Lacking the bottomless pit of dosh available to the SAS I could only afford a mailshot to a town of around 55,000 population. Totally at random, I chose Hereford.
I took aim at those jerks the SAS (Stop all Spanking). However, Hereford also happens to be the base for, psycho soldiers, the SAS (Special Air Service) whom took exception at the swipe they thought was aimed at them.
At 3am this morning (or another morning) they entered my premises through the bedroom window and made clear their anger at the whole thing.
After a roughing up and some torture we all had a good laugh when I managed, between kicks to the face & bollocks, to explain away the confusion.
I have agreed to mailshot Hereford again – at their expense, to clarify the issue.
When I also blabbed the EU had funded the mailshot (indirectly) they were absolutely fuming. After some tea and toast, they all rushed off to Europe for some ‘payback’. I wouldn’t like to be in the EU right now, that’s for sure.
This is what really happened on the day when we left the EU:
We had all the stationery away. We also ‘alf-inched a load of light bulbs, desks, laptops and shit like that. If it wasn’t screwed down – we lifted it.
Not only did we leave the lights on in our offices but we locked the doors and trashed the keys. Yes, trashed, no more landfill tax for us – I’ve just opened one: it’s fucking huge and I’m raking in the dosh.
I’m currently flogging staplers and pens on ebay – grab yourself a bargain.
[Name withheld] nabbed a lorry load of photos – of Jean-Claude Juncker. What a div. The honourable thing to do was to return them, which is what we did. The frames are available to buy on [Name withheld’s] ebay shop.
My latest leaflet campaign may be modest in comparison to those lying twats the SAS but is entirely funded by a lorry load of soap I’m flogging. The soap has a load of stars on them, in a circle – it hasn’t harmed their sell-ability.
As soon as I’ve shifted the last of the soap I’ll launch my leaflet campaign which, just like the SAS, will be funded by the EU (indirectly).
Because I had nothing else to do I decided to listen to some advice.
Ergo, I’ve done a 180-degree U turn regarding the Victoria Derbyshire Show.
I’m not doing it.
She’ll make mincemeat out of me. I’ll come out looking like a loon of epic looniness. According to a new friend I’ve got, she was going to ‘hang me out to dry’. I don’t like the sound of that.
I thought she was going to let me bang on for ages with my brilliant thoughts on how the world could be made better – by me. In fact, the opposite was going to happen.
I’ve come up with an unnecessarily complex and over elaborate excuse why I can’t appear. Its foolproofishness is devilish and removes all possibility of me being trapped into appearing – despite the contract I stupidly signed.
Once again my genius is exposed for all to see.
So, we won’t be hearing any more from Ms. Derbyshire – that’s for sure.
Continue ReadingSywwow can’t appear on the Victoria Derbyshire Show because he’s been kidnapped
As President FOR LIFE of the SAGB I am called upon to talk about the wonderful work the institution does for the good of all mankind.
This was the reason I found myself, this morning, speaking to a lovely filly working for The Victoria Derbyshire Show. Pippa said she was a ‘researcher’. Apparently, Victoria wants me to appear on her show to ‘justify’ myself.
For those of you who don’t know, the Victoria Derbyshire Show is a BBC News production. (BBC News don’t do news anymore). The show consists entirely of women whingeing on about fuck all, their imaginary ailments and various neurotic gibberish.
For example: During the First World War an alarming and baffling condition arose in soldiers serving in the trenches. It eventually became known as “shell shock”. Nowadays, it is called PTSD. Footage from the period shows how utterly terrifying the condition was. Today, women say they’ve got PTSD when someone farts on the bus or they have a bad hair day. They go on Victoria’s show and blab this bollocks with Derbyshire nodding in full agreement.
My good friend Boris said “Spaffing up the wall” on her show. She will never let that go – ever.
I will go on her inane programme to put her, and the rest of those stupid idiot women, right. In no uncertain terms.
Marie, Moira, Bonnie, Penelope, Samantha, the researcher from the show, my mother, the list is endless, are vehemently against me going on the show.
Who knows what’s best? A bunch of silly tarts or me? Exactly.
As President FOR LIFE of The Spanking Association of Great Britain (established 1856) – a position I attained with little bloodshed and violence – I have access to all the archives and a load of shit on notable figures.
I have put together a gallery where, SAGB member, Ms. Penelope punishes a floozy (Julia) for disgraceful conduct.
The lashing dolled out by Ms Penelope (now Dame Penelope of Bridlington) was deserved by the slut Julia because she had been listening to long haired singers on a transistor radio. Long haired pop singers up to their ears in funny smelling cigarettes – I’ll be bound.
After this thrashing, Julia never did naughty things ever again and went on to become a Prime Minister of a Great Nation close to the EU (But NOT IN THE EU – any more).
Today, we can look back with fondness to a time when tarts got thrashed for fuck all – sometimes by other gorgeous tarts.
Those days are here again because: I, Lord Sywwow, am President FOR LIFE of The Spanking Association of Great Britain (established 1856)
The Spanking Association of Great Britain (SAGB) was founded by Earl Sywwow in 1856.
It gained its Royal Warrant in 1881 awarded by, the then, Prince, Edward.
It has been the UK’s foremost institution regarding disciplining errant females for over 160 years.
Today, its President FOR LIFE is Lord Sywwow, a descendent of the first to hold the seat.
Under his leadership the Association has absorbed both the Irish and French equivalents. This, coupled with the Commonwealth nations (such as Canada and Australia), the successors to what was The British Empire, makes the SAGB the largest organisation of its kind in the world, outside of NATO, the EU, and the UN.
Those twats at Stamp Out Spanking (SOS) have attempted to distance themselves from me by changing their name to Stop All Spanking (SAS). The cheek of it.
Their posters have appeared all over London with the old name still on them. They’re the same ones I designed and had made. The cheek of it.
I have learned the posters were produced using a red ink that, because of radioactive contamination, turned a nice shade of green. It transpires, the corrupt individual who had them made got the ink on the cheap from Kazakhstan.
I would suggest the authorities pull these posters down as quick as a tart’s knickers.
There has been a revolution at the headquarters of Stamp out Spanking.
I’ve been ousted as Supreme Leader at a secret meeting held whilst I was outside having a fag.
Some tart tricked me into spanking her and showed everyone a disgraceful video of me spanking her bare bottom with gay aplomb.
Also, they some how discovered I’ve become President FOR LIFE of the Spanking Association of Great Britain. (I’m quite capable of doing two jobs at once).
Apparently, I’m not fit to lead Stamp out Spanking as I’m: “a spanker”, “a hypocrite” and “a jerk”.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Oh, how the worm has turned.
Oh, what a bunch of twats.
Regarding the spanking relapse, I couldn’t help myself and, she claimed to have been naughty. What choice had I?
I’ve suffered defeats and setbacks before.
As God is my witness they’re not going to lick me. I’m going to live through this and when its all over, I’ll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God is my witness I’ll never be hungry again.
I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ babies (this may prove to have no relevance. I’d give it a go though, I can do anything – except lead Stamp out Spanking, apparently)