NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS
January 6 2001)
(published January 6 2001)
Cries of, 'Snow brings chaos to Scotland's roads' have been ringing merrily out of newspaper headlines and TV news bulletins as the populace joyfully pretend that it's never been as cold as this, before yelping, 'Jings crivvens, help ma bobsleigh.'
Honestly, what do folk expect eh? We're all going round to Tommy Sheridan's to chuck snowballs on his sunbed.
WHERE AM I? (published
Emerging battlescarred, pure white and unbearably sentimental from the season's festivities, the Reckless showbiz correspondent, Shane Canoe, asks:
What is the point eh? Year in, year out, hoping for Royal Scot biscuits to return to our supermarket shelves but inevitably being disappointed.
It's like expecting the pop chart to represent carefree musical experimentation and exploration of harmony, melody and lyricism. It's never going to happen is it?
So let's just be thankful for small jerseys and garish socks - the traditional outcome of Christmas. After all, how else would our pants be replenished?
Pass that bottle of GlenMichael. Aw - is he dead or what? Oh I do hope not. That would be the end wouldn't it kids?
Who could forget the theme tune of Cartoon Cavalcade - do roo do roo do, do roo do roo do, dooroot dooroot doot doot doot doot, dooroot dooroot do do (do do do).
Ah! The talking paraffin lamp, the amusingly silent daschund and the incredibly naff cartoons... (Quick nurse, the unfeasibly large syringe!)
Every single computer in the world failed on the stroke of midnight 2001.
The unmitigated disaster is believed to have occurred because, er... nobody told me that this wasn't switched on.
Sorry. Carry on. Move along. Nothing to see here. Pass me that sherry, vicar.
AM I GANTIN OR
have flooded in and we leave you to decide on these stunners:
Vote now -
Cor, I'd give it one, or
Would you like a balaclava with that sir?
OUT ALL OVER (published
With the dawning of a new year it would appear that everyone on the planet has decided that they can't be bothered getting on each other's nerves anymore and so world peace has been declared.
However some people haven't been told yet and so everything shall resume as normal until we run out of bricks, bombs, guns, knives and super-stretch elastic catapults.
Tentative talks on imposing a conkers armistice in certain parts of Cowcaddens continue to have no effect whatsover howsomever moreover besides and furthermore.
We shall bring you the latest as soon as it arrives or before it gets here or...boing! Time for bed.
(Warning - be careful out there, kids - this is what happens when you have one wine gum too many).
NAME CHANGE (published January27 2001)
After much deliberation, cogitation and flagellation the people who run this great nation of ours have finally decided what their gang should be called.
It is to be the Scottish Health Industry Transport Education Business Agriculture Government Scheme - the acronym for which makes it so much easier to remember.
When complaints of the new title's long-windedness were voiced by the Reckless to the Executive's main garden shed office, a civil servant, Rab Scallion, pointed to Chapter 7, Section 2, Clause 3, Para 3, sentence 2, letter 6, punctuation mark 1(a) of the Governmental Beige Paper on Dead Important Stuff which helpfully clarified the matter vis-à-vis the losing the will to live by the end of this sentence situation.
Mr Scallion also pointed out that we had interrupted his game of solitaire in which he had almost achieved a personal best.
SHORTAGE OF CONVERSATION
Peoples across the land are experiencing severe shortages of intelligible conversation following the widespread use of mobile phones.
It would appear that constant chattering on the burning issues of the day (what bus you are on, your exact location and when you are likely to arrive at your destination) have severely depleted the range of topics upon which to discourse i.e. they've nothing left to talk about.
The Reckless's man in the field, Seth Wellies, has conducted relentless research* on the subject by asking folks with bits of plastic apparently wedged in their lugholes to wax lyrical on the joys of sexual congress. To which replies were usually, 'I'm on the number 69. I should be in in five minutes.'
*This research has been subjected to the usual rigorous hygiene checks and found wanting in several areas of dubiousity and dooby entendre brothers.
NB The preceding sentence is the personal rantings of an unhinged individual and in no way reflects the editorial stance of this mighty organ.
(batteries not included)
Share prices may go down (way down) as well as severely rocket.
This is the last announcement.
That's what you think.