HUMOUR

ARE you the only man in a house ruled by your wife and daughters? Are you humiliated daily by a domestic matriarchy? This is the catalogue of your shame as told by Anthony (not his real name)

Televisual

The days of Dad entering the room, commandeering the remote and putting Middlesbrough-Watford on are gone. Unfathomably, no-one else in the household cares who’ll reach the play-off. Instead everyone’s binging the classic 2019 Love Island with Molly-Mae and Tommy Fury, and you can watch the game on your phone if you like.

Receiving deliveries

Nobody else can hear the knocks at the door, so it’s your job to collect eight Evri boxes from Vinted, Depop and Boohoo each day. Never dare question if Lucy really needs a 15th pair of jeans or how much this bloody face cream costs will unite the whole family against you. Meanwhile all your hip-hop 12-inches have been moved to the garage.

Bathroom access

To get 90 seconds in the bathroom to urinate, brush your teeth, wash your face and leave still wet requires hours of alertness and bargaining while women work in shifts to stop you. Make-up application, eye and night cream application, brushing hair, facemasks, plucking, steaming, and defecation all must take place. You shower at 5.45am or not at all.

Continual bitching

There are so many people you’ve never met you’re meant to hate. Sarah at hot yoga is a cow. Holly at college is a spiteful slag. The Spanish teacher is a fat whore. And somehow you’re meant to be interested, and remember them, and you’re castigated when you don’t. Then you call your mother and hear about everyone she hates that you don’t know.

Being disgusting

When you fart, burp, eat, scratch, yawn, sneeze, sweat or swear you’re disgusting. ‘Dad stinks’ is a frequently heard phrase. And the thing is, they’re sort of right: they are all lovely and fragrant and cleansed and you are the one drunk watching Trailer Park Boys in your underpants.

Synchronised periods

One week in four, it gets even worse. During that week, even if you became silent, incorporeal and invisible, you’d still get on every member of your household’s tits. This is why man invented the shed and hid beer in there.

OFF to the park to enjoy the weather, only to discover people have claimed all the space because they’re more important than you? Here are their devious methods:

Frisbee

Friends tossing a frisbee to each other is an iconic summer image. Only no one can enjoy the park because their erratic hurling and mindless labrador-like chasing puts park space off-limits unless you want to be trampled or twatted by an out-of-control Tupperware saucer. If you want to throw something, try yourselves into the boating lake.

Picnic rug

You’ve seen a nice spot of grass to sit on, but an extended family of professional picnickers suddenly spreads out the Bayeux Tapestry of rugs for an extravagant open-air banquet. With hampers, cool boxes, folding furniture and a gazebo encircling the feast, half an acre of parkland has been annexed. Why not plant a f**king flag and claim sovereignty, your majesties?

Disposable barbecue

On a nice day it’s refreshing to inhale the warm invigorating air, unless a crew of carnivores plant their stinking foil fire-pit next to you. Soon everyone nearby will be driven away by the stench of smoke, grease and charred, minced pig bollocks. And the only way to remove the odour is rubbing yourselves down with the Magic Tree from the car.

Sporting equipment

The easiest way for bastards to ringfence parkland for their own selfish needs is to hoof a football around. As makeshift goalposts are put in place, parkgoers will automatically begin protecting open cans, bottles and children. This also works with rounders, cricket and the magic-free version of Quidditch Harry Potter fans have invented, because when you’re into children’s books aged 35 presumably you are beyond embarrassment.

Kite

As well as being fun until you get sick of relaunching the damn thing every 30 seconds, a kite has the bonus of attracting attention to yourself as other people stare nervously in anticipation of being divebombed by a huge cellophane flying-V or a picture of the Hulk on massive struts. Delightful in theory, in practice a more effective people-scatterer than a Stuka.

