READER'S CORNER

PEOPLE SAY THE FUNNIEST THINGS! 

Are you always putting your foot in it and causing the people around you undue misery and heartache? Tell all and you could win £2.50!

My daughter Kelsey has got a right mouth on her. When my husband came home from working on the oil rigs last week, she took one look at him and said: 'I've got a new daddy now - he comes round every Tuesday and Thursday smelling of drink and sleeps with Mummy.' You should have seen the look on his face! 

Kerry Fishwife, Aberdeen

I usually make the dinner for my husband, and I'm renowned for making tasty soup. I asked him what he wanted, but I must be getting deaf in my old age. When we sat down to eat, he took one mouthful and instantly dropped dead! Then I realised, he asked for PARSNIP, not ARSENIC!  What a silly mix up.

Maureen Manslaughter, Her Majesty's Pleasure

GREAT IDEA! 

Want to liven up boring old bread? Well why not try a few exciting toppings? If you go to a specialist supermarket, you'll find plenty of exotic ideas, such as 'jam' which is apparently made from boiled fruit and sugar (crazy!). There's also 'butter' (made from the juice of cows!!). And you could also try marmalade, which is quite a tongue twister, but delicious. Go on, have a go!

Mrs A Marmite, Bolton

CELEBRITY SPOTS!

Les Dennis projectile vomiting in Rotherham town centre

Brian May pleading for mercy as Anita Dobson threatens him with some GHDs

Midge Ure dancing with tears in his eyes in Vienna

June Sarpong being devoured by a tiger at Whipsnade Zoo

Margaret Atwood table dancing to Shakira at Spearmint Rhino

A bespectacled Kerry Katona reading Noam Chomsky's 'Manufacturing Consent' at the British Library

  

KATIE SLAG

Chica's hard hitting columnist tells it like it is!

'I'M IN A McFLURRY!'

Sometimes it's dead hard being a celeb, you know. The other day, me and my friend Kelly Marie (the one with the Shayne Ward tattoo on her perineum) was standing outside Mucky Ds, right, picking the blue Smarties out of our McFlurries and flicking them at people, when this BITCH comes out of nowhere  and says 'You! Slag!'. Well, I've never been so insulted in my life, so I smacked her right in the piehole with me 'I HEART MUM' sovvy ring. Through a mouthful of broken teeth, she then went onto say 'No, I meant, you're KATIE SLAG! You're my favourite columnist!.' I 'ad to sign her gums before she'd leave me alone! 

Oh well, it just shows that everybody reacts differently to the pressures of fame. And I like to use the age-old method of mindless violence. 

FAGS FOR NOTHING

OMG I was talking to my grandma, who is like 33 and old enough to remember something called 'Rod Hull and Emu' and she says that once you could actually smoke in pubs. Well I say bring it back! Why shouldn't I go down to me local family carvery and breathe second hand Lambert and Butler on some babies? It's a fucking free country, innit? Come on, give cigs a chance! They're harmless! Do the government not know that blue WKD tastes shit without a fag? Come on David Camera, you donkey, stop leaving your kid in the toilet and BRING BACK FAGS!

ASK KATIE

Dear Katie,

I really like the gold jewellery you're wearing in your pic. Can you tell me where you got it?

Dawn Bench, Rotherham

Hiya Dawn - I got it from a bloke with one eye called Mad Jim, who sells knock off stuff in the toilets at Razzer's Fun Pub in Stockport. Knock twice on the second cubicle, give him £50 an he'll shove it under the door. Happy shoppin'!

Have you got a question for Katie? She's waiting to answer all your questions about life, love and everything, so send your query, (along with a nail file and a pack of johnnies) to:

Ask Katie, Stockport Remand Centre, Murderway, Stockport, SK1 ASBO.

SHOT THROUGH THE HEART - a real life story

by Cheryl Gangrene, 38

Me and Dave was so happy

'CHUFFIN' HELL!' my Dad screamed, as I thundered downstairs in my ill-fitting wedding dress. I'll never forget the look of sheer panic on his face as I reached out to hug him.

'Thank God' he gasped, straining to escape from my polyester clutches. 'You're getting married. I never thought I'd see the day. 'Me neither, 'I sighed. Today I was going to marry my fiance Dave Spigott, a complete stranger that I'd met on the the bus a week before. I'd been hurt in love many times, but there was just something about Dave that seemed right for me. Perhaps it was the mad, staring eyes, or the way he ducked under the seat when a police car went past outside, but in my heart I knew I'd finally found 'The One.'

