The world of showbiz was sent reeling today when the Three Musketeers announced that they were to split. Fans worldwide bombarded their 17th century website after rumours emerged that Porthos had been seen looking smug in front of an adversary by slicing a candle in half with his sword, evading several guards by pushing a cart at them and then jumping on a stolen horse to fight alongside The Pirates of the Caribbean.
”I’ve known them a long time, and they’ve never really been the same since D’Artagnan changed his name to Dogtanian and became a cartoon character,” said The Man in the Iron Mask from his cell earlier today.
The Three Musketeers first got together after answering an advertisement for blokes to swagger around Paris wearing hats with big feathers in them. After scaling walls, jumping from balconies and shouting ‘All for one and one for all’ for several months, they soon hit the big time after stripping Cardinal Richelieu and handcuffing him to a lamp post during a stag do at Alton Towers. As photos of the naked Cardinal circulated the globe, The Three Musketeers never looked back and went from strength to strength by sword fighting the enemy backwards up flights of steps before swinging from one side of a room to the other by a long rope and escaping out of a window.
”I’m gutted,” said Marie Antoinette as she waited with other Aristo’s in a queue at the Guillotine. ”I always buy my husband Aramis aftershave every Christmas and I’m very concerned that it’ll be discontinued now.”
Meanwhile, an official press conference which should have taken place this afternoon to announce that the split was due to artistic differences was postponed, after the time machine carrying the Musketeers’ spokesperson broke down on the hard shoulder of the M25.

Sacha Distel has been blamed for showering drought-hit Britain with several million inches of rain over the weekend. The shifty Frenchman, known for wearing a string of onions around his neck, has been sighted riding a bicycle in the vicinity of Her Majesty’s London, whilst carelessly singing ‘Rrraindrops keep falling on mah eed’, at the top of his voice.
“It’s a disgrace,” said 80 year old Mrs Cheeseontoast from Hackney. “I’ve already been scared shitless by government warnings about the drought and now due to this Frenchie coming over here and encouraging rain to fall, I shall now have to be scared shitless all over again when drought warnings are issued on Tuesday.”
Angry Britons that had previously hidden their hosepipes in concrete bunkers because they were deemed to be so dangerous are furious. “I’ll have to borrow my mate’s box of dynamite to get my hosepipe back out, before putting it away again next week,” complained Mr Sheenshines-Umpteenthingsclean from Hampstead.
Meanwhile, police were busily searching down the back of the sofa for a document that may enable Immigration Officers to deport Mr Distel back to France and return Britain to the arid, panic-stricken state it was in before. “We did bring in a law banning garlic and Breton striped t-shirts, after one of the lads was refused a refund at Jean Paul Gaultier – but we’re not sure if that’s down the back of the sofa or in amongst a pile of dust under the bed,” advised Officer Barley-McGrew of the Yard.
All government ministers were unavailable for comment due to falling asleep in front of the TV after their Sunday dinner or being dressed in PVC and locked in a cupboard by a brothel owner; however we did manage to catch up with Mr Distel in Regent’s Park who by this time was recklessly wearing a beret and a Dali moustache. “Ooh la-la and sacre bleu! You’re never gonna stop the rain by complainin’,” he said before heading off to meet Gene Kelly who was rumoured to be standing in a puddle on Shaftesbury Avenue.
We understand The Daily Mail has today begun a hate campaign against Mr Distel in order to bring the matter to the attention of terrified, house-bound pensioners.

Hollywood was set alight today as Rupert Murdoch signed to play the lead role as Dick Dastardly in the new 3D blockbuster The Revenge of the Dick. We caught up with Mr Murdoch in an underground bunker once owned by Scaramanga as he and Skippy the Kangaroo planned to take over the world by hiding global Didgeridoo reserves under a bush in the Australian outback.
” I’ve always been interested in actors after hacking the phone calls of several of the whinging Pommie bastards for years, so of course I was the obvious choice,” said Mr Murdoch from behind a hat with corks dangling from string around the brim. ”I’ve insisted that the Fake Sheikh from the honest and truthful ex-best newspaper in the universe, the News of the World, is written into the script like Batman’s butler bloke and that Rebekah Brooks gets to play my faithful sidekick, Muttley. She’s been working on the laugh with her acting mentor Madge from Neighbours in a secret location at 10 Downing Street – and our James will be ripper and fair dinkum as that idiot, Zilly. Thanks to that twat Leveson, he’s been able to practice retracting his head into his coat collar for ages now. It’ll be bonzer.” Mr Murdoch stopped the interview to take a quick call from Harold Bishop before adding, ”We expect to collect several awards for the film, otherwise I’m going to hang everyone’s dirty laundry out on a big washing-line in the garden, get Rolf Harris to paint a picture of it and post it on the internet.”
After throwing Jeremy Hunt onto the barbie, Mr Murdoch then broke into several bars of Stop the Pigeon before texting David Cameron to bring him a coat made out of 101 Dalmatians.
When asked for his comments on the signing of Mr Murdoch, Dick Dastardly stamped his feet and hissed ”Drat, drat and double drat,” before howling, ”Muttley, dooo something!”

