C'mon and celebrate, celebrate, celebrate and sing. The words of a wonderful song celebrating God, can also be applied, though not with the same mystic and grandeur, to everybody's favourite sausage maker, (working for the Albanian Sausage Collective) the Corporal, who is this week celebrating a move from Pork to the dizzy heights of the Cumberland! Naturally, he is quite chuffed.
Application forms are very worrying things. Most have this wonderful way of applying for the simplest thing, very confusing to actually get. For example, join a Tameside Library and you will be asked what ethnic origin you are. Quite often you are asked what sex you are.
All this goes into collating pointless statistics, like "45% of all goldfish using the Arndale Centre in Stretford, wear green shoes."
Most worrying are those who like a little joke, and put down, next to the word "Sex", the response "Yes please!"
Unfortunately, a dating agency in London had the reverse problem. They wanted to match up their partners on whether they wanted to make strange noise in the dark or not. Unfortunately, the response, generally was the equally witty response of Male, and Female, which lead the agency to have a little laugh. It matched them up with people of the same sex. The agencies theory: well, if the public want top put "Male" on the form, then they must want to have sex with males. Rather sad really.
Equally sad was the censorship of our censorship. One ex-Hydra member suggested that we make it so every single article in this esteemed magazine had to be edited and cut, to make it presentable for human readership. So, here goes for some serious insults that will have to be cut out completely. Richard Downsize: you are a silly willy. who stinks of poo and farts. Oh, and your sister is a grilled mushroom. So ner.
And may I just apologise, if there is a Richard Downsize in college, for that terrible insult. I can assure you that I was not referring to you, but to a different Richie. Honest! You do believe me, don't you?
May I also apologise for letting having to put up with my "So ner" catchphrase being placed in the magazine by proxy. I must apologise for missing it out myself, and for you having to put up with Ruth putting it in. Once again, I do, sincerely, apologise.
A recent survey proudly proclaimed that men think about sex every fifteen minutes. Personally, I've always wondered how people know this. You can just see the surveys. Thousands of men sat, thinking, with a little woman with a clipboard, asking each one every few minutes, just what are they thinking about? Obviously, men will think of sex more or less, depending on their age. A young male is more likely to think about locking himself in his room and playing with something. His Sega.
Oasis? It's all a Blur...
Somebody just asked me, what you have to be on to understand the articles of Mr Philip Bridgehouse. All offers of this sacred information should be sent to the Hydra team.
Right, mount high horse. What is it with the gutter press that they have to twist and manipulate every single thing, and screw it up and make people believe their little lies?
Take Sorted For E's and Whizz from the Pulp album Different Class. If you believe the gutter press (the Sun and the Mirror), this song is going around telling everyone to take drugs and become as high as a kite.
Lets take a different view and listen to the lyrics. This is a song that says that someone can never go home again, because they have left an important part of their brain in a field in Hampshire. left their, because of drugs. The song ends with the question "What if you never come down?" i.e. what happens if you die taking drugs?
So there you go. Instant proof that Sorted For E's And Whizz is not a pro drugs song. This proof should be taken to the Mirror, and shoved down the throat of the self-righteous little thing who caused a public outcry about the song, and even led to one council banning the song from the Pulp concert in the area. This is a great song, and little prats WHO JUST SEE THE TITLE AND NOTHING ELSE should be taken into a cellar and injected with mustard. Thank you. I feel a lot better now.
I've just heard something terrible. It was Paul Daniels who slipped out the word "Yo!" in his TV program. It's bad enough when people of a youthful persuasion say this demon word, but Paul Daniels! There is indeed only one who can say "Yo!" and, indeed "Dudes!" is the excellent Greg Proops, who lets face it, is now the only one who can say these words and not sound like a complete prat immediately afterwards.
Well, that's almost it from the Corporal for this issue. He's back off to his thick meaty sausages, at the Albanian Sausage Collective, where he will retire until he can fill another page full of this dross, I mean wonderful stuff. Honest, I do, I do, I do. Till next time, have a nice bunch of radishes.... From your inspired leader, with love. And a packet of jelly babies.
Ah the penultimate edition of the Corporal and he's lost none of his bite. Or for that matter, the ability to make me wonder what on earth was going on. I'm sure it made sense at the time...
And a bit of religion too? Blimey. Still, it was a song frequently sung at my primary school so I presume others knew it too.