Putin's Table Antics a Mixture of Feng Shui and the KonMari Method

Russian President and international pariah Vladimir Putin has received considerable press coverage in the last week. A lot of the coverage is down to his decision to invade neighbouring Ukraine, a move which has caused international condemnation and a staggering array of economic sanctions aimed at crippling the Russian economy. But a lot of attention has also been paid to the former KGB officer's table meetings with various foreign leaders, including Emmanuel Macron and Olaf Scholz. 

The pictures released show President Putin at the head of an approximately 8 metres long table, with his guest at the other end. The images have been widely lampooned by various satirical outlets, but several analysts who know Mr Putin intimately have suggested there may be another reason for this eccentric setting. 

Sergei Shukmeyov, a childhood friend and spiritual advisor to Mr Putin, told NNNN that the President has a keen interest in feng shui, which, according to Wikipedia is an 'ancient Chinese traditional practice which claims to use energy forces to harmonize individuals with their surrounding environment'. 

"Vladders is super into that kind of stuff. Sorry, we call him Vladders, shouldn't really let that little tidbit out, might have me killed! Ha ha, oh, but it's alright, it's fine, it's fine. I'm fine"

Shukmeyov introduced the future president to feng shui back when the two were attending Sambo classes back in the 1970s. Sambo, an offense-based martial art which originated in Russia, is a particularly grueling martial art to learn, so Shukmeyov was eager to befriend at least one other class member to feel less isolated. 

"It was five 3 hour sessions a week in this same bleak, colourless military basement in Leningrad, things were so very intense, one could feel very alone, very isolated. I needed to make some sort of connection with someone, I tried befriending a large gentleman named Yuri by patting him on the back and complimenting him on how much sweat his pectoral muscles could produce, but this just made things awkward between us and nothing really blossomed from there."

After a few months of failing in his attempts to spark a connection with someone, Shukmeyov finally met Putin, then in his early 20s. 

"He came out of nowhere, like a nuclear warhead designed by Randy Orton. I remember thinking "Who is this shy, almost alien-like guy? And what's he doing in a class like this? Perhaps he meant to attend the samba class next door, this was a common mistake, one which lead to many babushkas seeking out a new hobby instead becoming hardened killers."

"I struck up a conversation with him and we quickly built up a rapport. I guessed right from the start that he was a Libra and I wasn't wrong! It was pretty darn obvious, he's, like, super Libra, in everything he does."

Shukmeyov and Putin shared common interests including of course martial arts, but also fishing, Russian history, bears, chest hair and meticulously thought-out 50-year life goals. 

"I thought he had the aura of a man who's always 700 steps ahead of you. Like an older brother who knows all the cheat codes on a video game but is too smug to tell his younger brother because he likes knowing something he doesn't."

The Russian president first read about feng shui when his housekeeper Olga moved his desk a few inches in early 2014, which gave him the spiritual energy and positivity needed to annex Crimea. He reached out to Shukmeyov, who'd by then become a homeless recluse, to become his spiritual advisor.

"I went from lying on the streets of Kazan to sitting in a diamond-encrusted bed-chamber in Putin's private quarters. I occupied the room next to his so that I could be close at hand in case he had a spiritual breakdown. You would not believe how many nuclear wars i've prevented. He can be such a diva! Goodness, I really shouldn't be saying this, he will have me castrated! But it's fine, it's fine, it's fine, i'm fine".

One of Shukmeyov's many responsibilities was to suggest books for the president to read, these included works by Tony Robbins, Elizabeth Gilbert, Deepak Chopra & Hillary Clinton. Shukmeyov believes Putin interfered in the 2016 US presidential election not because he wanted Trump to win, but because he thought the presidency would be bad for Hillary, who he has a private affinity with. 

"You won’t see it written in the newspapers, but Vlad is very much seen as a ‘Mother Goose’ among world leaders. He’s constantly giving support to leaders of all political persuasions, from Evo Morales to Viktor Orban. He keeps at least 100 copies of Michelle Obama’s ‘Becoming’ in the boot of his favourite tank in case he needs to send it to a struggling demagogue.”

Putin reportedly became obsessed with the methods of Japanese organising consultant Marie Kondo upon seeing her acclaimed Netflix series ‘Tidying up With Marie Kondo’. Kondo’s method, known as the ‘KonMari Method’, involves gathering all of one’s belongings and keeping only the things that ‘spark joy’. 

Shukmeyov noticed a seismic change in Putin’s living habits and worldview. “His palace used to be cluttered with all sorts of stuff, vases, ornamental milk dishes, taxidermied cobras, naked cossack erotica. I once tripped over and destroyed Nikita Khrushchev’s life mask and blamed it on Alexander Litvinenko, goodness knows what Vlad would do if he found out that was me, but it’s ok, i’m fine, i’m fine, i’m fine, i’m fine.”

Objects around Putin’s residence started to frequently move around and also disappear. “The space started to become less cluttered and far more organised, it was like a brilliant miracle at first because i’d been hassling him to sort it all out for years. But then all the constant rearranging of the furniture, the paintings, even the doors and air vents, started to frustrate me and the servants.”

Servants and cleaners familiar with certain doorways started to open doors and fall into a vast white vacuum due to Putin’s obsessive rearranging. 

“We even had a foreign dignitary from Georgia wake up in the morning and roll out of bed to find there was no floor. He’s still suspended in an infinite nothingness.”

Shukmeyov worries Putin’s obsession with rearranging will have dire consequences for the geopolitical complexion of the planet. “First it was South Ossetia, then Crimea, now Ukraine. He has these gut instincts that certain things should be organised in a certain way to alleviate stress and de-clutter his soul. Unfortunately, whereas most of us would simply move a footstall, or a bin in our living rooms, for a world leader like Vlad, that means annexing and invading territory, getting rid of people he doesn’t like and re-drawing maps to suite his most urgent spiritual needs, you couldn’t write this shit. It’s fucked up, man, we’re all going to shit, but it’s fine, i’m fine, i’m fine, i’m fine, i’m fine, i’m fine. I’m not fine. Help me. 

