If ever there was a species that couldn’t give a toss whether it lived or died or not the idle Panda has to come out on top.  Even with the intervention of man, there’s still only about 1,600 of the blighters left in the wild.  So – why bother?

Well God, who ever he or she is, didn’t help much in the design of the beast to begin with.  I can only assume it was late one Friday when he/she drew up the plans for this furry oddball and then hastily passed them onto the night shift before hitting the pub and the kebab shop before passing out on a cloud.

Every other creature on the planet has all the right bits, in all of the right places so it can re procreate, even if they don’t know what to do with them first time round.  And sadly this is where the Panda falls short.  For a start, and it’s a very bad start, the Panda’s wedding tackle doesn’t match in size.  So while a male may be hung like a wasp, the female could have a chuff the size of a wizard’s sleeve.

As in human life, a male Panda doesn’t instinctively know how to get laid, and not only do the females show no signs to the male that they’re up for a bit of rumpy pumpy, they only come into season between a 24 and 72 hour cycle, which occurs once a year, during February and May. 

They don’t even have the benefit of witnessing the mating ritual of ‘the dance around the handbags’ to help them.  And when they do finally pluck up the courage to stroll across the dance floor Ms Panda gets irritated by the male’s advances.  And guess what happens next?  They often end up fighting with each other – it sounds so familiar!  

No, let ‘em die out naturally I say.  They’ve got the libido of a manic depressive and can spend up to 14 hours a day eating.  Couple that with spend three hours of the bog, burping and farting, and sleeping for the rest of the time, they deserve to be extinct don’t you think? 

And it’s not just the time it takes for them to get their arses in gear.  Have you seen the price of bamboo shoots lately?  It sounds like such a great present when China donates a pair of Pandas to a zoo.  And it is, until you discover it costs 70 grand a year to feed the lazy sods. 

Then you’ve got to shell out 280,000 big ones for the cost of a suitable enclosure.  Generally they live in a warm climate, so why have they just shipped two up to Scotland!  Talk about a waste of wonga, and the lumps can live up to the age of 30.  Not so much gift, more a white elephant methinks. 

Of course, you have to take into consideration the ‘ugly factor’.  I mean, the last thing you want is to be set up on a blind date, only to find some stupid human has a paired you off with the Panda equivalent of a right minger, do you!

 

Oh mate you’re in trouble if you rely on this stuff, and everything that’s derived from it.  I’m talking about the product that England has very little of, crude oil.

If you think it’s bad when the tanker drivers go strike, you wait until you hear this over the airways, “Today the last barrel of crude oil was processed and from now on, the entire population of the globe will have to rely on solar energy.”  It sounds ridiculous now, but basically that’s what is going to happen.

Now, nothing will happen for at least 27 seconds after this statement has been read out, as it will take this amount of time for the full impact of the news to seep into the human brain.  After that, all hell will break out.  After gridlocked traffic blocks every road and lane in the country, the Prime Minister will make his calming statement: 

“Everybody don’t worry, there’s plenty of petrol in the country and there’s enough for everyone for the foreseeable future.”  “Yeah bollocks is there ,” said most of the voting public, “Where the bloody hell is it then?”  They added.  “Ooh I can’t tell you that, it’s classified!”  He/she replied. 

Rest assured there will be a priority plan, and it’ll go something like this.  The Queen will get first dibs – no surprise there.  The police will get some, but much of their transport will be down to using BMX bikes.  The military will have bundles, even though there isn’t a war.  And the ambulance services will just have to make do with what they siphon out of cars in the hospital car parks. 

Joe Public will fall under the ‘knob all’ list to ensure a blitz spirit and much hand-to-hand fighting in all neighbourhoods.  And ladies, just because you don’t drive, don’t think you’re not going to be affected by this.  You can kiss good bye to your stockings, nail polish and varnish, most of your makeup and your hairspray.