Anything from the middle aisle

Many twatty middle-aisle toys help bastards carve out a large slice of ego territory. Remote-control cars, water blasters, boomerangs and drones are particularly suitable for making others lose enjoyment of the park. Although the most effective tactic is still parading into green space with multiple special-offer boxes of Stella Artois and Bluetooth speakers, soon to be followed by frequently wandering off to piss nearby. Job done.

INSTEAD of being dragged from slumber with a grudge against the world, does your partner leap peppily and unbearably from the bed? Here’s how to handle it:

Leave the f**ker to it

Remain undisturbed. Allow the upbeat, popping-candy monstrosity humming cheerfully and monologuing about what a lovely day it is to fade into the background. She’ll piss off to brightly bushy-tail around the kitchen shortly and you can sink back into the swamp of sleep leaving this as nothing more than a dystopian Disney nightmare.

Block any interaction with the prick

Little questions like ‘Want a coffee?’ or ‘Mind if I open the curtains a crack?’ are aggressive attacks on your sleeping self. Respond accordingly: shut down your senses by wrapping a pillow around your head or mimicking the opossum, which over millennia has evolved to fake death in the presence of spritzy, woohoo humans.

Engage as minimally as bloody possible

As faking death will only work once, communication with your party-popper of a partner may be unavoidable. Restrict your replies to questions like ‘What shall we have for dinner?’ and ‘Do you think fish feel love?’ to grunts laced with the weary contempt the dead hold for the living.  Any more and the door to wakefulness will be flung open.

Delegate a task to the wanker

Distraction can be useful for getting rid of your confetti-shooting unicorn of positivity. Dispatch your boyfriend to another town to collect a parcel or mention an injured hedgehog in the garden. Morally dubious, but could get you another hour’s blissful unconsciousness so definitely worth it.

Mess with the twat’s circadian rhythms

Tarnishing your partner’s glitterball morning spirit by bring them into your world. Keep your wife awake late into the night by plying her with expresso martinis and vodka Red Bull while telling her you’re having an affair and leaving her, then revealing at 2am it was all a prank. She’ll sleep like she’s been coshed, and most likely in another room.

Get the f**k out

Set an alarm. Because you can’t function in the morning, you should be able to turn it off, roll out of bed, stump blearily through the house and snuggle into a filthy nest you’ve created under the stairs or in a forgotten wardrobe. Return to sleep and with luck, your boyfriend will assume you’re dead and move on leaving you to rest.

JD Vance recently said he had forbidden his wife from going skydiving in a strange comparison to Iran. Here he explains the benefits of controlling tendencies – for her and you.

It keeps women safe

Controlling women isn’t a sad little power trip for insecure men, it’s about their safety. If you don’t ban them from actually highly-regulated activities like skydiving, before you know it they’ll be bullfighting or playing Russian roulette. Because ‘slippery slope’ arguments are always correct.

They have more free time

By saying ‘Wear that dress’ or ‘Those heels make you look like a whore’ you’re saving women the trouble of making decisions, leaving them free to pursue other interests. Such as ensuring your home is spotless and doing large amounts of unnecessary baking, in a traditional way that fits in with my particular brand of conservative Catholicism but isn’t actually in The Bible.

Women cannot be trusted to go out

When Usha goes out, I do the responsible thing and ask: ‘Who are you meeting? Are any of them men? Are you planning to have sex with them?’ She can be quite disrespectful in her replies, but it’s the only way to ensure she won’t end up writhing in adulterous pleasure with some well-hung young stud every time she leaves the house.

You sound like a big man

Male friends are deeply impressed when, apropos of nothing, you announce you won’t let your wife buy anything without your permission, or similar. Are any of them secretly thinking ‘Jeez, what a pathetic asshole’? Unlikely. I’ll check if I ever have any friends.

It’s only feminism that makes them want free will

I’ve spoken out before about the sexual revolution, and to this day feminism is brainwashing women into thinking they don’t want to be stay-at-home baby factories. I’m not saying they shouldn’t make any decisions at all – as I’ve said to Usha, ‘You are free to breastfeed and change nappies without consulting me’. Respect is a two-way street.