News, News, News, News, DINES! DINES! DINES! DINES! With AA Gill Jr.: 'Let's Go F*cking Lentil', Bermondsey, London

My father would have blew his lid and scolded me with an iron if i'd told him i'd been to a vegetarian restaurant. The man was a consummate meat-eater, trips to the zoo would always involve him methodically going round all the enclosures with a notebook trying to scout new animal meats for major gourmet restaurants. He'd always manage to smuggle at least 10 Humboldt penguins into his Jaguar, most of my childhood was spent secretly trying to usher the poor buggers out of the house to save them from the chop. I don't have the gall to compare myself to Harriet Tubman, Oscar Schindler or those men who saved priceless art from being destroyed by the Nazis in WW2, but I'm basically all those people, and Steven Spielberg would cream his pantaloons if he heard my story. 

So, here's another restaurant: 'Let's Go F*cking Lentil' in Bermondsey, London, founded by two ex-football hooligans and Millwall supporters, Mark White and Melvin 'Mad Dog' Collins. The two were handed life-long stadium bans for a number of offences which included blinding an opposition goalkeeper by flying a drone with a sparkler attached to it into his face in a Carabao Cup tie, and smashing the windshield of what they thought was the Millwall owner's car, but turned out to belong to the club's beloved dinner lady, Maeve, who was so distraught by the incident, she went mad and poisoned the entire men's team by dousing their macaroni cheese with ear medicine.  

Remember, this series is based around a study conducted at the University of Cockfosters, Berkeley which found that food becomes more flavoursome when ear-splitting music is played at an obscenely high volume in a restaurant. I last visited 'Pasta Sottovoce' in Cromer, Norfolk, and have only just regained my ability to hear, speak and walk without stumbling over. The blood on my pillows has just about dried, the flashbacks are becoming less frequent, so.. yeah, ready for another one, i'd say. 

Let's Go F*cking Lentil, Bermondsey, London

I ALMOST COULDN'T ENTER 'LET'S GO FUCKING LENTIL', A RELATIVELY NEW GAFFE IN BERMONDSEY, I WALKED THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR AND WAS IMMEDIATELY FLOORED BY THE THUNDEROUSLY LOUD MUSIC THEY HAD PREPARED FOR ME. 'BARBED-WIRE TRACHEA BLUES' BY THE NIPTWISTER SISTERS FT. WILL YOUNG WAS THE SONG I WAS SUBJECTED TO.  

I ATTEMPTED TO LEAVE, BUT MARK WHITE AND MELVIN 'MAD DOG' COLLINS, THE OWNERS OF THE RESTAURANT, CAME OUT, GRABBED ME BY THE LAPEL, AND DRAGGED ME UNWILLINGLY TO MY SEAT. "WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, SUNSHINE? WHITE ASKED ME. THE FACT THAT I COULD HEAR HIS VOICE OVER THE MUSIC PLAYING OVERHEAD IS A TESTAMENT TO THE STRENGTH OF THESE MEN'S VOICES, FINELY-TUNED BY YEARS OF SCREAMING ON THE TERRACES AT MATCHES. 

"I'M SORRY DAD... MARK, I'M SORRY, MARK!" I SCREAMED. IT WAS A TERRIFYING PREDICAMENT, I WAS FULLY PREPARED TO FACE THE MUSIC AGAIN, BUT AS SOON AS I WALKED IN, I HAD THE MOST DREADFUL FLASHBACKS, NOT ONLY TO 'PASTA SOTTOVOCE', BUT ALSO TO MY CHILDHOOD, FATHER USED TO RANDOMLY QUIZ ME ON HIS MOST FAMOUS RESTAURANT REVIEWS OUT OF THE BLUE, AND IF I GOT ONE WORD WRONG, HE'D HOLD MY HEAD IN A BUCKET OF WATER FOR 40 SECONDS. 

"SIT DOWN, SHUT UP AND ORDER SOME FOOD!" CRIED THE 'MAD DOG', WHO GAINED HIS NICKNAME FROM BITING OFF MARK NOBLE'S NOSE IN A DERBY MATCH AGAINST WEST HAM UNITED. "YOUR LITTLE REVIEW IN NNNN IS GOING TO GIVE US A LOT OF PUBLICITY, SO YOU BETTER FUCKIN' GET IT RIGHT, THE WORDS BETTER FUCKIN' SING FROM THE PAGE LIKE A MASTERFUL PIANO CONCERTO." I TOLD HIM I'D DO MY BEST AND ORDERED THEIR FAMED LENTIL SALAD. I THEN WAITED FOR A GOOD HALF AN HOUR, ALL THE WHILE BEING STARED AT BY NIKOLAI, A RUSSIAN EMPLOYEE AT THE RESTAURANT, WHOSE JOB IT IS TO EXTORT GUSHING TRIPADVISOR REVIEWS FROM CUSTOMERS ON THEIR WAY OUT. 

