SHOT (published 1 December 2001)
A reporter disguised as a journalist for this venerable organ has been found guilty of grand plagiarism.
Taking advantage of the editor's poor health, the haughty hack filed a report on Operation Vowel Storm without crediting the original source,thinking his sneakronicity would go unnoticed whilst being buried under recent momentous resignation type stories.
Unluckily for him, and thanks to eagle-eyed readers and a man walking his dog in the early hours of this morning, his heinous crime was swiftly discovered.
The reporter in question (who cannot be named because he is very ugly) initially protested his innocence, claiming a large chap was responsible who had subsequently absconded.
However, upon further intense investigation involving some great bits of torture like being forced to watch endless loops of that horrendous Halifax advert whilst being pummelled with a flower in a royal stylee, he confessed to nicking the story from the Onion. He also asked that an affair he had with a llama seven years ago also be taken into consideration.
A panel of his peers here at Hangover Court, Glengrotty, immediately sentenced him to be carpet bombed, shot, hung, drawn and quartered (after he'd paid his share of the exorbitant rent).
Calls for the editor's resignation have been parried with louder cries for more strepsils and choc ices.
We apologise for any inconvenience caused and assure readers that our probity and integrity remain intact. In the meantime we urge everyone to pretend that it never happened.
CARPETS FOR CUMBERNAULD
(published 7 December 2001)
John Simpson has been called in to liberate the citizens of Cumbernauld from their architectural hell after it was announced this week that it is the ugliest place on the entire planet.
Bob the Builder, Handy Andy, that frilly bloke with the double barelled name who looks like a horse and his Irish gardening friend have also been enlisted in an attempt to convert the depressing new town nightmare into a wonderland of glittering delights.
B52s are on standby to release their cargo of Allied carpets over the area in order to provide the poor inhabitants with many yards of tastefully patterned deep shag and axminster.
It is believed the emergency team have a weekend to transform the disaster zone under the watchful teeth of Carol Smillie.
A spokesperson for Things That Go Bump in the Night said, 'Did you hear that?'
BEASTS (published 7 December 2001)
Yappy Scottie dug, Sam, recently pardoned from a death sentence for excessive barking has found a new home in Korea. His new adopted family, Mr and Mrs Koo King, are said to be delighted by their new pet whom they fell in love with after hearing of his plight on satellite TV.
It is understood the couple (who speak no English, but can gesticulate in several different languages including Pekinese) began salivating over Sam after inadvertently picking up BBC Reporting Scotland on a wok in their well-stocked pantry.
When asked how they had prepared for the arrival of the cute little Highland Terrier, Mr King sliced his arm through the air in a chopping manner and air traced the shape of several root vegetables including a carrot and something else with a peculiar tang which he indicated by pulling his nose.
A spokesperson for the deaf said nothing as that would make a mockery of his occupation.
(published 14 December 2001)
The world's first successful cloning of mince has been carried out in a dusty shed cum scientifically endowed laboratory near Cowcaddens.
It is believed the experiment was carried out by The People in Charge of Making Food Exciting in an effort to rebrand and sexify the commonplace dish. Its reputation as a rubbery chowsome delicacy is likely to be overhauled in what one spokesman described yesterday as, 'A major contribution to mankind's dealings with mince.'
The much maligned foodstuff has suffered severe negative publicity in recent years due to the overwhelming presence of various posh foreign kwizeens such as curry and chips au gratin.
Findlay Aptitudinal, an astute observer of the human condition whom the Reckless found shuffling aimlessly around the backstreets of Abercrombie yesterday, commented:
'If music be the food of love then surely mince is Hearsay.'*
We asked a highly repugnant boffin like scientist in a slightly off cream overcoat if the new mince would be of an equally edible type nature as the original mince. He prodded us awkwardly with a specially sharpened pipette whilst declaring maniacally:
'If we want to mess around with mince, then mess around with mince we shall. That is all there is to know and all you need to know.'
It was at this point that an aberrant lamppost fell on his excruciatingly extended forehead. We cried like big babies at the profundity of it all.
* An unnecessary apostrophe has been removed from this speech in the interests of common decency.
- THEY'RE BACK (published 14 December 2001)
In an unprecedented piece of unadultarated marketing, advertising types have dubbed cardigans the ultimate sexy garment.
It is expected that bright young things around the fashionable globe will soon be sporting dead trendy woollen tops with buttons in an effort to put the glam back in knitwear for the over fifties.
The move has been welcomed by Malcolm Tents, a fashion designer and part time welder who commented cryptically, 'The only thing better than a cardigan is anything else at all.'
