#shatire

[killrisma]

ITS THE FOURTH OF JULY! YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, POST MALONE!!!

[killrisma]

TEMU PRIDE FLAG !1!1!1!!2!!

[burndogturns-blog]

Pitchforks ahoy!!!!!

Good morning Burnchums! How are you diddling?  Everything good?  Happy times?  That’s nice.  Me?  I’m fucking tired.  No shit.  I’m happy though.  Nice weekend.  I went away with the in-laws.  Eleven of us in all.  Eight grown-ups, two babies and one foreigner.  A jolly mix and an enjoyable weekend.  Enjoyable fishing, some great bbq and the obligatory drinking made for a very sick and tired Burndog on Sunday.  Nothing worse than a hangover and a boat trip.  Every time i have a ferry trip i seem to be viciously hungover.  Still...i survived...and now it’s Monday and I’m at school and everything is back to its usual technicolour version of fucking brilliant.   You may remember on Friday I embedded you, my loyal Burnfans, into the media team on one of the most vicious blog wars imaginable.  Hashtag...no prisoners.  No shit.  It was war.  Anyway...on Friday...the same day as the war...the bloke who wrote that blog suddenly became a big story again.  One year after the first blog post.  The reason why?  He’d written an article under the same name (Larry Barry McCook) in the Korea Times.  The article was a treatise on why nobody on the subway wants to sit next to him.   Accompanying the article (which has since been deleted by the KT) was this photograph which was allegedly the author.  So...clearly the article was “satirical”.  Here’s the deal with this shit.  Firstly, I do respect that he trolled the KT.  The Korea Times is the worst thing in the world.  Seriously.  It’s fucked up.  Secondly, I also respect the long game involved.  Fucker hasn’t updated his blog in a year, and now he plays this move on the KT?  I always like a long game like that.  Thirdly, if the blog was better written (his...not mine) then it would be clear that it’s “satire and not just shit.  Satire at its best is brilliant, potentially plausible, but at the same time off enough that you can taste the satirical gold.  The Onion gets it right more often than not.  So...the news article prompted many punters to pull out their pitch forks and hunt the monster down.  People were raging.  Yet, with no greater context than the article itself, one could assume that not all was well.  This also applies to the post that I wrote on Friday.  The shit that I quoted from the original post were clearly unreal, and I feel like most people would have known that had they calmed down long enough to read it without the rage.  This, however, is the curse of the internet.   We rage like fuck and then apologise later.  Perhaps it’s time that we get our shit together and either rage a little slower, or cunts learn how to satire.  Satire’s tough.  If you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, you need a pitchfork up your arse.

[axburrows]

RIGHT WING COLUMNIST, RICHARD LITTLETHOUGHT.

WOMEN BISHOPS: MORE LIKE WOMEN BATSHITS!

There’s been a lot of gab recently about women bishops. Here’s my take on it:

For me, women’s rights has always been a contentious issue. I was having a think about it all last Wednesday morning whilst eating my anti-continental breakfast of sausages, Hash Browns, and further sausages. My puce legged wife, Vanessa, was cleaning the previous nightʼs ravioli off the hob surface. I looked at her body, a paradox of purpose and delicacy. For me, the whole thing is just a load of…

What’s that Vanessa? Vanessa! Come ‘ere a second. Right, na, fetch me a tea! I SAID A TEA! Christ woman, yer as deaf as a barge, yer as deaf as a barge! You’re a constant disappointment, Vanessa!... You pube! Yeah, what about it- I called you a pube didn’t I!

Let women become bishops indeed? Listen, The Holy Synod! Me and the lads don’t want a hard on whilst we’re around votive candles: that’s a hazard. Plus, think of the practicalities: what would they wear? A misspent and jaded year of purchasing soft-core magazines whilst in the lower sixth of Maidenhead Grammar has told me that women secretly prefer to wear nothing, unless it’s impractically tight fitting. Incidentally, when I talk of magazines, I don’t want my regular readers to get the impression that I used to read FHM or Nuts magazine, publications without a sense of élan or enjambment (whatever that means). I favoured the top shelf classics for the gentleman with a sense of class; publications such as, Penchant, Gentlemanʼs Den and Sophis-titty-cated; high-end ephemera, as it were; the sort of magazine you could show your great grandmother and wrap a haddock in. Wholesome family entertainment, as I repeatedly shouted to Clarice, my first girlfriend, having found me crouched in a thicket with a creased copy of the high-class political erotica publication: ʻBoner-Lawʼ.

As I was explaining to my friend and confidant, my right-wing pet fish, Barry Goldwater: the problem with the women of today is that they want a fair slice of the cake iced ‘Equality’. But, when all’s said and done, the facked of the matter is, equality is not a cake.

It’s profiteroles! 

- Article found in a skip owned by Alex Burrows