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Index
Title Page By the Same Author Introduction Scram, polar bears – we need the North Pole for world peace It’s a simple choice, caller: your money or your daughter Pah to apostrophes! And dont do me dinner, I can eat my sons Warm the gunboats: it’s −58C in the world’s next tinderbox Don’t forget the body armour for that relaxing beach holiday Life in an awful prison is a better, tougher punishment than death This is no coat hanger; this is my £25,000 gullible fool grabber Enough cringing, Auntie; stand up and face the rottweilers When the grim reaper calls, stub out your fag on a lettuce and grin Bums on saddles, folks – let’s rout the pushbike Bolsheviks Weapons down, Mr Hague – you can’t interfere in a divorce You can’t salute a hero in here, sir – this is gormless Britain I didn’t get a PhD and CBE playing by the rules, Mr Gove Hoist the Jolly Wet Roger, my flag for a Lesser Britain Sex, blood, mumbling … it’s Guessing Game of Thrones The AK-47’s fine, sir, but please switch off your mobile phone A 2:1 in post office robbery and the world’s your oyster You really want full disclosure, Mr Assange? OK, here goes … The tears of a clown engulf Detroit, factory of dreams Tit for tapas: they covet the Rock, we conquer Spain Doubtless you’ll be back up the tip today, dumping Granny Wandering lonely as a vegan amid a host of humdrum lakes Day 893: Tim from accounts is attacked by bats on Mars As Her Majesty knows, a proper sponsored swim includes sharks You’re a hit with the kids, Mr Balls. We adults are trickier I’ll be days, love; Boris has landed me at Swampland terminal 1 Dai the dustman had better book his Bolivian plague jab Stroke, then eat. That, veggie fools, is being an animal lover Wish you were here … to help rid my shack of a decidedly ill pig Grab a plunger, kids, there’s only one job left in the world for you Oh don’t be a chicken, Kiev: tell Putin to put a sock in it You’ll be glad of a high street nuclear-free poetry centre She’s a bit broad in the beam but she shivers me timbers Rejoice, all ye hung-over, I’ve found the God vitamin The AK-47 says you don’t rule the world, Ronald McDonald When stuck in Antarctic ice, be sure to have a patio heater Man’s silliest invention gets the boot … and shoe and clog Sun, sand and civil war on the Costa del Myanmar Tumblers, twerkers, cleaning ladies, stoners: find Sochi and win gold Quasimodo. Elephant Man. Sign here – I’m gonna make you rich Coming soon: Top Hi-Vis Gear. No stunts, no tomfoolery, no fun Cuckoo, Switzerland! Sneaky hijackers don’t clock off at 5 p.m. Cheer up, Piers. You can always get a job as my punchbag Dear Uncle Tim, thank you for this opportunity to mock you for just 62p My plan for bringing Putin to heel: mutually assured derision Welcome aboard the Nasty Rash, cruiser loser. Let’s go spoil Venice With a banana and a smile I’ll see off Putin, killer dust and ebola I’ve heeded my snob gene long enough, Rembrandt – just point me to the exit Today’s explorers only boldly go where everyone’s gone before Look at the mess you’ve made, Mr Executioner – try doing them this way You can’t sex up cricket – it would wake the dead at the Pavilion End We’ll always have Paris and Polish dumplings – until UKIP wins the day My mum’s final act of love was to throw all her stuff into a skip Roll up and join the dullards sprinkling frozen peas on the trifle This comedy troupe’s lightning wit has ceased to be. This is an ex-Python Being soft, I’ve robbed my tortoise of any ambition to go hurdling No kisses, no bear hugs, please: there’s only one harmless way to say hello What becomes of the broken-hearted’s toasters? I’ll show you Heathrow’s a hole. Our new runway must be at London Hogwarts Dear MPs: Weather hot, people being buried alive. Wish you were fixing it Make a fortune with fake food – no one’s got the taste to catch you Bombing a spaniel is a step too far, Mr Putin – we’re sending in the SAS Make no mistake, lives were at risk You reckon you can talk like us, Hank? Well isn’t that just awesome No, it’s me, Ermintrude – you’re just not my idea of a significant udder Strewth, down under, feminists don’t wear T-shirts, they carry rifles The call of nature means warts and misery. Heed the Call of Duty instead Is that room service? I’d like flies, diarrhoea and a frog chorus, please Well, hello, neighbour. Just call me Erik and spend all my money Can’t cook, won’t cook, want everything on a plate: it’s Generation Idle My dark night of Top Fear Guns down, survivalists – it’s the cheesemakers who’ll inherit the earth Ah, you’re a tonsorial architecture consultant … I wanted a barber Ladies and gentlemen, I begin my speech with a request … shoot me Call the mansion tax what it is, Ed: a kicking for the wealth makers Step aside, RoboPlayer, sport will simply die without Johnny Hapless The sewers are full and I’m about to raise the Second Great Stink Phrasebook, tick. Local currency, tick. Tracksuit, tick. I’m off to the north When a fat man gets suspended there’s only one thing to do – get cooking Copyright
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