Women are basically children

Like children gorging on sweets, women do things they don’t realise are bad for them. That’s why we’ve agreed Usha shouldn’t use the internet unsupervised. It’s nothing to do with the very real possibility that if she keeps seeing those fat boy memes of me, eventually she’ll think: ‘Shit! Why haven’t I divorced this petulant little dick?’

A WOMAN who has split up with her hopeless loser of a boyfriend is searching for a new man who is functionally identical, she has confirmed.

Hannah aged 28, not her real name or age, ended her relationship with Nathan Muir because he was insensitive, emotionally stunted, preferred hanging out with his mates to her and was lazy, then proceeded to outline those same qualities as what she is looking for.

She said: “I like a man’s man, not some emotional melt who clings to me like a limpet and embarrasses me in public.

“I can’t stand all that ‘and how are you feeling?’ and asking if it’s my time of the month like he’s my therapist. My next boyfriend will give me my space, and he’ll have his own friends for football or whatever so I can have nights with my girls.

“I want someone laid-back who doesn’t mind lazy weekends binging telly with me, rather than these active types always pushing to go on hikes or shit like the theatre. And yeah Nathan cheated, but a man who other women aren’t chasing is ugly. Not into that.

“Yes, all of that could describe Nathan. But what I want is that, but different.”

Friend Karen, not her real name,  said: “Han lurches from one crap boyfriend to another like the Conservative Party chooses new leaders. She never learns.

“At least I don’t have to feel guilty any more for shagging Nathan behind her back. Did I mention he’s got a willy like a conger eel?”

SHE is so lovely and she has captured your soul. But as you’ve never exchanged a single word, how to tell her? Would staring like a pervert do it? Let’s hope so:

Show stamina

Ladies love two things – commitment and six-hour tantric sex sessions. Show her you stay the distance like Sting by maintaining fixed, prolonged eye contact. It’s sending a message that you can engage in unpleasant tasks like cunnilingus or marriage for long periods and will not blink in the face of fear or dry eyes. Watch her swoon!

Ignore everything she says

Unused to the new love soaring in her heart, afraid of being overwhelmed with euphoria, she may push it away with cruel words. Remarks like ‘Is that man staring at me?’ or ‘Why is his face twitching like that?’ or ‘Can we move tables?’ are only to test your devotion. Do not allow your eyes to flicker while she falls beneath their spell.

Never speak

Whenever you speak to women, you say the wrong thing. Apparently. They say so, anyway. So best to remain silent, mysterious and intense as if you were in a Bond film or a Netflix true crime documentary. Women love bad boys, like Heathcliff or a 46-year-old single man holding a carrier bag of his possessions at the bus stop.

And never smile

If you smile and she doesn’t return it? That’s awkward. Because then you can’t stop smiling and have to maintain a rictus grin and you begin to resemble the Joker, and not in a sexy way. Maintain an impassive expression open to interpretation. It will make her wonder what deep and meaningful thoughts you are having. She’ll soon just have to ask.

Move your stare with her

Show her that you would make such a dedicated partner that you go wherever she leads, like a tango. But only at a discreet distance of 30 feet or so, acting like it was where you were going anyway. If she phones a boyfriend who then holds you up against a wall, that is a sign that perhaps she’s not ready for the depth of your mutual passion. For now.

A WOMAN spring cleaning the flat she shares with her partner has decided that means chucking out all his stuff she does not see the point of.

Emma, not her real name, felt her clean and declutter should not involve getting rid of any of her own possessions, and she would instead do partner Tom, not his real name, a huge favour by binning most of his ‘old rubbish’.

She said: “The flat’s turning into a tip so I decided to have a sort-out while Tom was at work.

“Obviously my old psychology textbooks from uni are staying, plus childhood storybooks which hold so many memories, and a few other essentials. Is having four make-up bags excessive? Does he want me to stay young-looking and attractive? There’s your answer.

