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   e :     LENIN'S THE NAME,        |
 h•••••4        POINTING'S THE GAME!

 Hello, readers! My name is Lenin, and
 when Im not writing revolutionary books
 like "What Is To Be Done?", or giving
 speeches from the top of armoured cars,
 I really like to point at things.

 Why, last week I pointed at a building,
 several cars, and a train. This week,
 I am going to point at a library.

 I even aim to point at Trotsky's prize
 daffodils when I go round to his house
 for tea! We'll be having Russian tea
 because proper tea is theft!
 ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, * ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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 ? Hello, readers. Lara Croft here, posh
 o girl with a couple of guns that I use
 ? to shoot all manner of endangered
 o species with.
 o I also have a cavalier attitude
 ? towards academic research - I raid
 o tombs, not study them! You'll never
 ? see me on Time Team, suckers!
 ? Anyway, in my next outing, I will be
 o becoming a surrogate mother. Look for
 ? a gamed called Womb Trader in shops!
 ?                                hki
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   oooo    (c) Sinclair Research 1982
 0                                     _
 : *BEEP!* It's me, MayBot your robot  e
 0 Prime Minister. I was brought       _
 : online to run the country, but I    e
 0 can only rune one instruction at a  _
 : time because I am only capable of   e
 0 running  BASIC from 1982!           _
 :                                     e
 0 I wish I could run other languages, _
 : then I could C how people felt in   e
 0 dire situations, and then tell them _
 : to "go Forth" when I get fed up.    e
 0                                     _
 : Right now, though, it's "Strong and e
 0                                     _
 : I - For without Next, 30:1          e

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 It is a well known fact that The North
 runs solely on clockwork - from the
 parsley mills, to the Parkin mines.
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     ~}     lost during a well dressing
 ||||~}|||| ceremony, Anthony Gormley
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 I'm Nigella Farage, curious spawn of
 well-known prattle-monger Nigel. I have
 a kitchen, and I have to make several
 gallons of gravy for daddy's train
 which he likes to moan about until he
 goes pink in the face.

 So I always give him his gravy in a
 boat, and he laps it up like a hungry
 cat. I don't know why the boat is good,
 and the train is bad, but that's daddy.

 Next week, we have Mr Junker round for
 tea, and I'll be making him a thin
 consumme out of an anemic chicken.
 That'll teach him.

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 gh41|b% Half-fish, half-frog Michael
 *||y|>  Gove here! I'm the Government's
 jwtpv•  expert on experting! I know all
  {=9•1  you need to know, and less!
 ./*/*/- ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
 Why waste your time looking stuff up,
 or asking someone who knows, for an
 answer, when you can get it all from
 a friend in a pub?

 Or if, like me, you have no friends,
 then MAKE ONE UP! That's what I do, and
 I almost became leader of the Tories!

 Anyway, that's enough from me. I'm off
 to collect a million pounds for my
 "expert" opinion in the papers!

 I love my life. I live in a bowl full
 of water, and Sarah Vine feeds me!

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 The little gold star in a sea of blue

  x•}{t  My name is Nigel Farage, DJ
  j<•l5  and the people's moaner!
  o•/•?  I'm going to break open the
  "m•>!  secrets about the EU that they
  x•i•t  don't want you to know!
 Have you noticed how mirrors can make
 it look like there are more people
 than there really are? I have, and it's

 They should ban mirrors. That way,
 we will find out how many people there
 really are. I bet it's not seven
 billion. More like 100,001.

 The country is full. FULL OF MIRRORS!
 Probably made by faceless eurocrats to
 make us pay benefits to the French!

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 ~s|s}  He'll help you fall down stairs
 Evening, all. Today I shall relate to
 you the unfortunate events that
 transpired near the butchers.

 I was making my way down Jorick Avenue,
 when the butcher ran out screaming. He
 informed me that he has inadvertently
 sat on his bacon slicer.

 He told me that he had got a little
 behind on his orders. I immediately
 arrested him and charged him with
 wasting police time. He paid his black
 pudding and faggot fines very swiftly.

By renouned poohet T. O. Ilet

The Naming of Craps is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your toilety games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a Crapper
When I tell you, a Crap must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as PooPoo, Plop-Plop, Shitty or Turd,
Such as Shite or Excrement, Dump, or Number Two–
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Feces, Excrement, Stool, Feculence–
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a Crap needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his crimp end perpendicular,
Or spread out his liquids, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Excreta, Ejecta, or Excrement,
Such as Evacuation, or else Jellydrop-drop-
Names that never belong to more than one crap.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover–
But THE CRAP HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a crap in profound putrification,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Deeply dripping singular Name.