BEN STILLER ON STEROIDS

is Carlos Teves.

CAVEMAN ONLINE

They forget everything that happened in between.

Everything.

And the world lives to tell the tale.

This post has been sponsored by Silicon Valley Trade Union.

GROW UP

Of all the 12,842 words that erupted from the new labour leader’s mouth today, the two that stuck were grow up.

And in all of its history, politics has never known such an infantile phase. The leaders have never been younger. Their collective age of 127 would have bought us one and a half Gladstones.

Then again, we could have still have had change from six William Pitt the Youngers.

But it isn’t all about maths.

Actually, I’m nearly completely wrong there. It is pretty much all about maths. Expenses, economy, deficit, cuts, afghan death tolls and deadlines, to name but a few.

Numeracy, that simplest of skills we grasp at primary school is forgotten as soon the decimal point swans into town.

I have an idea.

As ever, it floats around as superficially as any policy from the opposition, but an idea it is.

Take maths away. Just for a short while, as they did with television in eastern Europe as a social experiment some years ago (in case you’re wondering, the dad started off uber-keen then sank into manic psychosis with the kids fearing for their lives and the mother hiding in the larder, until, just before patricide struck, they gave them their TV back and all was love again).

Back to the point, the decimal point.

Without the impossible sums to tot up, climate change would be immeasurable and therefore steady itself without our docile intervention.  Inflation would retire young enough to quietly advise Robert Mugabe to join it. Education would blossom without targets and capitalism would spend the rest of its days doing the community service it so badly craves.

And we’d all settle down to concentrate on the only one that matters – health.

We live, we laugh, we die.

Now, doesn’t that feel better Ed?

MILLIBAND, NOT MILLIBAND

He took it well, didn’t he? Too well I’d say. He took it like a man, like a man about to leave politics for good. But what will he do next? Hook up with Sadie Frost and do a show called What David & Sadie Did Next. Strangely, I sense he’ll fall into something shallow. Celebrity Masterchef. Strictly Come Dine With Me. I’m A Politician Get Me Out Of Here.

If he does leave the political world he loves, tomorrow will be a sad day. Ed will come good – his debut speech sounded better on the radio than it did on the telly. If Mr Cameron stuck to the radio we’d stop mistaking him for Iggle Piggle. Then again, some of Iggle Piggle’s policies…

POUCH SURGERY FOR DADS

Male penguins cart their young around on their feet while the mum pops out fish & shoe shopping for months at a time.

The yellowhead jawfish father-to-be carries the eggs around in his mouth until they hatch – hiccups is another story.

And as we all know, lady seahorses do a runner once they’re offloaded their eggs into the pouch of the unsuspecting father who then fertlises them with water-proof yeast (ok, so I made the yeast bit up but the rest is gospel).

So, what can man, or rather men, learn from these counter-genetic role models?

DIY Cosmetic surgery – a quick nip/tuck with a carpet staple gun. Yes, we can turn our paunches into a pouch for the first year of dad-hood. During this time we will eat 30% more than we need. As the baby starts to toddle and no longer needs the comfort of our gut, we’ll remove the staples and let the pouch return to its fat and happy state.

The things we do for love, eh?

THE MOUTH GARDEN

A hardened herbivore for 77 years, he knew how to eat. Slow, slow, very very slow. His eating pace was all but still life. Some say it nourished him. Others say he’d been dead for years. But the food knew. It sat inside his mouth for days on end, gently swimming in his mastication. It never shrank. In fact, the waters of his tongue enabled a bean to root in his gum. In his mouth, he grew the world’s tiniest rainforest and discovered a brand new microscopic species. With the proceeds of his find, he was able to retire on St Helena where the pumpkins grew XXXL.

CANCER DANCER

She danced. Boy did she dance. She danced so hard, so forcefully, so assertively, that she had the power to cure the terminally ill if their hearts could take it.

HELP, HELP! HELP!! (# 74,920)

The only viable excuse for the exclamation mark.

ON NIGHTS

Dear human race, anyone fancy going nocturnal? Looks way more fun to me. It might take a few weeks to adapt our vision, but the crazies we’ll meet will more than make up for it. If you’d like to second this motion, raise your retinas and repeat after me:  LET US FIGHT, FOR THE RIGHT, TO THE NIGHT.

DEATHDATES

If we were all born with a best before date and knew exactly when we were going to die, would we all cram in a better life?

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