“Tom, on the other hand, really doesn’t need three guitars – he can only ever play one at a time – and he’s surely outgrown that bloody PlayStation now he’s 35. Ditto all those CDs and DVDs of his.

“I hope he’ll be pleased when he gets home from work and sees I’ve transformed the place. Although there’ll still be no space in the wardrobe for his clothes.”

He said: “Emma said she’s having a spring clean on her day off today, bless her. She’ll have fun swishing a duster round and hoovering under the bed.

“She can finally get round to chucking out some of her shit that’s cluttering the place up. So long as she’s careful cleaning around my Gibson Custom 1957 Les Paul and doesn’t rearrange my Grand Theft Auto games in the wrong order that will be great.”

THE hellscape of modern society is the result of decades of dickheads beavering away. But here are six awful aspects your mum blames on you personally.

Spam emails

Your father got an email inviting him to purchase some penis enlargement pills. Your generation’s obsession with sex is what led to him clicking on a dodgy link and divulging his bank details to some foreigner with internet access. Which, incidentally, is another awful thing that’s your fault.

Petrol prices

Back in the old days, petrol was far cheaper. Now, because of inflation and various oil crises, prices at the pump have skyrocketed. You weren’t alive back then, but you are now. Coincidence? Your mum thinks not, and she won’t stop driving or complaining until you finally put your philosophy degree to good use and bring them down.

Litter

The streets are filthy, especially in cities where the young live. As an important figure within the under-60 age bracket, why, exactly, haven’t you urged today’s youth to clean up their act? And get those kids to pull up their trousers, while you’re at it.

AI chatbots

Nowadays it’s impossible to get hold of someone on the phone and shout at them when you have a problem. Instead, you’re forced to converse with a stupid AI chatbot that can’t even flinch from your bellowing. It’s young people like you with your woke sensibilities who have turned complaining into a chore rather than a pleasure.

People playing videos on public transport

Your mum is happy to endlessly swipe through knitting patterns on Instagram, but she would never play them out loud on the train. And in the quiet carriage, no less! How could you be so selfish as to invent the endless scroll and make the volume button so small and fiddly?

Hospital waiting times

According to the way your parents tell it, in the 70s you could turn up at the (white, male) doctor’s house any time of day or night and he’d sort you out. Now you have to go to A&E and wait for hours to see a so-called ‘physician’ who might have long hair or even a nose ring. Assisted dying can’t come soon enough.

A MAN has forgotten how to be an underperforming drone after the four-day Easter weekend, it has emerged.

A long weekend of lying on the sofa and eating chocolate has resulted in Martin, not his real name, not remembering how to fall short of his ‘key performance indicators’ and risk being laid off during the next round of redundancies.

He said: “I knew something was off when I confidently walked into the office early. That’s so unlike me.

“My suspicions grew as I promptly replied to emails, organised my to-do list, and whipped up a presentation of budget-saving measures the company could easily implement. Usually it takes me all morning to turn my computer on.

“I tried to get back into the swing of things by sending emails without the necessary attachments and taking lengthy toilet breaks, but it’s no use. I stupidly got a raise after coming up with profitable ideas during this morning’s team meeting.

“Am I ever going to remember how to fill in a spreadsheet incorrectly or miss a deadline? Or am I doomed to a successful career of spouting corporate jargon and being respected by my awful colleagues? Christ I hope not.”

Marttin’s boss Kah Pau said: “I understand Martin’s concern. But once he’s burnt out he’ll go back to being an unproductive husk.”

THE sight of a single takeout pizza van has caused villagers to think their town is now on a par with London, it has emerged.

Having grown accustomed to their Nisa and a chippie that takes half an hour to drive to, residents of a Gloucestershire village believe they are about to become the new Shoreditch thanks to a van that sells overpriced pizzas.

Local Donna, not her real name, said: “I thought food trucks were something MasterChef made up for the telly. Yet there it is, in all its dazzling, gentrified glory for a pleb like me to enjoy.

