We feel awful. Truly awful. However, we respect his request not to use his name, and will continue to use the name given to him by a Facebook group, The Man Whose Name is an Anagram of Go Wank.

We here at the Daily Shame had no intention of damaging his image and reputation, which we believe are both fully safeguarded by his excellent televisual entertainment programmes in which he tells women to be proud of their bangers. Women should be proud of their bangers, and The Man Whose Name is an Anagram of Go Wank continues to provide excellent, stimulating, televisual entertainment that allows women to be proud of their bangers. Being proud of your bangers is exactly what makes the great women of this great country great, even if those bangers are not particularly great.

British bangers have received a bad press in the past, and it is only now, thanks to The Man Whose Name is an Anagram of Go Wank, that women can be proud of unusually large and floppy bangers, bangers that give them backache, and even bangers that don’t look like bangers. He makes women feel good naked when they should feel really, really, horribly bad about it. He makes women want to take their clothes off when the truth is, they should be fully clothed, even when in the shower, for fear that an unsuspecting member of the public should walk unwittingly into the shower room by mistake and see her wobbly flesh and her unusual bangers. For that, The Man Whose Name is an Anagram of Go Wank should receive our utmost respect and thanks.

We would also like to thank The Man Whose Name is an Anagram of Go Wank for the moving, touching portrayal of the holocaust, in which he hosed down tens of naked women in an empty swimming pool, in an attempt to get rid of their makeup. No man has ever come this close to depicting the brutal horror of the holocaust. It makes our spoof article on The Man Whose Name is an Anagram of Go Wank all the more churlish in comparison.

We would also like to point out to The Man Whose Name is an Anagram of Go Wank, his fans, and the general public, that there is a disclaimer at the bottom of each page, pointing out that all of this is made up. Spoof. Fake news.

So in summary, we’re sorry. Very sorry.

“I’m all man,” said Hague. “And 100% at ease with my sexuality. I like a pint, and I also like the YMCA. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s fun to stay at the YMCA – you can get yourself cleaned, you can have a good meal, in fact, you can do whatever you feel. However, as a straight, woman-chasing, beer-swilling alpha male, it perhaps gave people the wrong impression.”

“I’d like to apologise to all my constituents – I have no need to feel down, I should pick myself up off the ground and remind myself there’s no need to feel unhappy.”

Hague’s team immediately organised some “manly” things for Hague to do, including participating in the annual “Yorkshire Puffter Hunt”, a traditional part of the calendar in Yorkshire, in which gay men are released onto the moors, and given a ten-minute head start before Geoffrey Boycott leads a pack of “real men” to hunt them down. This year’s event was notable for the inclusion of some non-Yorkshire gays for the first time, on the insistence of Mr Hague who wanted the Hunt to be more open to all races and religions.

Onlookers said that Hague was “perhaps getting into it too much”.

Julian, who runs the YMCA in Harrogate, said that he was delighted Mr Hague found the time to visit, adding “Mr Hague booked himself into a single bed and acted entirely properly and with dignity. He was in town for a Take That concert with his friend Gok Wan, and needed a place to stay.”

“He laughed out loud when he booked and reminded us all that he was 100% hetero and straight – which is cool with us – and said he might upgrade to a double if he bags himself a hot chick.”

“He didn’t.”

“Nobody should watch more than 5 minutes of BBC breakfast,” said Doctor Rosemary. “Any more than that is considered unhealthy by the majority of the doctors in this country. This case is particularly bad. We once had to treat a man who had sat through twenty minutes, and he believed that he was going to catch MRSA by midnight, go bankrupt by the end of the week and lose his job to an immigrant by the end of the month.”

BBC Breakfast officials have apologised for the man’s condition, and have sent a bouquet of black roses to his family with a card saying “you’re all going to die soon anyway”. Head of BBC programming, Klondike Elderflower, said that “BBC Breakfast is merely reporting what the public want to hear. They want to know about how they’re going to die, how they’re going to lose all their money, how the recession will never end, and how doctors are failing the public. They want to know how teachers are failing pupils and they want every piece of news to be based on some spurious research carried out by a medical journal.

“However, we don’t advise that they watch it for any more than 10 minutes at a time otherwise they’ll just want to kill themselves.”

The BBC Breakfast Fan Club has leapt to the defence of Bill Turnbull and Sian Williams. Fan Club Founder and leading Goth, Morris Seizure, told the Daily Shame that “without BBC Breakfast, life wouldn’t be worth living.”

He continued: “It’s factual, it’s entertaining, and it’s that potent mix of doom, gloom, idle chit-chat and shit weather that we really like. If these optimists can’t handle it, they should switch over to Adrian and Christine on ITV, or whoever it is. There’s nothing better than waking up in the morning and being told that everything is wrong.”