As women and aquatic animals swooned uncontrollably and in time to the beat of a big bass drum, a spokesperson for The More Irrelevant Than You Could Possibly Imagine Society said, 'And death shall have no dominion. But it will be sporting a cardigan, I can assure you that.'
Little Lord Fauntleroy was unavailable for comment. So was his dad.
WORD THEFT MADNESS
(published 14 December 2001)
The Reckless has learned of a sinister plot afoot to undermine the tranquility of dotage. Secret documents obtained by our man in the wheelie bins outside Tesco's reveal a terrifying lack of coherence in anything else likely to occur within the confines of this report.
It is understood the end of the next paragraph will be reached with considerable difficulty and, in fact, may not even be attempted at all. Observers for the Writers Guild of Utter Gibberish have been scrambled in order to reflect the total disregard for any semblance of structure or thought patterns believed to be emanating from this very sentence.
A spokesperson for the English Language, Trevor Futon-Hardpastie, said yesterday, 'It would appear that a faction of the Alphabet Liberation Front broke into our lexical storage depot just off the A93 and let loose the words used to join up other words in order for things in general to make sense. We have alerted the local constabulary and they are combing the area as we (attempt to) speak in order to alleviate the misery of countless thousands of utterers who speak on a regular basis using words and the letters contained therein. It is a desparate situation and no thanks I shall not be requiring a cardigan.'
CILLA BLACK (published 21 December 2001)
Children's 'entertainment' outfit, The Singing Kettle have called on Cilla Black to stop showing herself up.
In an unprecedented outburst of almost senseless proportions, the kiddie singers demanded the raucous celebrity clean up her act or else face the wrath of their combined spout, handle and lid forces.
Lead smiler, Jeremy Jolly, said, 'Never in the field of popular entertainment has so much been shown by so few for so little.'
He was met with a resounding (and it's always resounding) chorus of 'Eh?' from an astonished and, indeed, assembled throng of press acolytes.
In a tit for tat reprisal, Cilla retorted, 'Worra lorra lorra shite.'
It is understood the whole scenario was concocted in order for the phrase 'tit for tat' to be employed in a gratuitously humorous context. A spokesperson for the Clichés Union was not available for comment yesterday. Is that ironic or what?
THE BIN TAPES
(published 21 December 2001)
New video evidence conveniently found lying around an abandoned Taliban hideout reveals the real picture of what's going down in the luxury penthouse caves of Afghanistan:
FOR CHARITY (published 21 December 2001)
Top TV entertainer and all round spiffing personality, Cilla Black, is taking up her soldering iron in an effort to fend off world hunger.The popular singer and presenter said yesterday,
'There are slugs on my lawn and I am perturbed.'
When questioned as to her real motives by the Sanity Police, Cilla exploded, 'How dare you come round here and insult my furniture. Why, I ought to eliminate the nearest contestant I can find in order to drag myself back to the beginning of this sentence so everything can start to make sense again. Have you seen my caustic phrase book for the relevantly challenged? I'm sure I left it around here somewhere. Ah, there it is under the ornamental Shrine to Sandwiches. Excuse me while I retrieve it bodily and with my shapely legs akimbo, thus.'
And with that she swiftly pirhouetted down a country lane worrying many sheep as she gaily gamboled on.
(It is understood that the Reckless showbiz reporter's medication is ineffective)
SANTAS STRESSED OUT (published 21 December 2001)
Rotundally challenged Father Christmases everywhere are checking in to their local psychiatrists in their droves (and sleighs) according to a recent report from the Institute of Fatuous Research.
The skinny Santas fear their lack of girth is unfairly prejudicing their performances of general jollity as people assume that happiness is round.
One victim, Nicholas of Niddrie, spoke out yesterday saying,
'It's hard enough dispensing cheer dressed in red and white as this tends to clash with my wan complexion. I am also finding it increasingly difficult to nurture my facial hairs in such a way as to allow them to sprout naturally in a jaunty, curly fashion.
'There's not the same job satisfaction there used to be when I was training to be merry and since the abolition of Santa Clause 28 I have also been harangued, and indeed meringued, by fattists and bigots throughout the land.'
When questioned as to whether perhaps he had made the wrong career choice, Nicholas muttered,
'You could have a point there. I am constantly verbally abused as I walk the streets with my clipboard ascertaining whether children have been mostly naughty or nice this year. Cos we have to find out you know - there's a list we have to double check. The pressure's unbelievable with exactly the same unrealistic deadline every year. I hate Christmas me.'