Six assassins die in crossfire while trying to kill Trump

'We've had a hell of a time trying to piece this together,' Special Agent Dirk Dimly told reporters, mopping his brow with the end of his nylon tie. 'I mean, how the hell do you end up with six dead assassins littered around a golf course and a totally unscathed presidential candidate?

'We figure that Assassin A - a member of the Millennial Snowflakes Terror Army - took a shot at Candidate Trump from the grassy knoll on the fifth fairway, directly south-west of him, while the candidate was busy kicking his ball out of the rough.

'Assassin A narrowly missed Mr Trump but shot dead Assassin B, from Pacifist Students Islamic Jihad, who had been perched directly north-east of Mr Trump on another grassy knoll at the dogleg on the seventeenth.

'At precisely the same moment that Assassin A fired, Assassin B happened to loose off a burst of bullets from an Armalite.

'All these missed Trump but struck Assassin A, as well as Assassins C and D. They were members of the New Dworkin Shining Path Liberals Liberation Front and had been waiting in line behind Assassin A for their turn to fire.

'Assassin E, from the Militant Church of Latter Day Morons, had set up a mortar on yet another grassy knoll - to the south-east corner of the twelfth green - and took aim at Candidate Trump as he tossed his opponent's ball into a bunker.

'Wondering why the shell he had dropped down the barrel hadn't shot off, Assassin E peered inside. This resulted in his head and shoulders flying on a north-westerly axis over the candidate's head to a spot near the ninth tee, where Mr Trump's bodyguards were on a coffee break.

'Assassin F may have been an ordinary golfer and not an assassin at all, but the Secret Service shot him anyway when they saw him on a grassy knoll just above the eighteenth green. They suspected him of trying to plant a miniature white bomb in the hole by chipping it in there.

'We're now advising Candidate Trump to play on a golf course with fewer grassy knolls," said Special Agent Dimly. 'They're always riddled with goddamned assassins.'

Picture credit: Wix AI

Promising new wonder-drug abandoned because its name was too easy to pronounce

Who is going to trust a drug called 'Cancer-gone', 'Alz-cure' or 'Stroke-fix'? These are obviously a con from some dodgy get-rich-quick pharmascam company. Especially if they're also affordable (just).

To carry any credibility, any real new wonder-drug must have an unpronounceable name - and of course also be utterly unaffordable.

So there are great hopes for recently-announced Fixanydiseasealmostinstantlywithnegligibleriskandabsolutelynosideeffectsiscan, at £20million per dose, from the TitusScamedical corp., based in the Cayman Islands (entirely, of course, because the specific climate there is essential for this particular drug's production).

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Supervet Storm: 'Your cat craps in your neighbour's garden deliberately.'

TV Supervet, Sean Flaherty, has ruffled the fur of the nation's cat lovers by insisting their beloved moggies are 'sly, sneaky, self-centred little feckers that love to shit in your neighbour's flowerbeds just for the craic.'

'Cats are genetically programmed with an inbuilt sense of malice,' explains Flaherty, 'only responding to humans when their owners stand banging a can of cat food with a spoon, shouting the cat’s name in some stupid high-pitched voice they imagine is endearing.

'But once they have eaten the food, with no more to gain by even so much as acknowledging anyone’s existence, they pull the drawbridge up. Arrogant bastards. That's what they are.

'They fully understand the minefield of inter-neighbour politics and really get off on upsetting this dynamic by never shitting on their own doorsteps, but by doing their business on next door's instead.'

We spoke to Tiddles, one malicious moggy who purred, 'I love the buzz of getting my owner into trouble, by pissing in anyone else's garden but his, for example.

'Last week I caused quite a scene when he came out shouting the odds at the new next-door neighbour who had tried to shoot me with a BB gun after I shat all over then dug up his prize geraniums.

'How was I to know the neighbour is a professional wrestler and would end up knocking seven bells out of my poor ickle-wickle owner?'

Picture credit: Wix AI