Bird Guano

The column that comes with its own cockroach flap.


READER: Ahoy there Grumpy! I hope the election result has put you in a better mood…

MYSELF: Indeed it has. Its the kind of result that makes you want to roll in dung, lie face down on a tea towel and flog it on Ebay as the Turin Shroud. How about you?

READER:  Well actually Mrs Reader and I are off to Spain for a fortnight just as soon as we've got our vaccination passports, visas and internationally recognised leisure permits, so I was wondering if you could recommend a good holiday read? I’m a devil for my books I am.

MYSELF:  What sort of thing do you like?

READER:  Anything about zombies, vampires or bent coppers. I’ve always had a broad taste in literature.  

MYSELF:  What about something historical, or a good biography?

READER: I’ll give anything a go, as long as it’s got vampires or zombies or corrupt policemen in it.  Oh, and I’m quite fond of books about musicals.

MYSELF: I was going to suggest a book about none of those.
READER: I'm intrigued, go on then.
MYSELF:  Have you read Hitler’s Cats, by Jurgen Von Strumph? Here’s what the reviewers said:


“If you love cats and are fascinated

by The Fuhrer, this is the book for

Cecil Wright-Kant

Mail on Sunday


“An in depth look at Hitler’s many

cats, including Wi-Wong the

Siamese with a penchant for caviar,

morphine and cocaine, and

Dusseldorf, the legendary killer


Tony Cohonie

GQ Magazine


“A riot! One of the funniest books

about Hitler’s cats I have ever read.

...this romping roller coaster of

emetic hilarity positively crackles with titters, like a thousand giggling japanese


Maureen Peccadillo,

Cat World


On the other hand if its musicals you’re fond of, the book to be seen frying on the beach with this summer is going to be Slumdog Milliner,  the song-infested tale of a poor child from Mumbai who decides to go into the hat business. It comes with a CD and a lottery ticket.

READER: I think I’ll give the cat one a miss thanks, but a CD and a lottery ticket? And hats? What's not to like? Slumdog sounds right up my street! By the way, what are your holiday plans this year?

MYSELF: I’m thinking of not taking a walking holiday in either the Lake District or Scotland or staying at home with a sun-lamp.



This week’s offering comes from Alistair Milqueflote's debut collection, Guilt-Edged Securities. Alistair, who is senior chorister at The Beyondenden Chapel of The Fallen Angel, lives in Upper Dicker with 27 rescue owls and a flock of Tibetan llamas. In his spare time he plays Dixieland jazz and collects rare trousers.

Masturbation is a sin
Along with cunnilingus.
And so are all the other things
Done with mouths
And fingus


Carlton Mangrove, headmaster of St. Bodolph’s academy for boys, who has been missing for several weeks, has been found by police in Kent, where he was discovered hiding in a concealed tunnel under the pelican enclosure at Sandwich’s famous zoological attraction, World of Beaks.

“Once it got out that I had faked all my qualifications, my headmastering world caved in", the principal confessed to our reporter Imogen Sandcastle, “and when the job I was offered as a tosser at the Deal branch of Pancakes R Us failed to materialize and the two Nigerian gentlemen to whom I had handed over my passport and £2,000 in cash simply disappeared, I panicked.” Mr. Mangrove, 56,  who still lives with his mother Doris, a former cocktail waitress from Piddinghoe and has to wear surgically corrective sandals which chafe when he runs, was remanded for psychological reports.



Hastings’ resident boffin Gordon Thinktank has perfected his latest invention, a revolutionary machine which turns full cream milk into cheese, using only a recording of the voice of Liz Truss, from which all frequencies below 20khz have been removed.


READER: How would that work? Surely no one would be able to hear it.


MYSELF: That’s the whole point. Only dogs can hear it. And milk.


Thinktank's other recent inventions have included a heated waterproof bodystocking for taking cold showers in the winter, a revolving gas-powered toothpaste dispenser, a clamp for holding down frisky parrots, a hand knitted ashtray for smoker’s cardigans, and earrings which glow in the dark during air raids.




Cockmarlin Thunderbolts 8  Hastings & St Leonards Warriors 0 

Frustrated Warriors fans could be seen moping around town like sulky adolescents this weekend, and with good reason. The 2020/21 campaign is effectively over for the club, who are now mathematically unable to avoid relegation and will have to compete next season in the Hobson’s Denture Fixative League (south), following yet another humiliating 8-0 defeat.  

As one angry supporter told us: “Recently appointed manager Giovani Fuctivano (The Goalfather) has got to go. As if insulting the fans by renaming historic Warrior Park Stadia Cosa Nostra and changing the colour of the team shirts from imperial purple to mauve with peppermint polka dots were not bad enough, he has sold Reg Pompadour, our best player, to a male escort agency.”

This is what the bottom of the Nuclear Waste Disposal Solutions League (South) looked like after the final whistle blew on Saturday:


                                                         P      W      D        L         F       A         Pts

Upper Dicker Macaroons   (R)       32     2       5        21       16     39        11

Cockmarlin Thunderbolts  (R)        31     2      4        8         16     42        10

Hastings & St Leonards W (R)       32     0       0       32         0      256       0


After the game, Hastings’ owner, Spanish sausage millionaire José Pypebahn, spoke to our reporter.

“Giovani's tactics were faultless. The lads were magnificent. Mathematically we should have won. If it hadn’t been for dyslexic Tourette’s sufferer Craig Cattermole’s sending off in the first minute for calling the referee a wakner and a cucksrocker, and Deiter Klansmann's recurring groin, we would have been in with a chance."

"The Thunderbolt’s pitch was a disgrace. It sloped from left to right in the first half, and then from right to left in the second, so we were kicking uphill for the entire match. The ball was too round, and kept rolling away from our players. The referee just happens to be their manager’s brother-in-law and owes their Colombian striker £300 for cocaine. Cockmarlin's goalie had a spider in a matchbox which he waved about to frighten Nobby Balaclava our centre forward every time he got the ball, and Signor Chorizio our club mascot had to put up with an unacceptable tirade of abuse whenever he tried to entertain the crowd by waving his inflatable wienerschnitzel."

"Obviously we are disappointed, and our main task next season will be to strengthen the squad, gain immediate promotion from the Hobson’s Denture Fixative League (south), and put this club right back up in the top flight where it belongs.”


READER: Do you actually get paid for this rubbish?

MYSELF:  An absolute fortune, but every penny goes to my favourite charity.

READER: Oh I'm so sorry! Me and my big mouth! Which charity is that, if I may ask?

MYSELF: Guard Dogs for The Rich.

READER: Fair play. I stand corrected, as the satisfied customer said to the orthopedic shoe salesman. You’re a saint and no mistake.


Sausage Life!



guano poundhammer

From the album Domestic Bliss

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By Lobbytroll



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