Eminent scholar with silly voice uses voice double

Professor Wipladle and his voice double Trannical Korset – the awkward moment after the speech.

Pluto Wipladle, an eminent scholar known for his work on the development of the outer lower medulla (but only on the right hand side) has complained of experiencing prejudicial reactions to his high, nasal voice.
Speaking through his voice double (who enjoys a rich, deep baritone) he spoke of the heartbreak he experienced when he tried to deliver his own paper at a recent conference.

PW through double:  I’ve spent 18 years studying the brain. I’ve been in line for the Nobel prize several times, and yet I was laughed off the stage.

(Hardened journalists begin to weep)

PWTD: You see? Just because this guy has an amazing range and vocal delivery you’re taking me more seriously. I can say without vanity that I’m probably the smartest guy you’ll ever have the good fortune to meet, yet I’ll always be laughed at and ridiculed the minute I speak with my own voice.

(One journalist, overcome with the pathos of moment, faints, and has to be carried out. Prof Wipladle is visibly incensed)

PWTD:  Look at him, (points at double) what has he got besides great hair and a voice like melted chocolate?

(Voice double shakes his head. A muttered argument ensues. A terrible whistling, shrieking noise issues from Prof. Wipladle’s mouth.)

PW:  I can’t believe it. What a diva! Am I right?

(All the journalists begin to lose interest and start leaving)

No wait, I’ve got so much to give! Where are you going? I just want to be loved!

(Someone hurls their notepad at him in disgust).

Journalist revolt at the sound of Wipladle’s whiny voice

Viggo Mortenson: poet, lover, quiche eater

Viggo likes to be one with the natural world.

Viggo Mortenson, star of Stubbly Elf-botherer, Naked Man at the Russian Bath, Ex-Mobster Shoots Man in Diner, and more, has ‘come out’ as a writer of poetry.
“The prospect of having someone of Viggo’s profile as an ambassador for our art-form is very heartening,” said Rodney Blatchweaver‘s mum Muriel. “Now maybe more people will take Rodney seriously.”
With poems like Ennui* it seems that Viggo is set to take the arts world by storm.

Ennui*

Stare into the mirror
Who am I?
Diner Guy?
An Elf lover?
A naked wrestler?
These questions haunt me
As I stare into my beautiful eyes
And run my hands through my
Thick, lustrous hair –
Consolation.

“If there was an Oscar for poetry, Viggo should get one. Now, when I tell people I’m a poet, they no longer laugh in my face. Thank you Viggo!” said Rachel Bucktoof.

We asked Poet Laureate Inigo Yelp to comment on Viggo’s longterm influence on the form.

IY:    Who is he?
Q:    . …! A world-famous movie star.
IY:   What’s he been in?
(We explain)
IY:   Naked wrestling, eh? I’ll have to take a look at that. What was the question?
(We explain)
IY:  You should be writing about Rodney Blatchweaver. That young up-and-comer is making waves in this town. He’s going to put poetry on the map. What was the question?
Q:      ……..?!
(We explain)
IY:   Hmm that’s a tough one. What’s his work like?
Q:     Powerfully understated and tinged with a melancholic awareness of man’s fleeting mortality.
IY:  Give us one then.

Q:   (Reciting from Viggo’s book Blasphemy of the Soul🙂

Why?

Why must I lie?
I should be in nature
One with the sparrows
Instead of pretending to kick
Some guy’s ass nine ways to Sunday
Pretending to psycho-analyse beautiful women
Pretending to not be upset when I don’t get nominated.
Irony cuts deep
Like that time I went fishing.
The honest trout
Has no silver tongue
His scales help him to swim faster
Not get women to sleep with him.
He. Is. No. Liar.

(A long silence ensues)
Q:    I’m probably not putting the depth of feeling into it that Viggo does.

(The silence continues)

IY:  I’m speechless.

Neurologist plugs new book on Dreams: The Significance of the Himalayan Griffin Vulture and other Dream Symbols

The Himalayan Griffin Vulture at rest

 

Neurologist Raymond Gentzer has spent a lifetime recording and analysing  other people’s dreams. We spoke to him about his latest book revealing his findings.

