Frog leg protest is a natural for Sir Paul McCartney
Donkey Aid: £20m and rising
ANIMAL rights protesters are to demonstrate outside Katie Mac’s chippy amid accusations of cruelty – apparently a fish was battered there last week.
Ah, it’s good to dust down an old joke and put it back on display in the front window. And I should know, recycling old jokes is my bread and butter.
After the punchline I was going to add: “I’m here all week, try the veal,” but I fear animal rights activists might picket the Echo offices waving “Ditch the Veal, Have a Parsnip” banners.
As the Echo revealed this week, members of the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (Peta) are to march, maybe even frogmarch, on the Pennywell chippy in protest against the sale of battered frogs’ legs.
I’m sure they mean well. And I’m all for looking after our fellow creatures, but I think these animal rights activists often take their loyalty to the wee beasties a tad too far.
If I were to find myself and our pet rabbit Rockta in difficulties in the River Wear following a bizarre animal/human water-skiing accident (not again, I hear you cry) I can’t help feel that Peta activists would race to the scene, only to throw the rescue rope to Rockta.
I accept this would happen if my wife were involved, but surely a fellow human being would put people before animals?
Peter McKay: You’re not making shensh
Daily Mail columnist Peter McKay may be up to date on his politics but he’s way behind the times on is popular culture.
In his column this week he told us, wait for it, that actor Sean Connery has a distinctive voice. Really? Go on… He wrote:
Sir Sean Connery appears in a TV ad for the French bank Credit Agricole, saying: ‘Back… to common sense. It’s time for green banking.’ Something funny has happened to his voice since the Bond films. He makes ‘sense’ sounds like shensh. If he wasn’t enormously rich and able to afford world-class dentistry, I’d suspect loose false teeth.
Shurely shum mishtake? What revelation will McKay give us next? That Jonathon Ross can’t pronounce his Rs perhaps!
Click here to read McKay’s full column.
Animal rights activists revive old joke
I call it the Hoppy Meal
You can always rely on animal activists to keep news commentators in clover.
No sooner had the Sunderland Echo reported that a Pennywell chippy was doing a roaring trade in frogs legs and chips than activists of Peta cried foul.
Members of the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals are now planning to hold a demonstration outside Katie Mac’s chip shop.
As depressingly predictable as this protest may be it at least gives us an opportunity to dust down and recycle an old joke.
I mean, it’s not the first time the staff at Katie Mac’s have been accused of animal cruelty … word has it they’ve been battering cod there for years.
“I thank you. Richard Ord is here all week, please try the veal…”
Premiership footballers’ latest must-have accessory
The latest fashion accessory among footballers seems to be the brass neck.
John Terry’s was much in evidence as he refused to do the honourable thing and resign as England captain.
It has rather overshadowed the brass neck displayed by fellow Chelsea
Make that two brass necks
defender Ashley Cole who was caught speeding the other day, doing 104mph in a 50mph zone.
His excuse for putting in danger the lives of any people stepping out onto the road as he roared through the streets was he was being chased by a photographer.
What did he think the photographer was going to do? Eat him? Steal his soul?
As defences go it was of the Kettering Town rather than Chelsea variety and magistrates slapped him with a four-month ban and a £1,000 fine. At which point the multi-millionaire donned the brass neck and asked for 21 days to pay!
Zombie nightmares: Dawn of the egg whisk
Get back. I have an egg whisk
We’ve suffered ants, wasps and the occasional earwig, but now there’s a new infestation troubling the Ord household … zombies.
And that’s not to mention their annoying habit of tearing your eyes from their sockets and feasting on your flesh.
Unlike wasps and ants, there’s no spray or powder on the market to deal with these godless creatures. A liberal dose of Ghoul Pellets in the garden would be great, but you can’t get them for love nor money.
Decapitation is the only answer. Shotgun, axe or aggressively applied egg whisk, it matters not a jot as long as you disconnect zombie brain from zombie spinal chord.
Ever prepared for an apocalyptic future, I have investigated fully the latest zombie sighting in our house and have so far turned up … nothing.
I’m beginning to doubt the claims of our five-year-old.
Public sex act draws a crowd
A public sex act sparked outrage, according to a Sunderland Echo report.