The next day, he moved in, and I was sure I'd made the right decision. He got on so well with my kids Kylie-Jaide (23), Jason-Orange (17), Cinzano (13), Chlamydia (9). Abu-Hamza (5) and Barrymore (3). He was a better Dad to them than their real dads, whose names temporarily escape me. Unlike them, Dave was so loving towards me. He only occasionally swung at me with the chip pan, and when he got down on one knee and presented me with a Diamonique engagement ring, my arteries almost burst with joy. 

After our fairytale wedding, things couldn't have been better. We moved into a house with an actual roof, and I gave birth to twins, Starbucks and Costa. Dave got a job in a meat processing factory and life was good. 

'MAYBE IT WAS THE MAD STARING EYES... BUT I KNEW I'D FOUND THE ONE.'

But soon Dave began to change. It was little things at first. He became more and more withdrawn, and took to reading books about marksmanship. I once came back to see him rocking backwards and forwards at the window, muttering something about 'shooting her and putting her in the mincer at work' but I didn't really think anything of it. Then he started to lose interest in sex. I did all I did to spice things up in the bedroom, even investing in lacy lingerie, but for some reason it just seemed to turn his stomach. 

Soon his shifts at the factory started to get longer and longer, and he was always on the internet looking up something called www.deadwives.com. He'd say hurtful things like 'I'm going to murder you, you bitch,' but I just thought he was joking. I'd say 'Ha! I'm going to murder you an all!' but instead of laughing, he'd just draw a line across his throat and make weird eye rolling movements.

Things finally came to a head on the evening of Monday 14th June. I'd accidentally spent all of Dave's wages on scratchcards and Sara Lee gateau, and when he came home to find me slumped in front of Emmerdale, he went crazy and tried to strangle me. I tried to diffuse the situation by throwing a chair at his head, but that only made things worse. Imagine my surprise when he shot me 37 times! 

When I woke up three weeks later in hospital, the doctors told me it was a miracle I'd survived. Amazingly the bullets had lodged in the massive layer of subcutaneous fat which surrounds my body, and had missed my internal organs. But that wasn't the only shock I got. The police told me that Dave wasn't Dave Spigott at all - he was Milos Davidovich, a Serbian war criminal wanted in the Hague for crimes against humanity. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather!

After many months of rehab, I'm finally over Dave. I don't blame him for what happened, and I'll always love him, even though he's a lying, murdering bastard. Luckily though, fate seems to be smiling on me at last. There's a new man in my life called Charlie Mansen, who works as a knife salesman. Hopefully this time, things will work out OK! 

As told to Boudicea Semi-Literate 

RITA ROCKET'S PSYCHIC POSTBAG

Rita, in a rare moment between Hob Nobs

Hello there! I'm Rita Rocket, the UK's least renowned psychic. You know, some people think that being a psychic involves sitting on the sofa all day eating biscuits and making up crap, but nothing could be nearer to the truth! Honestly, it's a riot in my head some days, what with Genghis Khan playing that accordion and Percy Thrower running around with that fucking lawnmower (if you'll pardon my French). And when Donald Sinden and Windsor Davis start arguing over who was the REAL star of Never The Twain, I swear, I feel like cutting my head off with a chainsaw!

Of course, traditional medicine has some weak explanation for this phenomenon, called 'schizophrenia'  - but I know I'm receiving genuine messages from the dead.  So why not write to me and I'll try to contact your loved ones - when I've finished eating this packet of Hob Nobs!
(Editors Note: Rita regrets she cannot reply to every letter as she is a lazy trout)




Dear Rita
My family was mauled to death by wild cats on a safari holiday last year, and since then I've been very depressed. It's getting so I can't get out of bed in the morning, and I would really like to know that they're all OK in the afterlife. 


Occasionally, I feel like I'm being watched, but I don't know whether it's my dead family or whether it's paranoia brought on by all the anti-depressants I'm taking. Please help me. 


Carrie Nation-Street, Lytham St Annes


Rita says:

Oh dear, you have have been in the wars! Well, actually I'm getting something here from my Ethiopian spirit guide (and live-in lover) Brian. I think it's your mother - Dave? Alison? Carol? Honestly, the silly cow sounds like she's chewing a brick! She says you should have your U-bend fixed as she foresees a leak. I'm also getting cold shivers down my spine and a terrible image of tigers. That could be because the heating isn't on and I'm watching the Discovery Channel, but I think it's more likely that it's your family trying to contact me from the spirit world. Someone is screaming 'HELP! TIGERS!' Does that mean anything to you? They're saying they weren't very happy about being torn limb from limb, but they're happy now, playing whist with Thora Hird and hanging out at the 'club' with Biggie Smalls. Also, your Auntie Joan has a message for you. She's saying something about Hob Nobs, she says you need to pop to the shops and get Rita some Hob Nobs. She says to hurry and make sure you get the chocolate ones. Is that OK, love? Cheers.