 

RG:   It’s a tough job. After all, nobody likes to listen to other people yapping away about their dreams. They always go on forever.

Q:    Then why write a book about it?

RG:    Why else? People are suckers for the whole dream symbolism malarkey.

Q:   You sound a little jaded.

RG:   Do I?

(Gives bitter laugh)

Q:    What about your own dreams?

RG:    I don’t dream. In fact, I pay copious amounts of money to my therapist so that there are no unresolved issues troubling my subconscious.

Q:    Not even that one where…

RG:    No.

Q:    You know where…

RG:    No.

(He sneezes and a cascade of bubbles fly from his lips, floating away)

Q:    Tell us about the book.

RG:    Well, over the years there have been a small percentage of dreams which were interesting.

(Twirls long pink moustache whilst juggling a diamond corn-on-the-cob) I’ve collected them here.

Q:    Can you read us one?

RG:    Very well. It might sound familiar.

‘I dreamt I was in Gerard Depardieu’s house. I was there to collect some candles for another part of the dream. His bum was younger than his face. I followed Gerard up the stairs thinking it was quite strange that he lived on my street – I’d never noticed him round the local caf getting milk or anything. He had a nice house – lots of oak panelling. I felt under-dressed for the occasion. I was nude.’

This dream clearly indicates deep-set sociopathic tendencies…

Q:    Wait a minute! You put that in the book? That’s my dream!

 

Raymond has begun to hover a foot in the air whilst tiny rabbits gnaw his body, looking for earwigs made of hard rock candy. Suddenly, he, and the rabbits, are attacked by a hungry pack of Himalayan Griffin Vultures.

“It’s only a bloody dream isn’t it?” says Raymond resignedly, as the vultures peck at his bones.

Gerard Depardieu, fully clothed, undressing you with his eyes.

Olympian taken hostage

Caption: The Stormwanglers make themselves at home.

Lepido Rangus, the gold medal winning tri-bi-athlete (tri-bi-athlon: the event in which the athlete rides a horse through 7 feet of water, then shoots it, then uses the gun to pole vault over a trench filled with boiling oil, culminating in the final stretch which involves carrying 2 buckets of pebbles across a wavering tightrope) was surprised to find his mansion in Islington filled to capacity after his win on Saturday.

Caption: Rangus and his horse, the late Fingle Root Basket Bunny Drawers

In a bid to draw attention to their cause, The Stormwanglers, the art group responsible for the recent demonstrations against the Olympics outside the Olympic village, have set up a squat in the sporting icon’s home.

Crispin Flintbiscuit, the leader of the unruly bunch currently disporting themselves in Rangus’s living room, made free with his tea, raiding his rigidly ordered ‘carbohydrates cupboard’.

Q: So why the party atmosphere? Previous demonstrations have been violent and unruly.

CF: Oh, there’s nothing more violent than arriving uninvited in someone’s home and taking up residence. Trust me, this will hit the establishment where it hurts. An Englishman’s home is his castle and all that…

LR: Excuse me, are you…are you one of them?

CF: Ignore him. Can’t you see we’re conducting an interview here?

LR: An interview? (Brightens slightly, his look of confusion clearing a bit.) Is it about my medal? I can show it to you. Well, I’m wearing it. (Smiles shyly, pulling medal out from shirt.)

CF: Witness this disgusting display of the elitist artefact! With our country in a recession…! It’s a crime against humanity! And anyway it’s horribly gauche.

LR: (Looking sad) I suppose so. Can I offer you some er…tea? I’m afraid I only keep skim milk.

CF: Get out of my sight you scion of the lumpen troglodytes!

LR retreats to his room.

Q: Why did you pick on him? Surely Chris Hoy or Victoria Pendleton…

CF: Have you seen Hoy’s house? It’s a disgrace. Barely room to swing a cat, never mind 17 people. Besides, he had security. Here, I have room to spread myself. Rangus keeps Egyptian linen.

(There is a pause as he considers the pleasures of LR’s luxury bed sheets.)

Q: (Clears throat suggestively)

CF: Oh yes, and also about the er…barbaric nature of sport, of course…

Q: His sport is controversial; after all, the shooting of the horse is a terrible…

CF: No, any sport. It’s a barbaric waste of human resources and endeavour. If we could plough all that effort into art, which benefits everyone in so many ways, especially our latest project which only needs a tiny infusion of cash…a mere £50000 to get it off the ground…

Q: You’re protesting that there isn’t enough money going into the arts?

