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After months of writing inactivity, Hollywood producers are coming in to work to find piles of scripts on their desks, with the vast majority about how the writers of America won a valiant battle against the producers.


'I know I wasn't supposed to be writing,' said one of the writers who submitted a script within minutes of the strike ending, 'but its not like I've got any life skills, what else was I supposed to do while striking?'


A spokesperson for the Producers' Guild of America said 'you couldn't make it up'.





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Sewage companies, who have dumped your poo in rivers and seas under a clause that allows them to dump supposedly when there is excessive rainfall, but in fact even when there wasn't any rain, are being forced by a quango to give a bit of money back to householders. This money is not a total rebate, because they have processed some of your poo into non-poo like they should have done, but it is just for the bit of poo they did not do. Even though they should have, because it wasn't raining, most of the time when they dumped. So, you get a bit of money back, but then its going to put the bills up because the money has got to come from somewhere and the rich people don't give it back. So the money you get back, just comes from you, in the future. And they still don't let you put the poo in the river yourself, even if you have a bucket and its raining, and they still don't let you swap to a different supplier, not really, you can just change who does your bill but its the same shit processor who doesn't process your shit. Even when its not raining. And you're not allowed to do it yourself, because ew-yuck, no, we can't have irresponsible members of the public doing that, the law says we must have proper irresponsible utilities doing that instead. Which is shit. (I should call them sewerage companies, not sewage. But I don't want to.)






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Since the BBC replaced its damning insight into catastrophically appalling governance during the past decade with a lovely fluff piece about what Jacob Rees-Mogg prefers for breakfast on his scrum-diddly-umptious slices of ermine, a wondrous calm has descended upon the people of the United Kingdom.


The BBC's flagship show which speaks truth to power, Mrs Brown's Boys, had been criticised for its failure to provide the right level of insight into what a jolly decent set of good eggs the Conservative Party has in its rank and paedophile. So it fell to slapstick comedian Laura Kuenssberg to educate, entertain and inform the nation.


The result united everyone around every water cooler in the country, each one repeating to each other in quiet knowledgeable murmurs the irrefutable understanding that 'Liz Truss merely made one minor misstep in an otherwise glittering career of total success'.


Despite delivering the sweet embrace of a unified nation following years of bitter division, Auntie Beeb is to be broken up and sold as spare parts to GB News because Boris Johnson's massive mandate was only emphasised 17 times.




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