“I phoned my kids who live in Camden to tell them I tried something called fior de latte on my margherita. They already knew what it was thanks to their swanky university education, and suggested I try an anchovy topping next. It’s all very cosmopolitan.

“The young lad who runs it says you can’t move for food trucks like this in the big city. Apparently they even sell Asian-fusion tacos and curried lentil dishes. Sounds a bit extravagant for our tastes but each to their own.

“Maybe if the novelty of pizza served out of a van catches on we’ll be treated to other London perks like a Gail’s and unaffordable housing. We can only dream.”

Pizza cook Jack, not his real name, said: “A place like this is perfect for entrepreneurs. I could serve these hicks reheated Pizza Express ready meals and they’d never know.”

SPOTTED a colleague on the train or bus? Commute ruined. Unless you follow this guide to hide from them in a mature way.

Check your phone

Oh dear god, according to the news there’s a rainstorm in Patagonia, this requires immediate attention. Stop, stare down at the screen, brow furrowed. Or check your stocks and shares. Never mind that you don’t have any, you could and they would require regular urgent attention. You’re just practising for that.

Take a call

Admittedly, your voice might attract the target’s attention, but sometimes a bold strategy is needed. Say either ‘Those numbers are unacceptable, Simon’ or ‘Dad, you’ve fallen?’ whilst walking purposefully away from your colleague. In the unlikely event that they follow you, get off at the next stop or hide in the toilet.

Inspect some building work

Angry letters to the council about potholes won’t have the required bite unless you know what you’re talking about. Go and stick your face close to that crater in the road. Take out a measuring tape if necessary. Or find a wall and start counting the bricks. Your dad’s right, things aren’t made as well today. If it’s a low wall, you can duck down behind it too.

Have an emergency shoe inspection

Bend down and make sure laces are tied, even if they’re slip-ons. You never know. Or just give them a good hard look to see how shiny they are, as if that’s something you’ve ever given a toss about before. You may become less invisible if someone trips over you, though.

Put on headphones

Now you’re wearing chunky noise-cancelling headphones, you can’t be seen. That’s a scientific fact. It’s like there’s a force field around you. No one can hear you or talk to you. If your colleague gestures at you to slip the headphones off, pretend to have no idea what they could possibly mean. Besides, that would be impossible, they are now welded to your ears.

Find a newspaper

Most newspapers on public transport are used by drunks as vomit receptacles, toilet paper or trousers. If you manage to find a clean one, don’t pretend to read it as that leaves you vulnerable to interruption. Instead, craft it into an impenetrable disguise by poking out a couple of eye holes and holding it over your face. For the finishing touch, keep it in place then run away.

A MAN has wisely asked his girlfriend’s cat for permission to marry her.

Nathan consulted Nikki, not their real names,’ grey tabby cat Mr Wiggles because he felt he could not go against the wishes of such an important authority figure in her life.

He said: ‘Nikki looks up to Mr Wiggles in a weird paternalistic way. She asks him questions and takes any meow as an affirmation or rejection.

“The cat rules her life to the extent that Nikki consults him on everything from politics to savings plans. She asked him if I should be clean-shaven instead of sporting a beard. Mr Wiggles appeared to meow in favour of the first, so now my face is naked and cold.

“But I totally understand why she wanted me to do the traditional thing of asking the cat for her hand in marriage. When the time came I was quite nervous, and I had to wait for Mr Wiggles to wake from one of his many naps and give his balls a good lick.

“I’d bought him a catnip-infused cloth mouse, but Nikki said that was going too far. Mr Wiggles might think I was creeping and lose respect.”

She said: “Unfortunately Mr Wiggles had doubts about Nathan marrying me and living with us, and when Nathan asked him I was forced to interpret the answer as ‘no’.”

How to party like accountants this financial New Year’s Eve

EXCITED about the new tax year? Here’s how to party like an accountant before a thrilling new fiscal year begins in April. Don’t forget the Alka-Seltzer!