Yes, there will be a number of electric vehicles on the roads.  But they will have been dumped of course because the charging points are all over a 100 miles away from where the owners live.  But naturally the problems aren’t going to stop there, ooh no.  You won’t be able to buy a battery for love nor money after three days.  There won’t be any food in shops because deliveries will have been cancelled, due to the petrol shortage.  And what is in the shops will be too expensive to buy because of how much the petrol cost to get in there. 

As for solar power, the Government will say, there was a programme in place to produce more cars powered by the sun, but the investment was pulled to pay for the triple-dip recession.  Scrap metal dealers will be the only ones making any money when it all goes breasts upper most.  I mean, can you imagine getting a 747 off the runway using solar panels – I think not.  Happy motoring…

 

Thank God – it’s all over…

Well aside from the ‘dancing about a bit on a mat’ event, I’ve spotted a few more dubious pastimes that have made it to Olympic status…

You have to wonder how much money changed hands, while clearly under the influence of copious amount of alcohol, when it came to pushing the vote through for Handball.   Jesus – grown adults running around like their lives depended on it.  I’ve never seen anything so farcical.  The rules have been set for children and really, they’re the ones that should be playing it.  How do you score?  By placing the ball in your hand and lobbing it in the goal!  Honestly, how much training do you need for that?  I could do it when I’m pissed.     

Talking of which, I saw a clip of this next event and I’m fairly sure the Greek Olympiads would be turning in their urns at the mere thought of this sport being included in the games.  There was certainly a track but sadly that’s where the actual sporting element ended as far as I can see. 

Yes, there are competitors and yes they’re all chasing one another, ever keen to cross the finishing line.  To add to the thrills and spills, the track had dips and humps in it and many adults take part.  Some have trained for years to compete and how great it must to say to the world, “Yes I won a bronze on my trusty BMX!  What an arse.     

The games class issue has come into view again this week, in the guise of the, ‘Poncing about on 14 hundred pounds of cat food’ event.  Most people couldn’t afford the clothes for Dressage, let alone buy a bloody horse and feed it.  And you won’t be surprised to hear it gets sillier and sillier.  Water polo, I ask you!  What the hell’s that all about?  The words ‘scraping’ and ‘barrel’ spring to mind.  If this is the level we’re aiming for, don’t be surprised if the next games has the vicious and cutthroat sport that is tiddlywinks.     

In the, ‘running around in circles’ race, an athlete fractured his leg.  Did he stop and call for the ‘magic sponge’?  No, he kept running as his team needed to qualify, and he finished the race.  He’ll never run again of course, largely due to bone sticking through his thigh muscle still, dems the breaks I suppose. 

I’ve also become a tad concerned about the ‘splashing around in the water’ races.  Oh yes, they can’t fool me.  Dress it up how you like and call them what you will, there are still eight types of boating events.  And they follow an identical format; they face forwards and row backwards, how interesting!  And not once have I seen the oarsmen using a rear view mirror to see where they’re going.  It’ voodoo I tell you. 

And finally…  Volley ball.  You’ve got to be kidding me; it’s nothing more than beach porn for bottom lovers.

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Well, it’s been very, very interesting so far, yawn, yawn and thrice yawn.  One of our diving pair decided to wait right up until the last of their dives to cock it up, making team GB steam into fourth position.  And I still have a few issues over what exactly constitutes and Olympic sport.  For instance – the sandbox leap… 

I don’t care how long they’ve trained for or how far they can jump, it’s still a bunch of twits playing in the sand with a crowd watching on at the end of the day.  I mean, why pay 300 quid to watch that, when you could set up a similar event in your own back garden. 

And don’t get me started on the triple jump.  Much the same event, except you’ll need a bigger garden.  And just for the record it’s not a triple jump, it’s a hop, then a skip followed by another hop.  If you favour shattering one or both knees, put your name down for this game.

Rowing next: no, no. no, no, no.  This is a leisure activity which takes place on a boating lake or somewhere on the Thames.  Hockey: a game played at some schools.  Cycling: ha ha hahahahahahahahahaaa, you’ve gotta be joking!  If ever there was a game to be played that’s worthy of a medal for strength and perseverance, the Olympic committee should add ‘getting a job during a recession’ for the next games.  Odds on, we’ll be in a quadruple dip by then. 