Holidaymakers are “furious” that the holiday firm has left them high and dry. Magaluf regular Harry “Hatchet” Nobbs said “this is digusting. I paid £34 for this holiday and I have every right to be flown back. I don’t care if they’re part of ABTA or not – the fact is, I’ve paid good money for my two weeks here in Magaluf – well, somewhere close to Magaluf – and the least they can do is get me home.”

Bazzo’s Holidays 4 U is Shytte-on-Sea’s largest online tour operator, employing 1 person out of number 32, Pratte Avenue, also listed as Barry “Bazzo” Barnstaple’s home address. The firm specialised in cheap holidays for under £50, a price that the Independent’s omnipresent travel expert Simon Calder said was “astronomical” given the quality of the holidays.

“Bazzo’s Holidays 4 U going under is a disaster for the tourism industry in Shytte-on-Sea,” spouted Calder. “There are literally tens of people who booked through Bazzo’s on a regular basis, paying several tens of pounds for holidays in places as far afield as Skegness-sur-Mer or Magaluf-on-Tyne. Ultimately, people are going to lose confidence in website-based tour operators who run their phonetically named businesses from their bedroom, and that is catastrophic for people who run phonetically named tour operations from their bedroom.”

Barnstaple was last night holed up in his bedroom at 32 Pratte Avenue, but issued a statement to reporters saying “Bazzo’s Holidays provided great value holidays for people who are seeking great value. By cutting out ABTA and all of the other regulations, checks and balances, as well as frills such as seats on flights, beds in hotels, that kind of thing, we can give our customers the holiday of their dreams for peanuts. So I’m kind of sorry for them that I – I mean, we, have ceased trading. But not much.”

Rival firm Dave’s Bonzer Holidays, based in nearby Botox-on-the-Wold, has offered to drive a coach to pick up the stranded holidaymakers. Dave, who runs Dave’s Bonzer Holidays (davesbonzerhols.biz), says that his mate Alan has “access” to a coach that he uses for his own business, Alan’s Coach Holz 4 U (alanscoachholz4u.info), and he would be “chuffed” to help out.

“It’s a sorry situation that Bazzo’s Holidays 4 U has gone bust,” said Dave. “People should still have the choice of going through an official tour operator, or a phonetically named one-man operation run from his bedroom. That’s what our ancestors fought for. So we’re giving it some Blitz spirit and we’re going to get these people back from the continent. And in future, they can come to Dave’s Bonzer Holidays for our special £25 fortnight in Corfu. Well, not quite Corfu. But somewhere close.”

The dirty Stones insisted: “We had no idea that receiving a supermodel was illegal, man. Charles just asked us to get her out of Africa, and we said – hey man, get your rocks off a minute, what’s this all about? She’s like, really hot and everything, but is this all legal? I mean we’re geriatric rock stars, man, we just do rock’n'roll, drugs, drink and light-hearted banter, not the illegal handling of stolen supermodels.”

“He said – woah dudes, chillax and smoke some dope baby, she’s totally legit and all that – 110% kosher and above board… just get her out of the country and I’ll give you all the drugs you can handle. So we were like – what’s the fuss man? We get drugs and a supermodel. Rock on!”

The illegal deal was struck after a weekend of partying in Sierra Leone, and the supermodel was smuggled out of the country with the two dirty Stones who allegedly “leered” at her throughout the whole journey, each taking turns to catnap while the other kept an eye on their latest gift. Sources close to the rock band say that they “knew receiving a supermodel from a tyrant was illegal”, adding “they were offered Sophie Dahl but turned her down because she’s put on too much weight.”

“They were showing her off at dinner parties and everything – Mick would delight in unveiling her and bragging about his brand new supermodel. We all knew he’d acquired her in some illicit activity – he always does. The next night she’d be out with Bill – this is very dodgy.”

The pair have refused to testify in court, saying that they could not afford to miss an episode of Countdown.

Dear Readers,

A few months ago, we posted an article which boldly claimed that Nick Clegg eats babies. In the article, we detailed at length how the Liberal Democrat leader and now Deputy Prime Minister would stalk the streets of Sheffield slavering at the chops in search of newborn blood.

We now realise that we were correct, and would like to apologise. The Daily Shame strives to make every effort to report lies, falsehood and exaggeration to satiate our readers’ lust for something other than the truth, and we regret that this aberration may tarnish our reputation for not telling the truth. We apologise wholeheartedly for any disappointment that our article back in April may have caused.

You see, we thought it would be funny. We thought it would be amusing to poke fun at the establishment’s scoriating tirade on a young man who speaks dangerous foreign languages and risked turning the General Election into something other than a Tory victory. We believed that by exaggerating the voracity of the establishment’s campaign against the Liberal Democrat leader, we would potentially amuse a few people. We had no idea that the accusations were true.