Choose the venue prudently

Hiring a party venue can be costly, and the company office has overheads, so show fiscal prudence and reduce outlay by partying at someone’s home. If everyone rocks up with their laptop and logs in, the host can claim on their tax return for using the house as an office. Talk about starting the party with a bang!

Estimate outgoings for food and drink

Base your figures on the previous financial year’s consumption and forecast an average spend. Historic data patterns reveal one of the party will be pregnant and abstain from drinking, but will consume double the snacks, and your fat bastard colleague Gareth will appreciate to two persons with food and three for drink.

Dress to bill

Accountancy party clothes vary only slightly from work clothes. For men, it’s a novelty tie, for women, it’s brighter shoes and smaller bag. Aftershaves and perfumes never fluctuate, only percentage application increases. Now you’re ready to paint the town the colour of a worrying deficit in a ledger.

Harvest attendance data

As with company accounts, there’s no room for ambiguity. Collect signed and witnessed confirmations from all potential attendees. Last year’s figures indicate that approximately 12 per cent of attendees will bale out, and a further seven per cent will get lost en route. All figures must be quantifiable to one decimal place and rounded down. ‘Who needs booze when you’re having this much fun?’ you joke.

Have quantified fun

Now the party can begin in earnest. Having calculated you will take 1.25 hours to consume each of your four 330ml cans of moderately pissy IPA, you can index-link letting your hair down accordingly. Start with some accountancy games to break the ice, such as ‘Pin the upturn on the flowchart’. As the alcohol flows at join in the karaoke with a rendition of Pocket Calculator by Kraftwerk. By the fourth can your probability copping off with someone feels statistically high. Sadly this was the booze talking, and a further audit of the figures reveals you will sing Auld Lang Syne and go home alone.

The morning after

Despite your last drink being a Horlicks, you wake up with a thumping hangover next to your laptop and a crusty taxi receipt you will sponge clean and file. You hang up a new calendar and begin your Financial New Year’s resolution to format a new spreadsheet for the coming year. It’s been a party that will go down in accountancy legend!

TRIED to spice things up with dirty texts and been rebuffed? Here’s how to move onto a much safer topic: the British weather.

Tell your partner they misunderstood

When you asked if she was wet, what you meant was ‘due to the downpour we just had’. If you requested shower pics, you meant her in a charming mac caught in an April shower. Sadly you have now condemned yourself to receiving and commenting on ‘adorable’ pictures of her whenever she gets caught in the rain. Get ready with those ‘likes’.

Show concern

You only wanted to know what he was wearing to make sure it was climate-appropriate. The same with telling him he was ‘hot’. You just were trying to persuade him to wear a sun hat and cooling lightweight clothing. How could you worrying about heatstroke and dehydration be misconstrued as sexual? Shore up this gaslighting by asking if he’s ever been treated for sex addiction.

Blame the seasons and your allergies

Alright, you were a bit forward, but it’s the weather. The warmer temperatures have caused the flowers to bloom and release pollen and it’s made you delirious with hayfever. So let’s talk about that and not that dick pic you sent. Admitted this is the first case of hayfever to have the same effects as malaria, but you don’t have many options. Maybe you can convince her you accidentally dropped your phone down your trousers? No, that’s just as bad.

Turn your dirty talk into a weather report

For example: ‘After a warm front, things have turned rather chilly. There’s been a sharp drop in enthusiasm and earlier projections of heavy activity have now been downgraded to light drizzle at best. Conditions are tense but stable. Expect a long dry spell ahead.’ See, this is like a spoof weather report on a comedy show! Ha ha ha! Is he laughing? No, he’s thinking about dating someone less weird.

Never speak of what happened again

Like a sunny spell, your attempt at being sexy came and went and now you’re back to gloom and small talk. Both of you should bury this awkward memory and only talk about the weather from now on. It’s the British way.