"HERE'S YOUR LENTIL SALAD, YOU SLAAAAG!" THE SALAD LOOKED APPETISING ENOUGH, THE LEAVES WERE AVERAGE-SIZED, SLIGHTLY MOIST, LOOKED GREEN. I.. I CAN'T DO THIS! I HATE RESTAURANTS! WHY AM I REVIEWING IT? I WOULDN'T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT SALADS, ALTHOUGH I'M SURE THEY'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE AN EYEBALL MIXED IN WITH THE COLESLAW AS IS THE CASE WITH THIS ONE. "YOU KNOW WHO THAT EYEBALL BELONGS TO, SUNSHINE? IT BELONGS TO A LITTLE CUNTY JOURNO WEASEL WHO HAD THE GALL TO RAT ON US TO THE PIGS, SO YOUR WRITING BETTER TURN WATER INTO WINE, OR ELSE WE'LL FEED YOUR EYEBALLS TO THE DOGS". I TOOK COLLINS' WORDS SERIOUSLY, MAINLY BECAUSE HE CHOSE TO INCLUDE FOUR ANIMALS IN HIS THREAT, AND THAT REMINDED ME OF FATHER AND MY ATTEMPTS TO STOP HIS MINDLESS CRUELTY. I ONCE WANDERED INTO HIS STUDY AND OPENED UP A BAG HE HAD ON HIS DESK TO FIND A BUNCH OF EURASIAN PYGMY SHREWS. HIS LAPTOP WAS ALSO OPEN ON A YOUTUBE VIDEO EXPLAINING HOW TO COOK EURASIAN PYGMY SHREWS. I TOOK THE BAG, RAN INTO THE WOODS AND RELEASED THEM. WHEN I GOT BACK, FATHER INTRODUCED ME TO A FIVE-STAR US ARMY GENERAL WHO SUBJECTED ME TO CHINESE WATER TORTURE WHILST FATHER READ OUT HIS REVIEW OF MIKE LEIGH'S NEW FILM TOPSY-TURVY. 

I RELUCTANTLY CONTINUED TO SPOON THE WATERY SALAD INTO MY TREMBLING MOUTH, PIECES OF BEETROOT SLIDING DOWN MY GULLET LIKE A DEAD CHILD'S CORPSE DOWN A LOG FLUME. 

"OI, MELV! ARE THE 'WALL PLAYING TODAY? PUT EM' ON, WILL YA?" MELVIN SWITCHED ON THE TV IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM, MILLWALL WERE PLAYING LEEDS UNITED, THEIR HISTORIC RIVALS, MAYBE THIS COULD DISTRACT THESE TWO HOOLIGANS AND I COULD SLIP AWAY. I COULD HAIL A TAXI TO THE AIRPORT, BOARD A FLIGHT TO MALLORCA AND NEVER COME BACK, NEVER LOOK BACK. I COULD GO TO RESTAURANTS MY FATHER NEVER REVIEWED, I COULD SEE ANIMALS HE NEVER COOKED, I COULD ESCAPE HIS ERUDITE, PROVOCATIVE SHADOW AND UNSHACKLE MYSELF FROM THE  SUBTLE TYRANNY OF HIS DEVILISH WIT. 

I WAITED FOR A MOMENT OF DRAMA IN THE MATCH. SOMEHOW I COULD STILL HEAR THE COMMENTATORS OVER THE RAPACIOUSLY LOUD MUSIC OVERHEAD, MILLWALL WERE ABOUT TO SCORE, I COULD HEAR WHITE AND 'MAD DOG' BUILDING TO A JUBILANT EJACULATION, "GO ON, GO ON, GO ON! OH FUCK! FUCK! AAAH, COME ON, MY SON! FUCKING STICK IT IN, STICK IT IN, MY SON! GO ON!" AND STICK IT IN THEY DID, THE PAIR ROARED AND EMBRACED EACH OTHER, ALMOST WRESTLING EACH OTHER WITH JOY. AT THAT MOMENT I ATTEMPTED TO SLIP AWAY, NOW WAS MY CHANCE, I STAGGERED TO THE DOOR, OPENED IT, WALKED OUTSIDE INTO THE BLISSFUL BERMONDSEY SUN, THEN FELT A LARGE HAND GRIP MY SHOULDER FROM BEHIND.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MR. JOURNALIST?" IT WAS NIKOLAI, THEIR ENFORCER. "YOU SIT AND WRITE GOOD WORDS ABOUT THIS EAT-HOUSE, YOU MAKE US LOTS OF POUNDS". I WAS DOOMED, THERE WAS NO WAY OUT. NIKOLAI WAS AN UNMOVABLE OBJECT, DETERMINED TO DO RIGHT BY HIS EMPLOYERS. 

I SAT DOWN AGAIN, BLOOD POURING FROM MY EARS AND STARTING TO HALLUCINATE CHARLIE CHAPLIN-LIKE FIGURES CLAWING THEIR FACES OFF. I ATTEMPTED TO FINISH THE MEAL BUT BLACKED OUT BEFORE I COULD.

AS I WOKE UP I FOUND MYSELF IN THE DRIVERS SEAT OF A VAN.. WHERE WAS I? WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED? WHAT FRESH HELL IS WAITING FOR ME AT THE END OF THIS JOURNEY? WHO WAS SITTING NEXT TO ME DRIVING THE VAN? I LOOKED TO MY RIGHT, EXPECTING TO SEE MELVIN 'MAD DOG' COLLINS GRINNING AT ME WITH VIOLENT GLEE, BUT ALAS, IT WAS MARK NOBLE, WEST HAM CAPTAIN AND MORTAL ENEMY OF THE TWO VILLAINS. "SEE THAT THERE?" HE POINTED TO A LITTLE SNOW GLOBE ON HIS DASHBOARD WITH WHAT LOOKED LIKE A SEVERED NOSE WITHIN, "THIS IS WHAT THEY TOOK FROM ME, BUT I AIN'T THE ONLY ONE, CLEARLY"

"WHAT HAPPENED, MR NOBLE?"

"I HAPPENED, MY FRIEND, I HAPPENED", HE GESTURED TOWARDS A CAN OF PROPANE ON THE BACK SEAT. "YOU.. YOU BURNT IT DOWN?"

"HA HA! SQUEAKY CLEAN WEST HAM UNITED CAPTAIN MARK NOBLE BURNING DOWN A RESTAURANT? HOW LUDICROUS! WINK WINK"

"YOU SAVED MY LIFE, MARK." 