Nick Clegg does indeed eat babies, and he does indeed take part in Satanic rituals in which he worships the Lord Beelzebub. We also reported that he burns virgins on Hampstead Heath every Saturday night, and this is also unfortunately true. He also believes that British people should be thrown out of their own country and replaced with paedophile immigrant Muslims in burqas and Polish benefits claimants. We reported this believing it to be untrue, and we are shocked to discover that this is what he plans to unleash on the country.

Worst of all, however, we revealed that he ridiculously believed the war in Iraq to be illegal. What a nonce.

We have launched an internal investigation into these truthful reports, and can assure our loyal readers that in future, all sources will be rigorously checked for lack of facts, inaccuracy and shortage of detail. We have created a number of processes through which we will ensure that no truth whatsoever shall be reported on these pages, and once more, we are truly, very, deeply, horribly sorry.

Yours,

The Daily Shame

Slimline cat

Is it just me, or do vets not know their arses from their elbows these days? There I was, right, sat on the vet’s examination table – not a happy pussy, I tell you – and he’s banging on about how I’ve got furballs and wotnot. Furballs? Does NOBODY understand me? I’m bulemic, for the love of God. I eat, I puke, I stay slim. How else do you think I’ve got myself into this fine, slimline state? Furballs, indeed.

And what do my stupid owners do? They’re calling me “poor tiddles” and other such nonsense, and asking the vet if there’s anything he can give me. What next? Suppositories? What a joke. So apparently I’m on a prescription that they’re going to hide in my food that will break down the furballs and make them easier to expel. A prescription that I will eat, and oh yes I will eat it – looking happy as Larry – I might purr a bit – rub my face up against their legs to make them think they’ve done right by me, and then I’ll go and puke it up in the back garden.

You see, I’m a slimline cat. I’m not like those fat cats that loll around the back garden barely able to shift their huge girths so that they can catch a bird or a mouse or something. Nup, those fat cats get fed shitloads of sachet food whereas I’m a biscuits kinda guy. Or at least, I was a guy until they chopped my nads off. Now I’m a biscuits kinda eunech-cat. But I’m slimline and I’m staying that way. The girls like me that way, too. Not that I can do anything about it, but hey.

That’s why, whenever I eat something, I make sure that most of it comes right back up. And I’ve been doing it for months – nobody suspected a thing until my stupid owner’s five-year-old stupid child overheard me the other day. There I was, having a good old retch behind the bins, and she runs back in, yelling “Mr Tiddles is being sick! Mr Tiddles is being sick!”

So, naturally, I pegged it. Well what else does a cat do when its owners are coming for it? You run, don’t you. After all, being a slimline cat isn’t all vomiting and bulemia – there’s a lot of exercise involved too. So there I was, hiding out in the neighbours’ garage for a couple of days, and I thought to myself – hey, I can’t go vomming because they might hear me. So I had to hold back on the old bulemia – found myself putting on a few pounds, so I thought – what the heck, let’s have a puke. That’s when they caught me.

Oh, and they were all nice about it, too, stroking my head (God I hate that, you’d think that a wagging tail might be an indicator) and telling me that they’ve missed me. But what happened then? Straight to the man in white for a thermometer up the arse and the rather wild diagnosis that I have furballs.

Furballs, my arse.

Joseph Aboyomi won “Young Scammer of the Year” for his portrayal of the widow of the recently deceased King Moses Odiaka. The judges particularly praised his grit and determination, with a highly targeted Direct Mail campaign that reaped a 0.0001% conversion rate, and a return on investment of £300,000. As the widow of the recently deceased King Moses Odiaka, Aboyomi delighted critics. One said that “it was reminiscent of a young Julia Roberts, full of pathos and guile, a majestic performance,” while another said “Joseph captured that particularly unique combination of grief and neediness.”

“I can’t believe I’ve won Young Scammer of the Year,” beamed a tearful Joseph. “I’d like to thank my parents, who don’t know anything about this, and the good people in the Nigerian government who never do anything about scamming. Without them, none of this would have been possible.”

“Scam of the Year” went to Benny Ewome for his “Granny Sting”, which saw him scam more than twenty silver surfers in the UK within one week. In fact, at one point, Benny even had two grandmothers scamming the others for him, something that took even him by surprise:

“I didn’t think it would pay off,” said Ewome. “But after I’d cleared out their bank accounts, they set about clearing the bank accounts of other grannies. It was almost a pyramid scheme, I guess. Perhaps this will be the model for scamming in the future – who knows? I’ve made myself over half a million with this scam, and it could change the game forever, so yes, I’m pleased with the award. Now I just sit back and watch the money pour in.”