CF: No, I’m protesting that there isn’t enough to go into MY art.

At this, the party gets even more raucous with Lepido Rangus, weakly protesting, being carried along by a swarm of demonstrators into another room.

CF: You should leave. There’s some bacchanalian shit about to go down.

And with that he slams the door on the media. Shortly afterwards the weekly paper News Curl received a ransom note of £50000 for the beleaguered athlete. However, as Rangus himself was spotted in the local Sainsbury’s shopping for supplies, it is said to be doubtful that anything will come of it.

If you’d like to support The Stormwanglers in their demonstration against the Olympics, go to www.olympicssuckabigonegiveussomemoney.com

Playwright slams own work as ‘derivative drivel’

Artie Gimlet prepares for a night of light entertainment

Playwright Artie Gimlet’s new play, ‘Pretension’ has had fans flocking to the theatres.

“Everyone is hungry for irony these days. They’ll do anything to get a fix. Pretension is the perfect high for our generation of sneery scenesters who speak in dead sentences.”

Gimlet’s over-elaborate dialogue is delivered in a purposefully deadpan and uninterested tone, as the actors try on an endless series of Urban Outfitters clothing. Gimlet himself heckles them relentlessly from the orchestra pit, screaming, “Where is the music?!”

Actor Todd Winklebun spoke to us about developing the play.

TW:     At first it was pretty disconcerting. Especially when my mom joined Artie in ‘the pit of shame.’ Artie was pleased that she so deeply understood the concept but there’s a part of me that thinks she was still pissed about that time I trashed her car.

Q:        Do you think our generation has, and will, spawn a society of heartless automatons who are only as real as their latest Twizler update?

TW:    Um, I’m not sure how to respond to that. There are light hearted moments in the play. When my character tries on his seventh pair of low crotch skinny jeans he says, “I’ve seen things.” I like to think that whatever they were they were, they were nice things.

Notorious anti-capitalist artist takes big bucks from Oligarch

Early examples of the artist’s work, discarded for being ‘too tame’.

Enfant terrible Tony Macaroni has got himself a patron. He is known for his incendiary pieces of corruscating social commentary such as ‘Burnt Toast-taste the lies!’ (the faces of world leaders seared onto slices of Warburton’s), ‘Remind me to hate you’ (video in which he melts discarded Madame Tussaud busts) as well as anti-war protest piece ‘Colon Dreamscape’ which has been banned on the grounds of indecency.  He is also widely recognisable on the arts scene for his abrasive posturing and loathing for politicians, so Macaroni’s decision to accept financial support from a notorious billionaire has struck many as strange, with critics branding him a sell-out.

Q:  Rumour has it that you’ve been adopted by Russian Oligarch Steppan Izzinovavikovnavich as his personal artist.

TM:  (Nervously) Yes, so?

Q:  Doesn’t it go against your anti-capitalism, anti-establishment mores?
(Shifts uncomfortably)

TM:  Sure, some may say that it goes against every fibre of my being to accept the blood-rinsed cash of one of the world’s biggest parasites. I certainly wouldn’t, but some might.

Q:  Is it true that he keeps you under house arrest, forcing you to paint recreations of Whistler’s grandmother with his ex-wife as a model?

TM:  Those rumours are (largely) untrue. I could choose between Whistler’s Grandmother and Van Gogh’s ear. (furtively rubs ears) I would’ve had to be the model for that.

Q:  How do you respond to statements to (now deceased) housemaid Schvetlana Meerlubna’s claims that you begged her to get you to a government safe house when she found you cowering in the 18th ballroom at his estate?

TM: That’s errant nonsense. I love that ballroom. I hang out there all the time.

Q: Wearing a caviar-stained jester’s outfit?

TM: Steppan likes to get involved in my installation pieces. That one involves him hurling beluga at me while I flaggelate myself with a badminton racket. (Swallows) It’s fun.

Q:  About Steppan’s famous pack of dogs…

TM: (Starts to shiver uncontrollably) I don’t talk about the dobermans.