"IT'S WHAT I DO, KID, IT'S WHAT I DO. NOW, YOU WERE SAYING SOMETHING ABOUT MALLORCA?"

"OH, I DON'T THINK SO"

"YES, YOU DID, IN YOUR SLEEP, YOU MUTTERED SOME STUFF ABOUT YOUR FATHER AND EURASIAN PYGMY SHREWS, THEN ABOUT MALLORCA."

"OH, WELL, YES, I WISH TO ESCAPE ABROAD, LIFE IS NOT TREATING ME WELL OVER HERE."

"WELL, ASK YOURSELF, KID, IS LIFE NOT TREATING YOU WELL, OR ARE YOU NOT TREATING LIFE WELL?"

"I THINK DEFINITELY LIFE IS NOT TREATING ME WELL."

"WELL, KID, THEN PERHAPS YOU SHOULD GO TO MALLORCA."

"THANKS, MARK NOBLE, YOU SAVED MY LIFE. HOW CAN I EVER REPAY YOU?"

"WELL THERE'S A FEW MORE VENUES BELONGING TO OLD GRUDGES I'D LIKE TO BLOW UP, YOUR HELP WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED".

"OH, WELL WHAT OTHER VENUES?"

"OH, WE'LL GET TO THAT, LET'S JUST SAY I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF PLAYING IN A FISH BOWL".

Man Who Mooned The Queen to Receive Knighthood

A man who 'mooned' The Queen last month is to be knighted by her majesty for "services to charity" after it transpired he had a number of charitable organisations tattooed on his buttocks. 

Mark Knapp, 34, was arrested in Norfolk on October 14th for 'indecent exposure'. Footage of the incident showed Knapp, a father of 6, leap out of the crowd of well-wishers, walk up to The Queen, bend over and expose his tattooed buttocks. The footage, which has since gone viral, was later pored over by detectives, whereupon they discovered the wording on either cheek. 

"We analysed the footage for hours on end, we lost a lot of good men" DS Troilus Dick told us. "Even with such advanced technology, we just couldn't make out the wording on Mr. Knapp's buttocks, the footage was very poor, it's ironic really, you'd think others would have better footage, but no. I've seen footage of Bigfoot which is better quality. Hell, i've seen footage of Bigfoot's hairy tushy which is a higher definition to this. You could see every hair, it was magnificent, you can see it if you want, I have a Facebook group, but this is beside the point".

"We eventually managed to make out the names of several high-profile charities supported by Her Majesty The Queen. "ActionAid" was on the left cheek, so was "Invalid Children's Aid Nationwide", we then sensed a pattern and managed to work out "Moorfields Eye Hospital NHS Foundation Trust", "National Council for Voluntary Organisations" and the "603 (City of Edinburgh) Squadron Royal Auxiliary Airforce" on the right cheek. We then realised what fools we'd been. This gentleman was not just some sick, perverted republican loser who wanted viral fame, he was trying to support Her Majesty in her charitable endeavours. He just chose a very cheeky way to do it, if you pardon the pun!"

Mr. Knapp was swiftly released from HMP Wandsworth, where he was being detained, and immediately brought to Buckingham Palace to receive a knighthood, still dressed in his prison garb. 

"Mate, I was buzzing, you know what I mean?" Knapp told NNNN, "I always, like, thought my arsehole would get me somewhere, now look at where I am, look! Look at the fucking ceiling, look at them cushions, it's all plush and that. Fuck me, man."

The knighthood was an unusual one when Her Majesty broke precedent and hugged Mr. Knapp then lightly tapped his posterior like they do in those ASDA adverts. They then dabbed together and performed a popular 'TikTok' dance. The gesture went viral and endeared The Queen to the younger generation, who no longer want to question authority and will do what they're bloody well told. 

The mooning has sparked copycat incidences, none of which have had quite the same effect. A Colorado woman flashed her breasts at President Joe Biden, reportedly with the words "Denver Gun Maintenance and Repair Society" tattooed on them. Secret Service agents quickly tackled her to the ground and she's now serving 10 consecutive life sentences in ADX Florence. A man in Scotland was also arrested for shoving his flaccid cock in Alex Salmond's face at a local charity dinner for military veterans. "Save the Squirrel" was his chosen charity. 

The trend has also creeped it's way online, mainly via Instagram. Numerous celebrities have exposed their derrieres in the aid of a good cause, causing many Christian groups to criticise the social networking site for obscenity. The furore was quickly quelled when Neil Patrick Harris revealed his hindquarters with "Christian Women for Online Safety and Censorship" emblazoned on both cheeks. The organization thanked the actor for spreading the word of Jesus Christ, our Lord and saviour to his millions of followers. 

Mr. Knapp is humble when asked about the phenomenon he's created. "It's fuckin' mental, man. I genuinely can't remember how those charities got on there, it's all a blur. I think it was, like, a night out or something, I just remember going out for a piss-up with Callum and the boys, then, like, we're fucking down for the count, you know what I mean? And suddenly i'm in this tattoo parlour and i'm in fucking agony, like real searing pain. And there's these fucking weird old men lookin' down at me and laughing, and there's green smoke everywhere. I thought I was trippin' if i'm honest with ya'. Next morning I wake up and Danielle,  my wife, or whatever, says I have these random words on my arse. It fuckin' freaked me out, man, you know what I mean? It was fucking cosmic shit, like real Black Mirror shit."

Mr. Knapp knew of The Queen's visit to the town and decided to moon the 95-year old monarch for a laugh. "I feel like she needs it, ya know? Her hubby died recently, right? I just thought it'd give her a laugh, the police didn't need to pin me to the ground, fucking snowflakes, can't take a joke."

The tabloids quickly christened the event 'Arsegate', whilst the broadsheets ran a number of articles on how chimpanzees 'present' to potential mating partners, and the history of the bum and it's sociological significance across varying societies past and present. 