Judge Aiyegbeni Modu said that this year’s scammers were some of the best he’s ever seen, adding: “The quality is very high. Very high indeed. We have seen many great ways of using ebay, gumtree or local classifieds sites, and some brilliant e-mails. One of my favourites was a young man who managed to juggle about fifty different characters. In fact, he was the guy who convinced Billy Crystal to come and host the Scammies, and he’s wiped out his bank account too! A rising star, one might say.”

However, the most emotional moment of the night was reserved for Mrs Mollycoddled, of Norwich, who won “Lifetime Achievement Award” for what the judges call her “unswerving dedication to paying Nigerian scammers for anything and everything”. Mrs Mollycoddled, who is often used by first-time scammers for training purposes, has given up almost every spare penny she has to Nigerian scammers, and was unable to attend the awards ceremony due to not knowing about it. However, scammers have installed a webcam in Mrs Mollycoddled’s living room, and the 5,000-strong audience gave her a tearful, standing ovation as she pottered around making a cup of tea.

“My visit to India comes at a time of grave importance,” beamed Hague. “We need to take firm action against these restless natives, otherwise we’ll lose the Empire, don’t you know! 13 years of Labour has effectively lost us control of the British Empire!” Hague then beckoned to one of his man servants to peel him a grape, while another knelt down in front of him to act as a table. He continued, grape in mouth:

“India is of huge strategic value to the Empire, so it is vital that we quell this highly unusual thirst for personal and individual success that they seem to have gained during Labour’s control, and get them back to being completely and utterly servile in the name of the Queen and myself. These days, they have no respect! I walked down a high street in Delhi, and nobody got out of my way! People were bumping into me or trying to sell me stuff.

“I’m Lord Viceroy of India, Preserver of the Taj Mahal and a few other things, I can’t quite remember the full title right now… in the good old days, they’d have been bowing down in front of me!”

Hague’s visit to India has been mired in controversy from the start. The Foreign Secretary stepped off the plane at Indira Ghandi International Airport wearing a safari suit and sporting a rifle, which was immediately seized by what Hague calls “disrespectful” customs officials. Hague then proceeded to berate airport officials for failing to shine his shoes, and asked for one to be sacked because he was speaking on his mobile phone instead of kow-towing to the new Lord Viceroy of India, Preserver of the Taj Mahal, First Marquess Hague of Madras and Imbiber of Kingfisher.

“The Lord Viceroy is very angry,” said Hague’s adviser Ronseal Barrowthorpe III of Basingstoke. “The locals are out to get him. Last night, he tried to order a Chicken Balti, and nobody had a clue what he was talking about. They were definitely pretending. Everyone knows what a Balti is. Lord Hague is furious that the Labour Government has let the Empire slip through our fingers to such an extent. We have had 13 years of Tony Blair and Gordon Brown, and the Empire has gone to the dogs under Labour.”

Hague’s team have been trying to arrange a tribal dance for the Lord Viceroy to attend, in an attempt to appease him. Locals, however, are confused: “Who is this funny little white man?” said Arun, a multi-millionnaire from Bombay.

“It’s disgusting,” spat Cameron, before calling his butler for a mint julep. “Setting up a tribute page for someone who set up a tribute page for a murderer is probably worse than murder itself. In fact, it’s worse than homicide. The person who set up this tribute page to Siobhan O’Dowd is a sicko. Plain and simple, and if I see a tribute page to the man who set up the tribute page to the woman who set up the tribute page for Raoul Moat, I’ll ask the public to create a new law.”

Nick Clegg said something similar but nobody really cares anymore. At the same time, Facebook released a press statement saying that “it’s a social networking site”, before adding, “live with it.”

Ramshackle Armstrong, the man who set up the tribute page to Siobhan O’Dowd, is currently in hiding after vigilante gangs threatened to tear him limb from limb. Daily Mail reader Barry Monculpue travelled 182 miles to batter the crap out of the man who set up a tribute page to the woman who set up a tribute page to Raoul Moat.

“I’ll eat him alive,” dribbled Monculpue. “That sick, sick bastard. Now I’m no racist, but I’d rather have immigrant paedos in burquas come over here and burgle us senseless, steal our jobs and turn us into a Muslim Nazi state than sickos like this bastard. We’re not safe as long as he’s alive.”

Armstrong’s last Facebook message before he took flight was a conciliatory one, saying “I do not condone setting up a tribute page to a murderer, nor do I condone setting up a tribute page to a woman who set up a tribute page to a murderer. It’s a bad thing to do and I’m very sorry.”

The Siobhan O’Dowd tribute site currently has approximately 4 members.