Simon Cowell announced today that he had at last made contact with aliens from outer space. ” Look, at the end of the day it wasn’t perfect, but I nailed and smashed it and can say one million per cent at the end of the day again, that I am the first person to have spoken to little, green men with strange eyes that aren’t called Louis Walsh.”
Mr Cowell is understood to have contacted the aliens from outer space using the glare from his teeth to pierce through space the final frontier and laser a message from earth into the side of a Martian supermarket. ”Look, at the end of the day all I wrote was that they had the whole package and if they ever wanted to ride on a jet ski in Barbados with me, or meet Sinitta then they should give me a call.”
The Martians from outer space are understood to have replied only when Mr Cowell used his teeth as a projector to transmit a photo of Zig and Zag just above the cheese counter at the supermarket.
Meanwhile, doubt was thrown on Mr Cowell’s claims by Professor Robbie Williams. ”Everyone knows that I’m the only person in the world to have seen aliens,” he said before sulking and refusing to come out of his LA mansion until everyone agreed with him.
We understand that a member of the production staff at BBC’s, The Voice, has today sent a life size model of E.T. to Mr Cowell with a copy of the latest viewing figures pinned to its head.
The aliens from outer space were unavailable for comment and were understood to be out playing a game of golf with Ant and Dec.

Catholics found themselves in turmoil today when leading fashionista Karl Lagercanfeld declared that Christmas was the new Easter. Communicating from his 300 bedroom mansion decorated entirely in black with this season’s peplum in the downstairs bog, Mr Lagercanfeld passed a note down a chain of servants until it reached us outside in the car park. ‘Easter is too fat,’ read the note. ‘ And there are much better films on the telly at Christmas – for instance It’s a Wonderful Life is never shown at the Eastertime and it offends my eyes and ears that George Bailey and his cute, little angel , Clarence, don’t get a look in. Therefore, if I can stop my models from falling through cracks in the pavement, I shall be sending them down the catwalk wearing sprouts, pine needles and paper hats that slide off when you fall asleep on the sofa.’
The Pope immediately issued a statement advising Catholics that the Vatican would take a dim view of anyone wearing tinsel around their necks and singing Ding Dong Merrily on High on the way home from the pub. ”It’s despicable to replace Easter with Christmas,” advised a Vatican spokesperson. ”Mr Lagercanfeld is the devil himself – besides we’ve put all the Christmas souvenirs in the attic now.”
Meanwhile, Mr Lagercanfeld’s comments sent large boned people up and down the country into a frenzy. ” How dare he call Easter fat,” raged Mrs A. Curly-Wurly from Widnes. ”Easter has always been a regular size 12 – except at Easter when it goes up to a size 44, but that’s just puppy fat and the two-for-one offer at Thorntons.”
The Daily Mail upon hearing the words ‘Frenzy’ and ‘Turmoil’ immediately added the word ‘Outraged’ in the largest font they could find to their front page, before continuing to blame everything on foreigners.
Unhappy that the colour of public anger was clashing with his new curtains, Mr Lagercanfeld instantly retracted his statement and sent everyone in the world one of his new panda skin handbags by way of an apology.

The Los Angeles Times reported today that one family is laughing all the way to the bank as Britain braces itself for the petrol crisis. The Beverly Hillbillies are set to take the country by storm by introducing their own petrol pumps from Lands Bellend to John O’Groatsosimple. ”Yes, it’s all true,” confirmed Mr Drysdale today in between cooking up a plan for Miss Hathaway to marry Jethro. ”Mr Clampett has been very busy purifying a bubblin’ crude into petrol using Granny’s vittles pan and intends to import the barrels directly to the UK tied to the rocking chair on the back of his truck.”
As the story broke Miss Elly was reportedly seen mysteriously shooting at squirrels in and around the Beverly Hills area. After sticking her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and looking coy, Miss Elly admitted that the Clampett family would also be selling VAT free squirrel and possum pasties at each outlet. ”We intend tah serve ‘em two weeks outta date and burnt to ah low down crisp, just like y’all own gas stations,” she said before fluttering her eyelashes and offering to wrestle us.
Meanwhile, Mr Clampett was tracked down to Granny’s kitchen where he issued a statement which mainly comprised of ”Well, doggie,” in a high pitched tone.
The British government have now locked themselves into the House of Commons bar and are refusing to discuss the matter whilst they count the sack of cash delivered today from Varmint and Grits Enterprises.