The act of mooning was invented in the 19th century by Sir Grenville Moon, an explorer and military officer who found that baring his buttocks to his battalion of men would raise their spirits and provoke much laughter and merriment. The move worked, though Moon soon developed an addiction to exposing his rump, pulling off the act during the Charge of the Light Brigade in the Crimean War in 1854. Some historians have put the responsibility for the tragic loss of British life at Moon's feet, or rather, his bum. 

What Is Upwing Politics? NNNN Explains

Omaha, Nebraska. There's a sense of hayfevery optimism in the air, organisers, strategists, volunteers and voters are pregnant with anticipation, awaiting the arrival of their candidate, their guy. Some have camped out here for weeks, such is the unprecedented enthusiasm for this particular campaign. Edna Schultz and her 4 year old daughter Babs have been living in a small tent for over a fortnight, surviving on various insects and grubs. 

"You wouldn't see me doing this for Obama or Trump, not even Biden. I know they make people feel euphoric, especially Joe, those aviators could make even my gun-toting, Confederate flag-wearing father melt like a snowman meeting Timothee Chalamet in a sauna, but he doesn't have that effect on me, or Babs." 

The candidate in question is Omaha's own Vaughan Eagles, a state senator making quite a splash in Nebraska politics. A clip of Eagles went viral earlier this year showing the Senator launch into an impassioned speech decrying politicians from both sides of the aisle in the Nebraska State Senate chamber for what he called an 'embarrassing lack of compromise and imagination'. Eagles' rhetorical prowess and anarchic gesticulation was deemed 'highly refreshing' by the Nebraska Times. It also won plaudits from Buzzfeed, who had sent a 12 year old boy to cover the speech. 

"One can tire of the drab, rehearsed, unimaginative political speeches nowadays. Eagles is like a breath of fresh air, like a lonesome can of Pepsi nestled deep in a dollar store freezer on a warm August day."

Eagles is fast becoming one of the most popular politicians in the United States, even surpassing Biff from Back to the Future lookalike Madison Cawthorn from North Carolina. "He has something about him.." explains Edna Schultz, "something mercurial, something raw. I remember someone once said to be a popular politician in the US you have to look like someone who could shoot a buffalo and watch it bleed to death in the day, then be able to go on and host a talk show at night, smiling and talking about family values".

The crowd was bubbling away, Schultz was squealing with glee, it was almost time for Eagles to take to the stage and the atmosphere was bubbling away, not since Tony Robbins came to town has there been such a feeling of collective elation. The announcer's voice boomed through the tannoy system, "Ladies and gentlemen, the time is now come, please put your hands together for America's saviour, Nebraska's own, Vaughan Eagles!" Rapturous applause followed, Eagles walked out, dressed in a red, white and blue suit, holding a bald eagle on one arm and a bible in the other, all the while moon-walking with ease toward the microphone.

"Nebraska!" Eagles cried, the mere mention of their home state sent the crowd into foamy-mouthed spasms of delight, "I, am Vaughan, motherfucking, Eagles! And I.. am here.. to save you!" The crowd, manic and primal, ecstatically started chanting his name, a woman's bra hits Eagles' face, he picks it up, gives it to the eagle on his arm, the eagle flies off with the purple-sequined bra in his golden beak, high up into sky as a jet plane flies past with the American flag in tow. The eagle drops the bra onto the flag and the crowd let out a deafening, joyous roar. 

"Nebraska!" The second mention of this word delays Eagles' speech again for another two minutes as the crowd cannot get over the fact that they've just heard the name of the state where they're from. "I am here, to give you something new, to give you what you've been waiting for. Eagles then takes his blazer and shirt off, rolls the shirt up then tosses it into the audience. The audience scramble to catch it and in the process, tear each other apart limb from limb, gnaw at each other's faces like ravenous dogs, flesh and bones flying hither and thither, torturous howls of jealous anguish assaulting the ears of those who witness it. Eventually a lucky member of the audience prevails with the shirt in hand, by now soaked with mad, patriotic American blood, the woman wrings the blood out of it like a wash-cloth, stuffs it in her fanny-pack, then urges the audience to be silent for Eagles. 

"Nebraska!" Again the audience let out a sharp, piercing roar of appreciation for Eagles mentioning the man-made, historical boundary they happen to inhabit within a much larger man-made boundary. "I am here to tell you it don't have to be how it is, it don't have to be how it is, Nebraska, it don't have to be how it is. It don't have to be how it has always been, I am here to tell you how it could be, and let me tell you, it don't have to be how it has been, Nebraska, oh no, no, you betcha' it don't."

Eagles then pauses for a moment or two while two of his stage crew assist him into a jet-pack, before hurriedly leaving the stage for Eagles to continue, "I am here to tell you, it don't have to be left, right or centre, Nebraska, it don't, it don't have to be left, right centre, socialist, capitalist, libertarian, libertarian capitalist, libertarian socialist, anarcho-communist, anarcho-capitalist, or all that crap, it don't have to be left, it don't have to be right, i'm telling you, Nebraska, it can be... UP!" At this point Eagles ascends rapidly into the air, much to the crowd's delight, upward and upwards he soars, high into the Nebraska sky, the crowd reach fever pitch, they chant 'Eagles! Eagles! Eagles!' To them he appears a spec, so far up he appears, cries of 'wow!' fill the air, all eyes are on Eagles as he rises higher and higher, higher and higher, to impossible heights, until the propeller of the jet plane with the American flag in tow cuts him up and slashes him into a million pieces.

