While you were asleep: Corbyn flogs dead horse, Cosby apologises to mum, war is over (if they want it)

Public holiday Monday. It doesn’t matter, because you’re all still asleep. Trump assassinated by lobster, Bill Cosby wins Nobel Prize, Katy calls for Swift peace action.




Corbyn’s mate informs public that he would have won if the election went longer. Cheers, lad.

There’s only one thing worse than a magnanimous leftie, and that’s one blinded by optimism born from missing out by *this* much. As it went for America, whose orange tan put soothing aloe on the Bern, so it goes for the Brits who marched to the booth to spite the peroxide condor who hums Rule Brittania whilst buttering a crumpet and thinking of imperialistic centrefolds (Oooh, Congo) (Citation needed.)

Enter Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer and Shaggy to Corbyn’s Scooby, John McDonnell, who took to the stage to substantially chill everyone’s pastie by hyperbolically stating:

The issue is, it’s not just that Corbyn lost (he did). It’s closer to the bone, that one should not mention the election in general, primarily because it’s going to result in Boris Johnson as PM, who hilariously is now the short-priced favourite to move into Hugh Grant’s house after Theresa is permanently relocated to the knackers yard.

Boris Johnson:


Oh Britain, what are you like.


Cosby says the darndest thing, apologises to the mother of his alleged victim.

Elsewhere in post-mortem awkies, noted quaalude enthusiast Bill Cosby took the outrageous and certainly non-sensical route and apologised to the mother of his alleged victim, Andrea Constand, primarily so she wouldn’t think that Cosby was a dirty old man. Now, it’s never too late to take back your nefarious acts, but the broken paddle steamer USS Saveface has long left the jetty.

We all think you’re a dirty old man, Bill. Whether the US legal overturns the decision of the court of public opinion remains to be seen, however the lesson seems to be clear. Don’t allegedly drug people, or allegedly place them in situations where they can allegedly believe that they’ve been allegedly drugged, yeah?


Greatest conflict of selfie generation may seek armistice. Fundamentalist twelvies recoil in horror.

It seems the greatest civil war of our time may be over. The two disparate combatants have met in the same manicured streets that split them in twain, and almost certainly met as allies, perhaps even friends, the whitewashed dove of peace flapping with olive branch in beak. We begin to dream. “Is it over? What is peace like? Am I the enemy to someone just like me?”

As our parents’ generation witnessed the destruction of the Berlin Wall, we were able to witness the armistice between Taylor Swift and Katy Perry – a towering moment that’s worth having kids for, just to tell them about the moment in history you saw firsthand.

Ms Swift, tear down this (emotional) wall.


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