The pasty scandal continues as Greggs announce that as from today punters may only purchase hot snacks from their new outlet in Monaco.
”We shall also be arranging for offshore shops to open in the British Virgin Islands and Jersey,” announced a Greggs spokesperson. ”We highly recommend that customers incorporate an offshore company and maybe a trust in order to eat our delicious snacks straight from the oven.”
The newly taxed hot treat once favoured by Saturday shoppers and people with a hangover, has caused a frisson amongst the rich who have been sending minions to snap-up hot, pastry luxuries in order to prove that they can afford them. Posh shops, Harrods and Fortnum’s, have today made space amongst the Curried Peacock and Dolphin in Aspic for a big oven from which hot pies, pasties and sausage rolls will only be sold to people with more money than sense and trust fund kids rushing between their PR jobs and meeting their dealers in Camden.
”Due to our new status amongst the glitterati, we shall also be selling caviar flavoured HP Sauce in 18 carat gold wrappers to accompany our Sausage and Bean Melts,” added the Greggs spokesperson, whilst nailing a sign to a door advising that the unemployed and underpaid should now queue around the back of the shop. ”We’re also thinking of chucking a few oysters into our Steak Bake.”
George Osborne was unavailable for comment today as he was too busy hunting for a new castle on MP’s expenses.

Ladies of the Night have today hiked their prices by 5000% after hacks reveal the going rate for dinner with David Cameron.
”£20 for a handjob in the doorway of Argos just pales into insignificance,” said one Painted Lady whilst flashing her leg to a passing motorist.
Meanwhile, Russian Oligarchs have planned a peaceful protest outside 10 Downing Street, after seeing the newly inflated rates for being dressed in a nappy and locked under the stairs.
”It’s just not on,” complained one unhappy Muscovite. ”I could buy two yachts now for what it costs me for a Golden Shower. David Cameron should be ashamed of himself.”
Lorry drivers and men-whose-wives-don’t-understand-them are expected to be particularly hit by the price rise.
A spokesperson for the Prime Minister refused to comment on the matter unless he was paid £25,000 in used notes, he did however confirm that Mr Cameron would continue to lead Britain into oblivion and that all dinner dates currently in his little black book would be honoured with a little dancing afterwards and a snog on the doorstep of Number 10.

Scientists were today scratching their bald heads and fiddling with overgrown nose-hair, when statistics revealed that British politician, Nick Clegg, had outgrown the word ‘pointless’ by 210%. ‘It’s astounding,’ said one white-coated egg-head from his underground laboratory. ‘We knew last year that he’d superseded the word ‘useless’, which is why we had ‘pointless’ on standby in a cupboard. We are now at a critical stage where we no longer have a word to describe him. Thankfully we’ve still managed to restrain David Cameron under the phrase ‘Greedy bastard’ and Ed Miliband under ‘Ineffective twat’, and NASA have now been drafted in to draw a graph on the matter using a red and possibly a green pen.’
As the news filtered out, media frenzy bubbled with Britain’s favourite scaremongers leading the way. ‘We are OUTRAGED,’ screamed someone from The Daily Mail before frothing at the mouth. ‘Everyone knows that not having a word to describe you causes cancer.’
A spokesman for Mr Clegg advised that his client would remain on the Front Bench fiddling with his tie, until a new word was found. ‘Due to his constant state of inertia, the public are quite safe from Mr Clegg doing anything at all,’ he said from his villa in Barbados.
Mr Clegg declined to comment and was last seen caressing a Euro in a dimly lit Bistro.

If you’re looking for word type things, you’re out of luck.Covonia and friends are moving on to almost bigger and slightly better things.I’m sure the Viagra and Penis Enlarger spammers will be devastated, but hey, that’s life.

A new blog thingy will appear soon, full of uninteresting things and information you’ll probably only ever remember when pissed/stoned/both.

In the meantime I’m off to Greece to build a big, fuck off wooden horse that me and the Greeks are going to fill full of bills and leave outside Sarkozy’s house.

Many thanks for all the support the blog has had over the years, but like Keyser Soze – it’s gone….for now.

Love and peace

Kal
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