Q:  Are you working on anything now?

TM:  I’m working with Steppan on… (breaks down, weeps) listen, I just want to say that I take back everything I ever said about British politicians and capitalism. I was wrong, I see that now. If you could just tell the police…

Immediately two burly security guards rush in.
Guard 1: You upset Minion 502?

Q:  Er…

Guard 2:  No more talky talky!

As they drag the recumbent Macaroni out, he looks back at me silently mouthing, ‘SAVE YOURSELF’…

Rap star’s alter ego develops own alter ego

Hair reflecting life?

Rap singer Beebop KraZd has just released a sparkling new album (retail copies literally covered in mock Swarofski crystals) under her alter ego’s (a timid librarian called Floozi Malloy, with two foster children and a ‘badass policy on late returns’) alter-ego.

‘Funki Munk’, ‘a toi girl grinding her stuff in the Barbie house’ is said to be Floozi’s (aka Beebop’s) ‘plastic fantasy’.

Q: What led your alter ego to er…develop ‘her’ own alter-ego?

BK/FM/FM: Everyone was doing the alter-ego thing. Beyonce, Niki Minaj, Madlib…I wanted to express myself in a totally original way.

Q: Peeper magazine reported recently that you ‘talk in the voices of your different alter ego’s, sometimes even having arguments and fistfights’?

BK/FM/FM: Damn straight! Dem birches be getting all up in my grill. Funki Munk is always stealing my clothes…(expression changes) oh no you di-unt! You did not jus accuse me of stealing my own clothes! (voice change) now ladies, let’s have some propriety, you know I don’t like loud talkers…(voice change) shut yo mouth bitch!
(Argument becomes increasingly heated until BK/FM/FM pulls out a diamond encrusted bb gun and starts pistol whipping herself)

Manager Lick Flange steps in.

LF: Break it up ladies… (ushers star out) My God, it’s exhausting.

Q:  Do you see any danger of Beebop losing credibility with her fans as a result of outbursts like this?

LF: Oh no. The crazier the better as far as alter-ego’s go. I think its s great way for them to let off steam from all the pressure of being a celeb. You should hear the sort of shit ‘Sasha Fierce’ gets away with. You think it was Eminem who assaulted his ex wife? No, that was ‘Slim Shady’. These days they all have therapists telling them to use these a-e’s as a ‘mask to explore their deepest fantasies’.

Q: These are people who can afford to bathe in a solid gold bathtub full of beluga caviar whilst having naked dwarves hoola hooping and juggling bags of money….?

LF: That stuff’s old news man. Tired and boring. The new thing is airing your psychological laundry in public. That shit never gets old.

Q: What will happen if Beebop’s alter-ego’s alter-ego develops an alter-ego?
(a huge pause)

LF:  That’s some deep shit you’re talking about. But if anyone’s crazy enough to do it…

Beebop KraZd aka Floozi Malloy aka Funki Munk’s new album,”Crank my bitch funk” is out now.

Underground Grog Filter Beats – famous for the next 5 minutes

The latest craze for Underground Grog Filter beats has seen several bands rising above the rest like scum on day old coffee. In a good way.

Crustacean Inflation – Jeniffer Gestation takes the rabid crowds up one minute and then brings them down. Literally. The band laces free cocktails with Valium for that ‘mellow vibe’. Picking broken glass from your cheek has never been more fun.

You need to be pretty mellow to do this move.

Tits for Termites – Low voiced singer Mick Macweltenbrack shouts the lyrics to their hit ‘Brazen faced Dog People’ whilst keyboardist Frick LeRoo recites the periodic table.

Hasta La Vista Gravy – Singing from a bathtub full of gravy, the band wave porkchops and legs of mutton at the increasingly ravenous crowd before inciting them to feast orgiastically off their bodies. With no recognisable band leader it was left to promoter Denby Whatserwaller to yell, “But wait, there is no gravy” over and over again, while recording and looping the baying of the crowd. Expect to come back from the gig in someone else’s clothes.

Hasta La Vista Gravy: He's right there is no gravy. Oh wait, there is.