The crowd are stunned silent, 'is this part of the act?', a moment or two passes, then stray body parts start to fall into the crowd, and a sudden gust of wind sprays blood into their faces. A leg lands on Edna Schultz's water cooler, a severed head lands on a barbecue, a torn bible lands on the bonnet of a Mustang. Suddenly the mood, as it so often does on occasions such as these, turns sour. Mothers are screaming, men are firing their pistols into the air, babies are crying, topless girls are praying in a prostrate position, dogs are rabidly fighting over this adored politician's haggard remains. 

A man, soaked in blood and wearing a glazed expression upon his face, picks up the severed head of State Senator Vaughan Eagles, walks onto the stage and up to the microphone, "howl! howl! howl!" he cries, "God is dead!" He places the head down on the stage, as the purple-sequined bra floats down and covers it. 

This is Upwing politics, a new brand of politics, and a particularly grizzly one if I may say so myself. Let us hope it doesn't make it's way across the Atlantic to Britain, but, then again, maybe it already has. 

Royal Shipping Forecast With NNNN's Royal Correspondent Lurpac De Moine

Sandringham, Norfolk

Queen, cyclonic, incensed, mad at her grandson, wants to impale his wife, 2 to 4. Wealth, obscene. 

Balmoral, Scotland

Prince Charles, becoming restless, 3 to 5, waiting for mother to bite the dust. Occasionally charming, prone to grandiosity. Becoming northwest 4 to 6. Coffee enemas becoming moderate, perhaps rough. Camilla administers them. Mental image, oh, so rough. 

Clarence House, London

Duchess of Cambridge, moving southerly, 3 to 5, despairing, husband's bald. Looks into eyes of son, 4 to 7, occasionally noisy, worrisome of fate, westerly, moderate, becoming like father, hair implants. 

Windsor Castle, Berkshire

Princess Anne, becoming thundery, owns horses, 5 to 7, stirrups need cleaning, moving westerly, mother calls, "Yes kweeeeeeeen?" Occasionally 7 later, moving North.

Highgrove House, Gloucestershire

Prince Andrew, gone south, 5 to 7, years in prison. Doesn't sweat. 

Gale Warnings

Beatrice and Eugenie, spending tax payers money on multiple holidays per year. Warning, broken institution, warning, abolish.

England Fans Engage in 'Skirmishes' With the Fake Crowd Noises

For over a year, football, this most raucous of sports, has fell silent. Not completely silent, the thwack and smash of the ball has become a soothing and almost therapeutic sound for fans watching at home, as has the impassioned bellowing of the manager on the touchline and the players barking orders to each other. Fans watching on the TV have witnessed football laid bare, skeletal and stripped down, with none of the pageantry and noise, none of the ebbing and flowing of emotions, the exhilarating highs followed by the slow petering out of the drama. 

But a lot of viewers at home couldn't handle the silence, the eerie, mundane, almost cold representation of the mechanical nature of the sport. The players walked onto the pitch, played 90 minutes of football, then were heard no more. For fans who just couldn't bear the lack of commotion, producers inserted crowd noises into the television broadcast to much avail. It had it's critics, some who decried it's superficiality and it's poorly-modulated and monotonous effect, but largely, the fake crowd noises did football fans a service by making the beautiful game feel just that little bit more normal. 

The noises had become a permanent fixture for fans tuning in to watch their team play in front of empty stadiums, so the news that a limited number of fans would be allowed to attend Wembley Stadium to watch England play at the delayed Euro 2020, was met with jubilation. For the first time in over a year, fans would be able to cheer on the England team, and the team would actually hear it. For the semi-final against Denmark on Wednesday night, 60,000 fans were packed into Wembley to watch history happen before their eyes as England advanced to the final of a major tournament for the first time since 1966. The atmosphere was electric, just as it had been against Ukraine in the quarter-finals and, of course, Germany in the last-16. 

BUT. 

Having English fans back in the stadium, drunk on pride, passion and merriment, dripping with sweat, red and white paint plastered over their mad faces, moobs, boobs and backsides bouncing, beer being bunged into the sweet midsummer barmy British air presents a few problems. After all this time caged like wild animals, fans needed to let off some steam, and let off some steam they did, good golly did they let off some steam.

Alan Barnes of Burnham-On-Crouch told NNNN that he realised something was wrong as the game reached the 89th minute. Some fans situated in the stand near him were become increasingly rowdy, but Barnes thought it was just the usual wrong uns', getting up to no good, "I saw them fighting, but they weren't fighting each other, they were almost possessed, It was quite disturbing." 

Barnes later found out that the 230 or so fans had been spooked by the fake crowd noises, "I found it incredibly odd, I mean, even when there were crowd noises, only people watching the telly could hear them, so, how on God's green Earth did these knuckleheads get spooked by it? If you ask me, it's these vaccines, I follow Matt Le Tissier on the ol' Twitter, and he's a prominent anti-vaxxer, the lad's a respected voice in the media, so he must be talking some sense, I mean, come on, the guy's a multi-millionaire, what does he have to lose from pushing these views? Money talks, remember that, he he! Money talks, bitches, money talks".

Psychologists are baffled at how the fans could have not only heard, but have been triggered by these imaginary noises. Prof. Yan Dexter of the University of Cockfosters, Berkeley opined that the noises might've become so ingrained in many football fans over the last year, that they might have unconsciously hypnotised a large portion of them, causing them to react with distress when a real crowd reaches a certain decibel level.

"I'm certainly leaning towards this theory at the moment", Weary told us, "I don't know how those fake crowd noises were recorded, but perhaps certain rhythms were specially calibrated and repeated to create a hypnotic effect. Maybe it wouldn't of worked on 99.9% of the population, but it just so happened that some of the other 0.1% somehow were in Wembley stadium. I'm not here to provide an explanation or propagate conspiracy theories, but perhaps this was all some sort of sick experiment by the government, like the Russian sleep experiment, or herd immunity, but what would I know? I teach Latin, for God's sake. Why am I even here? Discede et numquam redito!"