Two homeless men were caught performing a sex act that was, we revealed, “watched in horror” by a 90-year-old and an 18-year-old.
The performance took place outside a care home and despite the horror of the act appeared to attract a crowd of onlookers.
So horrific was the scene that the onlookers could barely tear their eyes away.
The Echo story revealed that “a group reported seeing a 10-minute sex act … before officers arrived on the scene.”
I don’t know who kept the stopwatch on the event but I’m sure the timings came in useful.
One person quoted had this to say: “What these two men have done in front of me will live with me for a long time. I couldn’t get it out of my head.”
It read like a glowing review.
Had the witness added: “Five stars: totally mesmerising.” I’d be up for buying a ticket.
The Royalty theatre in Sunderland has been hit by falling ticket sales and reported it is desperate to get punters through the door. I believe we may have stumbled upon the answer to their problems.
Sordid sex dream affairs exposed
Absolutely disgusting
Can the nation possibly sustain its current levels of outrage?
Within a few short weeks we’ve had Tiger Woods, John Terry, Ashley Cole and Vernon Kaye dominating the front pages of the tabloids with their sexual infidelities.
I don’t know about you but I’m outraged out. There’s nothing left in the locker. Not a squeak.
Try as I might, and lord knows I’ve tried, I can barely muster a show of mild indifference at the continuing saga of celebrity shenanigans.
Even shrugging my shoulders is beyond me now. I’m limiting myself to one shoulder shrug a day. The left shoulder, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays: the right on a Tuesday and Thursday. On Sundays I raise an eyebrow, and if I’m feeling particularly piqued, the occasional dismissive wave, but nothing more.
Wayne Rooney’s wet tackle
Speak up Wayne. A cow's what?
It’s cheap, clear, plentiful, has no offensive taste, and is good for you … is it any wonder you can’t get kids to drink water.
Water to our six-year-old is the liquid equivalent of the sprout. He will drink it only under threat.
Unless it’s fizzing, purple, packed with enamel eroding sugar and poured from a bottle that looks like a bloated ray gun he doesn’t want to know.
Water sounds, and looks, dull. Where’s the polar bear in sunglasses? Why no fizz? And if it doesn’t clean my 2p pieces – it can’t be any good, can it?
He doesn’t buy the health benefits. And who can blame him? They’re being sold to him by a decrepit old fool with buck teeth and hollow cheeks (that’s me by the way, not the wife).
I know where he’s coming from. Eat Yourself Sexy is a new show on TV. It aims to show how you can transform yourself from a loveless fat oaf into a sex god/goddess in just eight week. Sounds good. It’s hosted by Gillian McKeith. Pass the sick bag.
Lesbian choker in Sainsbury’s
Whooaaaaaargh
There were at least two audible tea splutters and a dropped fork in Sainsbury’s this Saturday when our nine-year-old asked the question: “Mum, what’s a lesbian?”
I nearly choked on my bacon sandwich while my wife, caught off guard, bought herself some time with a coughing fit as she scrabbled around her mind for a suitable answer.
Her big mistake, once she’d regained her composure, was to say: “Sorry darling, what did you say?” in the vain hope she’d misheard. (“A thespian you say, why it’s another name for an actor.” She wished …)
His response was to repeat his question. Only louder.
At this point, the rest of the customers in the cafe put down their knives and forks, folded their arms and, stopping short of ordering popcorn and nachos, sat back waiting to hear how she was going to wriggle out of this.
Most parents, I suspect, have been on the end of the socially awkward but innocently-asked question before. I know I have.
Big problem provides small reward
The Sunderland surgeon who performs hundreds of operations on the city’s expanding citizens must spend his working week elbow-deep in human blubber.
The story made our splash … and his name a nice pay off line to my piece on this top story. The accompanying picture has comedic value too.
ONE Sunderland surgeon has been wading his way through gallons of wobbling fat in last 12 months … and none of it for charity.
It sounds like a Comic Relief stunt but beleaguered Sunderland Royal Hospital surgeon Peter Small has performed more than 700 operations on obese patients in the last year, fitting gastric bands, balloons and doing intricate intestine bypasses.
It’s an incredible statistic and highlights the serious nature of the city’s obesity problems.
And how galling for the patients, many of whom will be tipping the scales at more than 20 stone, to be sent to Mr Small to deal with their large problem.
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