Now, from what I can see, the object of being an athlete is to stay healthy and look fit after years of dedicated fasting and exercise.  Of course this does help up their profile and the can sign up for any new adverts, but why do the long distance runners all look as if they’ve just been rescued from Belsen?  Some even do weight lifting while they’re actually running; it’s called the relay race!

We’ve hit the track and field events now, and I’m still not sure who the games are aimed at.  They say the hope is to inspire the young, but which youngsters?  Not all children can step on to the family yacht, take a year off from holidaying and meet some other jolly nice people with the same idea.  Give a kid from Tottenham a foil or a rapier and they won’t have picked up the noble art of fencing over the weekend, you’ll find them stabbing up another kid who stepped into the wrong post code by mistake.

No good comes from competitiveness.  It breeds people who don’t know how to cope with failure – and then they become teachers!  And then the whole sorry cycle starts again.  Learn by failure but don’t make a race out of it.  As long as you’ve tried your best, that’s all that counts. 

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Well it didn’t take long to piss somebody off, and it was the North Koreans who copped the hump when the South Korean flag was shown at the women’s football match at Glasgow’s Hampden Park on the first day of the games.  The Olympic organisers apologized and after an hour and a round of Dachshunds in batter and mushy peas, the match began.   

Culture secretary, Jeremy Hunt narrowly missed hitting by standers during a live BBC interview.  Just after he mentioned, “There are huge amounts to get right,” and, “There are always one or two teething problems,” he rang his bell and it shot off the handle into a small group of people.  Sod’s Law or a sign of things to come?  Talking of bells, how much did the one cost that was used to open the games with?  What ever it was it was a waste of money – it only got hit once!

As for the ones that say, “I’m not going south of the river this time of night guv,” yes, you should have booked a holiday.  You knew the games were coming seven years ago, so why start moaning about a loss in cab fares now?  Honestly, they still think they drive anywhere just because they’ve got a black cab.

Everyone seems to be getting on well with each other in the Olympic village.  Well, except the Syrian team that is.  They started fighting amongst each other from the day they arrived.  NB team GB won knob all on the first day.  

Is it sport?  Hand ball, no.  Table tennis, err, no.  Fencing?  I don’t think so and air rifle shooting?  I think not.  Hand ball is a beach holiday activity.  Ping pong is something that you play at home on the dining room table on a wet Sunday afternoon.   Fencing is what one does when one goes to public school and air rifle shooting is something that you do in your back garden when you think no one is looking and mum and dad are out – much the same as archery.

The air rifle event, in this case, would look more at home in a local fair, except these guns haven’t got a slight kink in the barrel and you win more than a goldfish that dies the minute you get it home.  At least as a fairground attraction you can hold the gun up yourself.  The Olympic version of projecting a tiny lead pellet under a great amount of air pressure is strapped to a post, lazy I called it.

Now, you’ve bought your tickets, why haven’t you turned up?  Seb-baby isn’t happy.  He came to me for support and an answer to his problem and I said, “Who really gives a monkey’s?  And, “You can lead a horse to water but you’ll never make a silk purse out of a kangaroo’s wedding tackle…

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Well it doesn’t surprise me.  The Olympic media machine tells us the opening ceremony is to be cut short.  This is to ensure, they say, so it finishes early enough allowing plenty of time for the crowds to catch public transport home.  I don’t think the organisers need worry about that.  I’d be more inclined to start panicking when London Transport’s tube drivers announce their strike half way through the proceedings!  Let’s face it, we’ve got two chances of success with the ‘running and jumping’ circus – Bob Hope and no hope!

The real truth behind the cut in the opening ceremony is that a number of the chosen participants have been diagnosed with Olympicitus, also known as Twenty Twelve Syndrome.  The symptoms creep up on its host like a slipping clutch and goes on to render the victim helpless.   Doctors now say that after trials in the Olympic Testing Centre they have proved beyond reasonable doubt that the human brain can only function properly with a rationing of the words ’Olympics’ and ‘Twenty Twelve.’  Anymore than that and terminal boredom ensues, followed by an overwhelming desire to wear nylon Y fronts.