All of the 230 fans have since been taken in for questioning, which has raised concerns over their safety. Barbara Partland, whose husband Geoff is in custody, is concerned about the incident and what it might mean for the group of fans. "My poor Geoff, he was so confused, and so angry. One moment he was silent and just being a normal fan, then the next minute he's throwing punches at the air like someone's attacking him. I don't know what happened, it was like a switch had suddenly been flicked. Boris was in the stadium, laughing his head off at what was happening to us. I wouldn't be surprised if he was in on this. This is what Etonians get off on, booking a huge recording studio to record 50,000 fans individually making noise, then deliberately distorting the sounds so as to induce hypnosis and violent mania with the help of leading experts in psychological warfare, then using this sound in every football broadcast for 10 months, then seeing fans inside a stadium fall prey to the hypnosis, then imprison those fans and experiment on their brains, fucking Etonian scumbags."

One of these men is destined to become a future prime minister, or a crook, or both

Other scientists think the fans may have just been letting off some steam, and that the crowd noises were somehow buried deep within their subconscious, provoking them to lash out. "I watched a lot of football matches with those crowd noises inserted in" Prof. Marilyn De Arrivederci of Swansea University told us, "and, even I have to admit, some of the voices I heard were awful, I mean, they were utter jerks, I ended up muting the telly because I kept hearing this one guy singing out of tune, that's enough to provoke violence, in my opinion. But what do I know? I teach Arabic, for God's sake. اتركوا مكتبي ، أيها الأوغاد!"

One theory has come forward that England fans in general are prone to violence, and the non-existence of any recognisable foe isn't going to stop that. "We love a good skirmish" thinks Partland, "Geoff often comes home from a match bloody and wounded, high on adrenaline, and that's just after watching a school game. He's a very passionate and involved parent, you've got to understand. Or, at least he would be, if we had a child."

England fans have a long and illustrious history of violence, at home and abroad. Fans were involved in street violence back at the last Euros in 2016 in France, and back in the 1980s and 90s, towns on the continent feared the arrival of the English like one might fear Piers Morgan entering a swimming pool full of Tom Daleys. 

"I don't really care what the press think, those fake crowd noises had it coming, you may not see why it upsets us so much, but it does, we have to let this energy out, Geoff works his fingers to the bone week in, week out, and is paid a pittance for it, his boss is an arsehole and his wife is a massive nag! ha, ha! He needs the release, no matter how primal and chaotic it must look to the more refined viewers, who'd want to be refined anyway? If it means being unable to experience the rich and glorious pallet of emotions one is infinitely blessed with, why should one try to hide it? England are back, and we're gonna win this damn tournament". *

Researchers have warned against broadcasters, including BBC and ITV, using fake crowd noises again in the event of another national lockdown. "The number of fans who engage in violence with these imaginary noises could rise threefold, we strongly advise broadcasters to cover the matches in silence, as the inclusion of fake crowd noises could lead to social unrest and ultimately anarchy". 

Several anarchist figures have claimed the noises could come in useful though, in overthrowing the capitalist status quo, abolishing the monarchy and mounting Jacob Rees-Mogg's body, top hat and all, on a makeshift gallows on Parliament Square. "If they want to provoke unrest, we will show them unrest, we're not comfortable with the system, and we, the people, have the power to resist it. Rees-Mogg, we're coming for you!"

* England went on to lose the final to Italy, no incidences of England fan/fake crowd noise violence have been reported, though Sir Keir Starmer was present in the crowd, and could be seen wearing an earpiece and fingering a mysterious device in his pocket. 

Sir Keir Starmer is a supporter of Arsenal Football Club, and will reportedly swap jobs with manager Mikel Arteta if neither's job goes to plan. 

Desert Island Discs to End 79-Year Stint On BBC Radio After Island Becomes Inhospitable to Human Life

29th January 1942: Vic Oliver, actor and comedian, becomes the first 'castaway' on a new BBC radio show called 'Desert Island Discs'. Roy Plumley, the first of many presenters whose voices have become instantly recognisable to John Bull and his middle-class equivalent Jonathan Cattle, asks Mr. Oliver to choose eight pieces of music, a book and a luxury item he would want with him were he to be cast away on a hypothetical desert island. 

I think it's safe to say the concept caught on. The show has been an ever present on BBC radio for over eight decades, inviting the cream of the crop of British public figures, having broadcast over 3,000 episodes. The show's longevity is a testament to it's subtle yet endlessly intriguing pulling power, and the sheer inventiveness and ingenuity of it's premise. 

"One can get bored of straight-down-the-line celebrity interviews" opines Wallace Worsley, deadbeat uncle of BBC regular Lucy, "but if one adds a spicy and offbeat premise such as being marooned on a fictional desert island, and needing to pick which pieces of music, which book and which luxury item one would want to take, it adds a certain thrill to an otherwise banal interview. One sits in suspense, pregnant with anticipation, wondering which book notorious book-worm Gyles Brandreth will choose to take. There's a certain degree of unbridled sexual relish which comes with knowing what music celebrities enjoy and guessing what their strategy will be! They are just like us after all! I would know, my niece is a celebrity, but she doesn't speak to me anymore. Lucy, this is your uncle, i'm sorry it has to be this way, I know how this looks, speaking to News, News, News, News in the desperate hope of reaching out to you, but I miss you dearly, I miss you boundlessly, you're breaking my heart and I'm running out of time. I need financial support, no, please don't stop reading! I need it, not only for myself, but for my partner, Elaine. She's a recovering alcoholic, Lucy, and she needs a liver transplant, I know that this may not seem sympathetic, but she's a good person, an honest person, she wouldn't ask this of anyone, so I feel it's my duty to speak up for her. She's in a terrible state and your support would really help us. Please do not ignore me, I know NNNN will probably edit this out of their finished article, but on the off chance they don't, help me. Help me, oh, dear lord above, help me!"

