Who needs Sherlock when you could have this…

Typical – bemused by the success of Sherlock, you try to come up with a winning alternative idea for BBC1’s Sunday evening line up. Having duly thought of one, you then do a quick Google search only to realise that it’s been done before.

Now I must go and mournfully throw away my hastily-written one page treatment for ‘Starfish Hitler’…


What Michael Jackson will look like in the year 2000

Or at least according to Ebony magazine in 1985. Brace yourselves, because it’s eerily accurate…

[via @harikunzru]

Wikipedia’s So Solid Crew member list

Earlier on, I was alerted to the FULL list of So Solid Crew members on Wikipedia. It was a thing of wonder. Shortly afterwards, it was removed from the site, probably by laugh-allergic boffins. So I got a screengrab. Here it all is….

(By the way, I didn’t write any of this, although I wish I had)

The Very Best Of The Fucking Beatles

I did this for Sour Mash magazine.

Those celeb autobiographies – which one should you ask Santa for?

You’re probably stumped about which one to buy from of the plethora of enchanting celebrity autobiographies that are available ahead of Christmas. Fret no more dear reader, because I have read them ALL for you*. Here’s my handy guide…


The rubber-boned joker concentrates on the gruelling life he endured before finally making the big time, revealing for the first time some of the grotty jobs that sustained him before he became a household name. Anyone who isn’t moved to tears by Lee’s description of his three months spent as a novelty penis salesman in Jakarta doesn’t deserve to have any eyes.

OPENING LINE: “No one sees the man behind the clown mask; no one sees him sitting in a bush in the car park of his local Asda at 4am because he still can’t get over that garbled punchline he delivered in Hull in 1992.”



Heavy stuff from the roly-poly funnyman, belying his public image as a loud, detestable buffon. Four of this 654-page book’s five chapters focus on the occult, as Corden reveals his belief that he is only a few years away from being able to transform his own urine into liquid gold.

OPENING LINE: “It was my 15th birthday, when I tranquilised my pet dog Wilfie just so that I could eat the tin of Pedigree Chum that was rightfully his, that I knew something needed to change on Planet Corden.”



He started out with a few quid and a van at the age of 16 and he’s now one of Britain’s best-loved millionaires. But he’s retained his hard edge, as displayed in this book. For example, one of Lord Sugar’s ‘rules’ focuses on male employees who don’t tuck in their shirts – he says of them: “My sole reason for entering the House Of Lords is to pass legislation that will make this despicable practice punishable by death. Death caused by the forced feeding of said shirt, its breast pocket filled with the hottest chillies known to mankind.”

OPENING LINE: “People look at me and think I live the life of Riley but there’s nothing I enjoy more than shaving my mother-in-law’s back on a Sunday afternoon”



The much-loved actress has a lifetime of tales to tell from her showbiz and personal life, and this book is a weapons-grade page-turner. You’ll be as astonished as I was to learn that Waking The Dead ended after Trevor Eve took legal action against Sue, claiming that he had won one of her kidneys in a drunken card game at a post-filming wrap party.

OPENING LINE: “Fate is a funny thing. If I’d replied to a certain advert that I saw in the Liverpool Echo in 1967, I’d almost certainly by now be one of the most celebrated Formula One drivers of all time.”



Finally caving in to immense public demand, the tour guide from TV’s Coach Trip has put pen to paper and laid himself bare. He glosses over his early life as the President of the UK Golliwog Preservation Society, choosing to share anecdotes about the show that has made him famous. Worth reading if only to learn which contestant was ejected from the coach while it was still moving after exposing himself to a group of blind nuns through the rear window.

OPENING LINE: “Some people find it hard to believe that I was allergic to buses until the age of 32 – until I show them the photo I always carry with me, with my face so swollen that my eyes look like raisins and my cheeks like raw steaks.”


*I didn’t read any of them. Do I look like some kind of twat?

Cameron’s too soft – HERE’S how to sort out the gangs…

Britain is on its knees. The peasants have revolted and now Something Big And Important has to be seen to be done by the government in order to stamp it out once and for all. But Cameron’s plans, including a ‘war on gangs’ are short-sighted, dull and most crucially, pig ignorant. The man is a buffoon, an arse and a tit. In short, I don’t think he’s going far enough.

Here’s my alternative four-point plan that will probably definitely bring an end to Britain’s gang culture and re-establish the country as the land of hope and glory that it most probably definitely should be.


The kids can’t be trusted to operate their Twitters and their Facebooks and their Blackberry messages properly. All they use them for is organising mass civil disobedience and planning water fights and orgies. The bastards.

I’m proposing that from now on, all potential looters (basically anyone who wears a tracksuit but doesn’t make a living from professional sport) is made to wear a special helmet that is connected to their mobile phones and has been fitted with a loudspeaker and text-to-speech software.

Anything they read or write on their phones will automatically be converted and broadcast through the speaker, allowing normal, non-tracksuit-wearing citizens to know EXACTLY what they’re up to.


In this time of confusion about who or what is to blame, only one thing is certain – the rap music is almost certainly to blame. Its powerful, monotonous beats that are designed solely to hypnotise the listener into smashing up a Vodafone store are bad enough, but it’s the lyrics that need to be reined in once and for all.

There’s far too much talk about drinking brandy straight out of the bottle and tattooing prostitutes against their will, and nowhere nearly enough about the benefits that can be had from investing in Premium Bonds.

I’m not calling for the abolition of rap music, but if we remove all the vowels from the rap lyrics, it will almost certainly blunt the message and lead to a noticeable reduction in the strangling statistics. So Solid Crew, your time in the sunshine is about to come to an end… for good!


This is almost certainly the missing link in Cameron’s so-called Big Society and if he had any balls about him, he’d have announced it months ago. The plan is simple – any potential looter (basically anyone who wanders around with their shoelaces undone) who can’t find a job should automatically be enrolled into the armed forces for two years.

But if they think they’re getting anywhere near any firearms, they’ve got another thing coming. Their time will be spent carrying out a series of pointless and mildly unpleasant tasks, designed solely to occupy their time while occasionally making them do a little sick in their throats.

For starters, they can clean up the chewing gum that they’ve previously spat out on to our sacred pavements – using only plastic chip shop forks. If they’ve got a problem with THAT, then they will be transferred to nursing homes, where they will be forced to perform vajazzles on doped-up old ladies.


There’s no doubt that one of the greatest pop videos of the last century was the promo for End Of The Road by Boyz II Men. I’m sure you were all as moved as I was by the bit where they sing underneath a bridge next to a burning brazier. Now imagine that scene on the corner of every ‘problem street’ in Britain (basically any street where someone has drawn or spray-painted a cock and balls on a wall).

There are going to be a lot of convicted looters behind bars over the next few months and by the time they get out of jail the mass clear-up will be complete. So what do we do with them? Simple – force them to channel their energies into perfecting close harmonies in a collection of new street corner doo wop groups.

But they needn’t think they can subvert the classic doo wop form and perform songs loaded with filth-words and boasts about their sexually-transmitted infections. The streets will be policed by lyric wardens (working as part of their national service) and any cursing will see the immediate removal of their vowels. This nation WILL be great again.

A predictable, almost textbook act of indecency

Cliche piled upon cliche. Sad.

[The Poke]