BREAKING up is hard to do, and it would be wrong to outsource it to a Large Language Model like all other hard work. That’s why all of these are human and genuine:

The generic

‘I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship – and it’s not working. It’s not just you, it’s us, the war in Iran and the prevailing wind speed. I wish you all the best in your future endeavours. If you want, I can write a version that is kinder.’

The one with examples

‘It’s important to remember there have been some positive periods in our partnership, such as when we had our tender first kiss during the season two finale of The Office, the show’s first 40-minute episode which was viewed by 7.6 million people and scored 4/10 in the overnight Nielsen ratings.’

The ironic

‘I can definitely give you several reasons why a couple might break up. Firstly, problems with communicating. Secondly, a lack of effort. Would you like me to keep going?’

The hallucinatory

‘There are many good reasons to end our relationship, including your frequent infidelity while disguised as a white bull, a swan and a shower of gold. You’re right – these are seductions used by the Greek god Zeus, and bear no resemblance to any situation in your actual relationship. Well done for catching that.’

The mean

‘While I can help make a message more direct, I won’t write anything to intentionally hurt someone. Instead, here is an insult from the playwright William Shakespeare, spoken to the character Falstaff: “Thou art as fat as butter.”’

The hyperlink

‘Tom has sent you a link to a ChatGPT conversation. Click here to view.’

GOVERNMENT guidance has called for screen time to be limited for children under five. But frankly these other groups could do with some restrictions too.

Seething gammons

Huge chunks of the internet are nothing more than a hate engine powered by outraged, narrow-minded pensioners. Restricting the amount of time they can bark about Meghan in the Mail Online comments section will cool down the culture war and make them realise that voting for Reform UK is probably a bad idea. It’s in the national interest that they’re pacified with a TV that plays Battle of Britain on an endless loop instead.

Dating singletons

Endlessly swiping through apps and realising your low ranking on the dating market is terrible for a person’s wellbeing. Scaling back this activity will get desperate, horny singletons approaching each other in real life again and hopefully reverse the gradual population decline. Either that or it will accelerate it as everyone realises they’ve totally forgotten how to flirt in real life.

Boyfriends who use toilets

Limiting boyfriends with working bowels to an hour of screen time a day will have a dramatic effect on how long they stay on the shitter. The previous average of 40 minutes will be brought crashing down to a tight ten, maximum, as they’re forced to ration out their private scrolling. However women need to be prepared for having to spend more time with their terminally boring partners as a result.

Social media influencers

True, social media influencers are going through a tough time at the minute after being driven from their homeland in Dubai. But cutting back their screen time is the next step in rehabilitating them into becoming useful, functional members of society. We will no longer need them to upload challenge videos or record sponsored reviews, and it would be really useful if they could start building houses instead. In fact why not make it compulsory?

Everyone else, realistically

Nobody is truly immune to the damaging effects of gawping at a screen 24/7. Putting a cap on it will shield young boys from the manosphere, prevent mothers from getting radicalised by Mumsnet, and protect your budget from late night eBay purchases. Upon doing so, society will soon revert to wholesome analogue pleasures, like getting shitfaced and having affairs.

AN outwardly normal couple have decided to have not one, not two, not three, but four children, it has emerged.

Anthony and Jess, not their real names, of Bush Hill have four offspring, but all appear to have been conceived, birthed and raised without their parents being visibly deranged or members of a cult.

Neighbour Martin, not his real name, said: “Initially we assumed they had some kind of contraceptive f**k-up at least twice, but apparently they really did choose to have this many children.

“They do normal things like going to work, taking the kids swimming, going on a family holiday every year. Frankly it’s creepy how they act like there’s nothing wrong.

“Sometimes they even seem happy about this waking nightmare they’ve created for themselves. Surely one day they’ll both snap and set fire to their seven-seater Citroën?”

Family friend Kah Heng, not his real name,  said: “It’s weird. They’re not religious and they know about contraception. I’d understand if they were parenting influencers getting lucrative washing powder deals, but it’s like they enjoy having kids or something.”