The show has had five presenters over the years and is currently presented by Lauren Laverne. The BBC have always regarded it as a steady and stable hit over the years, the prestige around the show has made it untouchable. Until now. 

Actor Sir Mark Rylance was due to appear on the show on the 5th July, he was sent a limousine by the BBC to his home in Lambeth. "I was looking forward to it!" Rylance told us, "I grew up listening to DID, a lot of us did, it's sort of the holy grail of interviews. I don't give many interviews but DID is different, I think there's a lot of joy in it, a lot of excitement. I've been deliberating for weeks over what pieces of music I should pick. It's a serious thing. But it's also a great amount of fun"

Rylance then received a call from the BBC explaining that due to unforeseen circumstances, the show will not go ahead. "I was a little taken aback, but I understood, I didn't really question it because I thought there must have been a straightforward reason. When I found out the real reason whilst watching BBC News at Six, I just bellowed out the words 'Christ's marauding cock! What in God's great taint is happening here?' I don't usually swear like that, but the news was so bizarre, it just spilled out of me."

The BBC announced that the eponymous island in Desert Island Discs had become inhospitable to humans and the show had to immediately be cancelled. The news was greeted with what one Daily Telegraph columnist called 'a subdued middle-class hysteria which manifests itself in frenzied letter writing". 

"If i'm being totally honest with you, I thought it was a hypothetical island." thought Rylance. According to polls, 97% of the British public thought the same, the other 3% were flat-Earthers, Jehovah's Witnesses, paranoid schizophrenics and GB News viewers. It turns out, the Island is real. Geographers have labored hard to pinpoint exactly where the island is, but to no avail. "You'd think in this age of satellites and submarines that you'd be able to find any island if you have enough resources and man-power, but we've just not been able to locate the Island in Desert Island Discs", explained Larkin Mann, a pseudo-geographer who searches for fictional islands. "Over the years, i've shook hands with Robinson Crusoe, been given a tour of Atlantis on the back of a dolphin, been an extra on Lost and been molested by a hoard of sex-starved Mermen. Locating this particular island is my only failure, but we all fail, even Lucy Worsley's uncle."

The new BBC Director-General Tim Davie made a statement saying that global warming was the culprit behind the evacuation of the island. Davie explained that the BBC had managed to locate almost all of the celebrities the company had marooned on the island, but that a few were still missing. "I am sure the public will have been shocked to learn of the developments on the island on Desert Island Discs. Let me assure you that we are doing our utmost to rescue the celebrities, including John Cleese, still marooned on the island."

Several commentators have noted that most of the celebrities who've appeared on the show are safe and well, and will attest to never having beeen aware of an actual island, but the BBC insists a timely and costly rescue operation is needed. An appeal is currently being aired every week night after The One Show asking for funds to search for Trevor Nunn's haggard, sand-shocked corpse strewn awkwardly in a shallow rock-pool being gnawed at by crustaceans. Mary Berry and several other notable guests have protested the 'blatant intrusion' and 'scare-mongering' carried out by the corporation. "We are perfectly fine, I am absolutely aghast at the way this very costly public campaign has been carried out. I appeared on the show years ago and never visited any island, and now I keep receiving texts from my friends and Paul Hollywood asking if i'm OK because they've seen some emotional appeal on the London Underground. This needs to stop!" Berry exclaimed. 

However, a handful of former guests have expressed delight that the BBC are finally taking notice of their plight and think the issue needs to be brought to the fore. Naturalist Chris Packham is 'in two minds' over the existence of the island, but thinks the wider issue of climate change should be the focus. "The truth is, in the next 50 years or so, there will be areas on our planet which are now heavily populated that will become too hot for Human civilisation. The politicians do not seem to understand this and even if they did, I fear it is too late, what's happened on the island from Desert Island Discs is terrifying, utterly terrifying, but it is merely foreshadowing a much larger problem that may come to define the 21st century. Think of the migrant crises of the last 10 years, people fleeing violence and terrorism which then gives rise to far-right nationalism and xenophobia. Think of that but ten times worst, people will be forced to leave their own countries with their families because they are simply unsustainable to live in, they'll be unable to grow food, unable to have access to water. This is a crisis, a slow-burning, no pun intended, crisis, and the Desert Island Discs island is just chapter one."

Labour leader Keir Starmer has said he supports Packham's message, but is bewildered by the existence of an actual island. "I've listened to DID for years, and rather enjoyed it, but I would have enjoyed it far less if I knew the guests actually had to be cast away. I think, among other things, this crisis shows the extent to which the Tory austerity of the last ten years has stripped away the BBC's capacity to safely handle a hypothetical concept without resorting to literal-minded programming. Under a Labour government, concepts such as these will be backed consistently, and metaphors won't be forced to somehow flourish into reality. This is fucking ridiculous. Just make me prime minister already."

Andrew Neil of GB News has called the situation a 'scathing indictment of BBC scare-mongering and climate change virtue-signalling', but footage recently released showed Neil being lifted from treacherous waters into a dinghy full of former DID guests, which may serve as a smoking gun with which to silence critics calling the crisis 'fake'. 

The general public are unsure whether to believe that this is a BBC propaganda campaign, or a genuine cry for help from hundreds of beloved British public figures. Martha Hills of Guildford doesn't know what to believe. "When celebrities are involved, the water becomes murky, murky I tells' ya'! I have no idea what to believe, are there people out there who need our help escaping from an island too hot for Human habitation? Or is this some elaborate metaphor with an underlying cynicism? Or maybe it's satire? Is this satire? Is that what this is? What's the deal with Lucy Worsley's uncle? Why is he included in this?  I don't know. Honestly, i'm not all that bothered personally, i'm just glad England are in the final of a major tournament, and that we can hug our family again."