If you believe you’ve heard the above two stressors more than 15,417 times in the last four months or seen them in the media, then you and your family are at risk.  The first step to full recovery is too cut the plug off your television and radio.  Then visit your local audio outlet and fill it with cavity wall filler.  This will put a halt to anymore suffering in your area. 

Next, create your own support group.  When you have enough members, hose down all news agents in a two mile radius of your home.  At least one of your members should be a fireman; then you’ll be able to acquire a fire engine to help with your cause.

The Torch update: the torch passed through Tottenham, north London.  Four people and a dog waved and 80, 000 others blocked the High Road, when they tried to get a drag from, what they believed to be the biggest spliff they had ever seen.  Cheap trainers and wide screen TV’s are still available in the area!

Strike areas: border control steamed in first and to follow the Tube drivers at Greenaway transport hub will strike for extra money to stay awake during the games.  Next to be hit will be West Ham over ground a day later.  The poorly named Stratford International over head station won’t have to adopt strike action, as by day two the M25 and M4 motorways will both be gridlocked and become the official Olympic park parks.

Personally, I’ll be glad when it’s all over and I don’t believe I am the only one…

 

Soon the international athletes will start arriving in Britain.  Call me old fashioned, but that’s where their problems will begin – attempting to get through customs.

In fact, that should be the first event, getting from the airport to their accommodation, followed by the ‘first-day-dash’ to the arena.  Can you imagine the shock on their faces when they hit the underground?  Oh yes, they might be only 20 minutes away from the track and field stadium, but no one has told them that the actual journey time will triple on a Monday morning.  You can spend years in training, but nothing prepares you for the real thing!

The next problem they’ll face is the closing of the M4, after the cowboy road maintainance team botched the repairs to the road surface by applying bread pudding instead of tarmac, in a bid to undercut their quote price.

The opening ceremony will go without a hitch – for the first 3 minutes and 47 seconds.  At which time London will have its first hazardous weather warning, when hurricane Bernard is spotted of the Irish coast.

After a lot of confusion and boiled rice at the main arena the Chinese team leaves for home.  It seems they were given wowchers instead of stadium passes.

The Korean team will kick up a fuss about the food they will be receiving.  I don’t blame them for not wanting to eat McDonald’s for a fortnight.  I mean, there isn’t a race where it’s an ‘all you can throw up’ competition, is there!  No, the main qualm said the team coach is, “We’re fine with the Alsatian fritters and the grasshoppers in aspic, but we ain’t touching the sausages, you don’t know what’s in them!”  However, the cat food does look tempting as do the pigeons.

The javelin event won’t go ahead.  After a break in the teams found that every javelin in the Olympic stadium had been stolen.  Police will say, “This is what ‘appens in a recession, they’ve probably been melted down for the aluminium.”

And, after an all night party in Hackney, flat dwellers take it upon themselves to set off four Surface to Air Missiles.  And as a result of this action the entire Soviet team are wiped out.  We are now at war with Russia.

Rickshaw companies make a financial killing when the entire underground packs up due to a blanket power cut.  NEWS FLASH: Rickshaws block all main roads and side streets leading towards the main arena – Baggage handlers strike eight seconds after the games end, and finally.  The first one home gets a gold medal.  This will be the only time in history when Britain wins gold in every event.

 

The Scotsman lost to the Swiss bloke.

Other players turned up that no one knew, some won and some lost.

The wealthy sat inside the courts, the plebs sat on a mound.

If you were cute you took your own strawberries.

Not all of the players had testicles.

There was only one reported case of dogging in the car park this year.

Ball boys have balls.  Ball girls don’t. 

Umpires are trained at an early age, that’s why they sit in those big high chairs.

The point of the game is to hit the ball over the net.

The rules are made up on the day.

No one has ever played a threesome at Wimbledon.

A foursome is not an orgy.

Mixed doubles are played by competitors who are pissed.

Can’t wait for next year!