Donde Endometrium – Ex-microbiologist Flange Breathsaver knits tightly woven computer based blips and bleeps with the cooing of a whip-poor-wil and the noises of a cicada. Walking amongst the audience, he offers to tickle you. Don’t accept.

Flange Breathsaver: Seriously, don't let him tickle you.

Formaldehyde Fake revealed: Herring keeps twin in basement

The trapdoor leading to Herring's basement prison.

Dermot Herring, whose groundbreaking pieces involved placing a chartered accountant in formaldehyde, has today been found to be a fake.
The true author of his work was revealed this week to be none other than his twin Colin Herring, whom Dermot apparently, ‘kept chained in a basement for the past 15 years’, the same period over which Herring’s star first began to rise in the arts world.

Pale and traumatised from the experience, Colin stated to police and assembled press that, “Dermot threatened to put me in a formaldehyde bath if I didn’t work for him like a slave.”

Dermot’s (or rather, Colin’s) work with people who donated their bodies to the Herring Trust, has become legendary, reputedly earning Dermot a fortune.

“Sometimes he would torture me by forcing me to watch him writhing naked on a bed of gold bullion,” said Colin, speaking from a police safe house.

“When I first suggested the idea of placing different things in formaldehyde, he scoffed in my face, but we did it for a laugh. Next thing I knew, I was locked in the basement…it wasn’t all bad, he let me have satellite TV.”

Dermot has issued the following statement through his lawyer, Jacob Twist (of Bend, Twist and Pullem):

“While my client does not deny incarcerating his twin, he emphatically denies using threats to get him to work. As far as the gold bullion is concerned, that was a present from Sheik Ali Yuksak (for placing his 3rd wife in formaldehyde) and it has no bearing on this matter.”

It is feared that the Herring ‘masterpieces’ will now seriously decrease in value.
“Who is this Colin?” spat Sheik Ali Yuksak. “Dermot I trusted, and now I hear that this Colin, this nobody, handled my 3rd wife’s delicate parts?! Dermot partied with me and JZ on my yacht, he’s like brother to me. A brother who took my gold bullion and did unspeakable things with it.”

While the case continues, buyers of Herring art are reportedly trying to offload their pieces as fast as possible. An insider at Sotheby’s told us, “People are finding it difficult to sell these pieces. ‘A minor civic servant,’ once valued at £3 million, sold yesterday for £2.50, and the owner was grateful to get that price. After all, it’s hardly as if the local council will take it away with the recycling.”

The Oscar Speech Meryl Streep never gave

The celebrity audience has mixed reaction to Noni flashing her breasts

In a bizarre Oscars speech, actress Noni Gibberwelt, despite insisting that she is not bitter, cleared the decks of her former life as a cocktail waitress.
Now an Oscar-winning screenwriter and actress, Noni’s acceptance of her award was unusually caustic.

“There was a time when I might have said, “Hah!” All you bad tippers, you late night booty-callers who never answered the phone when I needed you. I’m talking about you Ray Vaudvilke. No, I’ve been brushed with the loofah of success…

(Kisses statuette)

…and I shake you off like flaky skin calluses. I might have said, “Pah!” to you Robbie Blitzkin. Back in high school, I bet you never thought I’d grow into this bod or have such great hair! And you, Falco Ripwheedler, who told me my poems were average and overtly melancholic, so you couldn’t possibly publish them. Do you see the Oscar I’m holding?! No? Oh, right, you’re in your mouldy old bedsit back in Blighty. And what about you, Prof. Junkweilder? If I was still bitter about getting a C- on all of my papers after I wouldn’t let you fondle my breasts …Yup.

(Flashes breasts)

These puppies – savour it. Oh wait, that’s the closest you’ll ever get. To any woman. And then there’s you, Milton Moovil. Ah, Milton. You’re so lucky that I can now afford the best therapy money can buy. I’ve learnt to look past the years of drudgery when I stifled my own talent in order to work three jobs to support your career as an “interpretive dancer.”

By sleeping with that little slut from RADA you set me free to become the (let’s be honest) MASSIVE success that I am now. If I was bitter. But I’m not. So I dedicate this award to all the wankers from my past. Grist, mill, water under the gold-plated bridge.”

Then, as the audience sat in stunned silence, the actress moon-walked off stage.