Written by JP Johnston

Thursday, 9 July 2009

image for Police: Prescott Tapped Calls "Nauseating"
"Huh? This is the White House, not the Kebab Pyramid."

London, England - Police have described the tapping of the mobile phones of John Prescott, former New Labour Deputy, by News International Journalists as "Nauseating. Against all moral laws." Thousands of phones belonging to politicians, entertainers, and even Royals have been hacked, but so far only Prescott's words have been released.

In January this year, in a conversation with a close contact, he said, "And plenty of fookin' gravy on them chips, you understand? I want them fookin' soaked. You southern buggers don't have a clue how to do chips."

In March, in conversation with an old party comrade from the beer putsch days he said, "You fancy goin' half on a Chinese? We could eat it in the Jag. But no ribs. Me fookin' upholstery won't take it. And no sweet and sour sauce. Come on."

Tellingly, back in June 2007, he had a huge argument with his New Labour nemesis, Peter Mandleson. "I did not have the fookin' prawns. Yer a money grabbin' southern posh poofter. You always fookin' do this. I had the chicken, the char siu, the beef curry, the spring rolls, and the fookin' won ton soup, but no prawns passed me lips all night."

Predictably there were the tearful late night calls to close friends. "Jimmy, mate, I need you. Bring me grey suit trousers, I've shat myself in the Nag's Head and I can't come out the bogs. I thought it was safe, but it come out runny."

A police spokesman said, "We have never heard of anything on this scale before. The list goes on and on. Several officers have had to be removed from the case, the details are so disturbing. Pies, Chinese, Indian, Thai, chips and beer, beer, beer. A whole huge can of worms has been opened, but we don't know if he finished it."

Mr Prescott said today, "I'm disgusted by this intrusion. I could only manage a 16 inch. Are you the pizza man? If yer not, you better fook off."

I took the hint. He was looking at me like I was a cooked chicken.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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