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The morally instructive determinings of PROFESSOR THAUMUS PHAMBLEMELL
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A CORRESPONDENT WRITES: I have a child, which I believe is called Neville. Scarcely a moment passes in which it is not engaged in wasteful frivolity, or emitting a noise of the most unsettling description. The child is greatly in need of discipline, but its nanny is some kind of nannying socialist, preferring to pander to its whims for "companionship" and "food"; and my wife died while giving birth and is therefore of no help at all. Is it acceptable to spank an unruly child?
PROFESSOR PHAMBLEMELL REPLIES: No, sir! No, - it is not acceptable. Strike the child, sir; the child must be struck; - strike it with the fire-shovel to imbue in it both DISCIPLINE and a FEARFUL RESPECT of the power of coal, God's mystical flame-rock that is the THUNDERING HEART of Britain's industries. The nanny may be reported to the police, or flung into the cellar, as you see fit. |
is it acceptable? archive |
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Sir:
We are told that, in the age of multiple postal deliveries, the Victorians exchanged several, perhaps dozens of letters each day. It's interesting to think that the advent of electronic mail has afforded us a glimpse of how meaningless, empty and desperate those exchanges must have been. |
Laura Whoops
Stow-on-the-Wold |
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letters from the editor archive |
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 I am the Master Of Riddles. Can you untangle my devious glottic knots? |
Higgledy, piggledy
Here we lie
Picked and plucked
And put in a pie.
My first is snapping - snarling - growling
My second's busy - romping - prowling.
Higgledy, piggledy
Here we lie
Picked and plucked
And put in a pie.
Question: What in the name of the Christ is going on here?
Answer: Something to do with the animals at an inner-city petting zoo, or something, I think. |
riddle archive |
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The BRITON'S SCIENCE has shewn that The Weekly, the magazine which strives to maintain Britain's standards, has topped* one million readers since 1871.
"What? What? You'll have to speak up, I'm in a helicopter. The which? I thought I'd sold my shares in that months ago to finance my laundry," said MR MILLINGTON of this mathematically inevitable achievement.
MR NASH added: "I'd like to thank the hydrating effect of rain."
* Though not, of course, in the sense of assassination. The Weekly has had cause to assassinate no more than an equivalence of readers. |
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Sup from the issue broth with the random ladle. New issue every time, subject to blind unfavouring chance. |
feature archive |
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Bearding a Merry Outlaw |
Ha ha! Well done, my worthy adversary. |
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Right, shoot him and burn the body. |
hurrah/bah archive |
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This chap's purchased an OFFICIAL THE WEEKLY T-SHAPED SHIRT and now he's working off his shame at indulging in such wasteful extravagance. You too may display similar penitence, and perhaps press hot coins guiltily into the hands of a stooped clerk for a copy of MR MILLINGTON's improving books Things About Which My Girlfriend And I Have Argued, A Certain Chemistry, Love and Other Near-Death Experiences and Instructions For Living Someone Else's Life, by patronising the The Weekly Corner Shop corner shop. Items despatched under plain wrapper, school-boys will be chased from the premises with a broom. |
corner shop |
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Game: Martin Cufflemow.
Played chiefly in: Ardgartan.
Objective: A park game. One player is designated the Martin and must make their way across the park at a steady pace, all the while performing rhythmic sweeping motions with their posed hands, as if mowing the grass. Their opponents, who have concealed themselves up trees, behind bushes and in shallow pits, must try to land a cuff as the Martin comes within range.
Obstacles: A starved tiger wearing a belled hat is loose in the park.
Rating: Contentious: today's social historians refute the traditional reading that the game is based on the life of Martin Luther, citing the many parallels with that of Una Stubbs. |
heritage of games archive |
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