The Daily Telegraph is now accepting death announcements for pets. It has been suggested in certain quarters that I should apply for the post of editor of this vital page in our national mass media. I will, of course, do my best in this important job, and treat the bereaved blue rinsers with the utmost respect and dignity as they part with their cash.
Tricky Woo: Beloved companion, now feeding the starving millions in the Philippines.
Mitzi: She was a good dog, there is no heaven for those that can lick their own arse.
Pinky: The best cat in the world, filed under "vetinary waste."
Scaryduck: Lovingly roasted in a delicate orange sauce.
Crap Music, again
Unless my memory has failed me, this site once hosted a low-quality What's-the-worst-song-ever vote. Whatever the outcome - if it even existed at all - after listening to a drunken pensioners' sing-a-long coming from next door, I've changed my mind. The worst song in the world ever ever ever is:
Joe Cocker - With a Little Help from my Friends. The most overblown wanky pile of bollocks ever committed to tape. Words cannot describe my hatred for this performance - it's everything that makes we want to go round to his house, kick out all the windows and crap through his letterbox, and any decent judge will let me off for committing an essential public service. A crime against the musician's art. Paul McCartney ought to be spinning in his grave.
This narrowly beats The Carpenters' Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft into second place, a tune I'll lift from Mrs Duck's collection and play at extreme volume if I'm ever in need of a laugh. Funnier than the Barron Knights, The Wurzels and The Krankies all rolled into one.
So far ahead of the field are this pair, I'm at a loss for a third example of similar crapness, short of The Streets' A Grand Dont Come for Free this time next year. You know the form by now - suggest-me-up!