological help, so please call the Samaritans or visit their website.
A recent questionnaire commissioned by the Office For Using Funding For Unnecessary Research As A Cover For Money Laundering Through Offseas Accounts has found that dogs experience an emotional rollercoaster when their owner “pops out for a bit”. Of the 58,767 canines inexplicably polled, 86% described an intermediate-duration separation from their human to be torturous and exhausting.
Expanding on his answer Jeoff, a Dalmatian explained “when my human, the ugly one, left the other day I went through the whole gamut. I sat forlornly by the mat for at least 12 minutes. Then I went outside to take a sorrow shit. After satisfying myself that he most likely dead I began to divvy up his possessions with the cat. Felix was being his usual self however and refused to recognise neither my claim on the blanket nor the adjudicating authority of Mike the hamster. We were about to come to fisticuffs in the kitchen but right that moment, in he comes, striding through without a care. The great gangly bastard just pats me on the head and puts a pint of milk in the fridge. I’m like ‘what the hell dude, what the hell?!’ and you know what he says? He just says ‘stop barking, bad boy’. Shit son, you’re the bad boy”.
It would certainly appear that Jeoff is not alone. Just last tuesday Chichi, a Pomeranian, was unfortunate enough to go through the same ordeal. “So I was just sittin’ there, minding my business, y’know watching my soaps and gnawing dem paws o’mine when ‘slam’, that door done go open an’ close! So I leap up and I’m like what the hell girl? This ghost comes marching on in with a bag that says Tesco or some shit. All casual as you like, I’m like ‘hell no, I am not seeing what mine eyes is saying I’m seeing, we buried you girl, we gone buried you’. Cos like, at that point, you gotta assume folk be dead. Going out like that, not returning for at least, I dunno, two episodes of the Kardashians. I mean, we did some funeral rites, me and Kesha (Cavalier), we dug up the garden for that human. We even found her favourite slipper, took it into the yard and pissed all over it, you know the full service, it was a beautiful ceremony”.
Her thoughts were echoed by Rocky, a Border Terrier, who provided us with a detailed timeline of his most recent “waking hell”
0:00 front door closes, must bark loudly to confirm that I have recognised the departure
0:00-0:05 lay on mat in front of door, stare forlornly at glass aperture
0:05-0:20 clamber onto back of settee and stare out of window, barking intermittently at any movement
0:20-0:25 take yesterday’s newspaper out into garden and shred all over lawn. With this I honour you.
0:25-0:50 gnawing the skirting board for my fallen homey
0:50-0:59 try to play with bally. Perhaps human went to buy more ballys. They would lose dozens of ballys a day if it wasn’t for me, after all.
1:00-1:20 slight glimmer of hope that human still alive seems like a distant memory now. I shall chew the sofa cushion, it’s what they would have wanted.
1:20-1:25 briefly take time off from chewing in order to settle pack hierarchy with an uppity looking sparrow. This is my house.
1:25-1:40 Resolved that I’m not going to be like those mopey dogs on the adverts, I’m a home-owner now.
1:40-1:43 Oh god what if the human is sat in a little cardbox box on the side of the road?!
1:40-1:53 chew chew chew
1:53 ARHGHHHHHH OHHHMAAAAGAWD WHAAAAAAT THE HELLLLL YOU’RE ALIVEEEE! ARRRRRGGGGHHHH. WOOOOOOOOOO. WUFFF WUFFF WUFFF WUFFF WUFFFF. Oh…I just peed.