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As “The Lunatics Are Taking Over The Asylum”, a popular British track from the early days of the Thatcher era become top of the American Hit Parade, Professor M.Odelmaker told Newsbiscuit there’s nothing new under the sun; and we can anticipate a revival in popularity of The Specials “Ghost Town” being played in every MAGA supporting town across the USA in the coming months.


The Professor went on to explain how these songs were more recent interpretations of the traditional folk music that generations of people around the world grew up hearing in folk clubs if they weren’t so stupid as to emulate the singers’ 70s practice of putting their fingers in their ears as they sang them, so never got the message that rich bastards were only ever interested in screwing fair maidens and nation states.


The Professor offered to play us some recordings from his extensive collection, which have tales of the prettier young boys and maidens, who weren’t exported from Africa to the West Indies as slaves, but were brought to England instead, for the pleasure of the aristocracy on a scale that would have impressed Caligula.


Unfortunately, we were unable to stay to listen to the Professor’s gramophone as we had a bus to catch; and had heard there was going to be a new Ukrainian teen refugee debuting her career as a stripper at the Rat and Ferret.





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All this talk of US tariffs has got you thinking - 'Tariff...is that a boy or a girls name?'. The more the word is used, the more it sounds like a exotic rapper or the noise posh people make when they fart.


Tariff? Yeah, Tariff could be a brand of perfume or a silk headband. Tariff is a sophisticated type of coffee or a velvety vol au vent. And who wouldn't want 20% more Tariffs.


The next Kardashian is Tariff. Taylor Swift's new album is Tariff. Tariff is a lingerie model, young enough to date Leonardo Di Caprio. Anyone for more Canadian and Mexican Tariffs? You bet!





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An author of over a thousand obituaries has died and no one has anything to say about him. The man whose identity has been kept private to protect his irrelevance was born. But that, and his work composing favourable life narratives about the notable deceased, is as far as knowledge of his existence or otherwise goes. He died at some unrecorded time before this article goes to print.


When asked to flesh out of the details of his day to day life, a friend would only say, “…”. A family member contacted by an anonymous go-between went even further, saying, “….” Meanwhile, staff at the n publication he worked at for n decades could or were willing to add little to descriptions, saying only, “.”


The man wrote obituaries for some of the most recognized figures in post-war British cultural history, including Montaine Baxter, former scout leader who would only box Greeks, Sir Shane Masters, Isle of Man tourism thousandaire, and former SAS captain Mike Deveres, who owned stables that Daily Telegraph reader, Angie Donalson, notoriously coveted.


Obituary writing has, ironically, proven hazardous work for many of its practitioners. It is undertaken in the mistaken belief that it may, juju-like, ward off the demise of the obituarist themselves. Yet, like other professions, it has a 100% death rate.


“…” said n at n. “…”




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