Youngest son Oliver said: “I’d like to have more brothers and sisters, but mummy said ‘No, there’s a limit to how many times I can watch Bluey, so f**k that’.”

ALLOWING another road-user to take precedence over you is an unforgivable sign of weakness and should incur points, motorists have agreed.

Giving way, whether to a car, a cyclist or a pedestrian is an act of submission which should, if repeated, lead to the loss of a driving licence and in extreme cases a full ban because of the danger it poses.

Qashqai driver Karen, not her real name,  said: “It’s basic biology. Do rhinos give way to a herd of antelope? No. They charge ahead because they’re top of the food chain.

“By hesitating around being courteous and prioritising others, these idiots are causing crashes among real drivers like me: confident, brake seldom, basically apex predators with windscreen wipers.”

Shane, not his real name, a Ford Ranger Raptor driver from Stafford, agreed: “There are rules about who has right of way at junctions, and there are unwritten rules about self-respect and what it takes to get ahead.

“I’m not giving way just to be ‘nice’. It’s not the 14th century and I’m not a gallant knight. I’m a 43-year-old man on the way to the big Sainsbury’s to buy toilet roll.”

Reform MP Robert Jenrick said: “This nation has been weakened by the constant nanny-state need to make sure others are not ‘at risk’ of an ‘imminent collision’. When we should be ruling the road and dominating every junction, instead we ‘give way’.

“I don’t even stop for red lights. I go straight through them.”

A MAN on Tinder who appears to be without significant perversions, addictions, commitment issues or a receding hairline is a huge red flag, women have agreed.

When 28-year-old Hannah, not her real name or age, matched with 32-year-old Guido, not his real name or age, she was immediately unsettled by his individually-tailored responses and failure to send a dick pic.

She said: “It was like I was talking to a human being, not an AI. So I was creeped out immediately.

“Tall, but he didn’t say ‘6ft cos apparently that matters’. No pictures in Lederhosen or by someone else’s sports car. Zero requests for nudes or feet pics. In every shot he’s fully clothed. My freak siren was screaming.

“Even worse, he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me and ‘wants a monogamous relationship’. What unspeakable horror is this concealing? He’ll be asking me to shove a hairbrush up his arse on date one.

“He uses full sentences and correct spelling. How could he possibly be single? This is London. Any halfway normal man is chased by mobs of women the moment he leaves the house.”

Guido said: “Hannah’s right to be happy. I am in fact a 62-year-old about to interest her in an exciting crypto opportunity.”

GAS is rising. Diesel’s already unaffordable. The time has come for me to install a 249ft wind turbine in the garden of my new build.

Solar panels? For wimps. I might have been forced against my will to go green, but I’m not being wet and environmental about it. Besides, the sun never shines in this bloody country, apart from now but you get my point.

No, it’s a wind turbine, and if it’s going to power my gaff it’s going to have to be a f**king big one. There’s not a room without at least a 55-inch telly and we don’t turn them off.

Plus there’s three Range Rover Evoques – mine, the wife’s and the one for our 14-year-old to grow into – which are all going to have to go electric. They’ll be a serious drain, especially as we plan to leave them idling 24/7 once it’s free.

The garden’s not large, as I say it’s a new build, but we should be able to squeeze it in between the summerhouse, the decking, the hot tub and the brick pizza oven. Most of it’s height after all.

And as luck would have it I know a few of the lads who’ve been installing them and they’ll do it for mates’ rates. Can’t get me one that’s fallen off the back of a lorry though. Broken Britain.

Should be up by summer and I’ve told the neighbours they can piss off. You don’t need planning permission if it’s green, do you? And the blades are only 144 feet so they’ll easily clear the roofs.

Bollocks to Iran, Qatar and the whole Middle East. They’ve had enough of my money. I’m going self-sufficient in a big way. And if local kids shin up it trying to scrump my amperage I’ll be out here with a bloody cricket bat.