Week of 13/05/2007 - 1:00am to 20/05/2007 - 12:59am

Haha, those football fans, eh readers? Where better to find a group of cheeky individuals than on the terraces? Of course, since the Grange Hillsbrough disaster, terraces have been "disallowed" from Premier league football! They've been "sent off"! They've been "ruled offside"! They've been "caught having group sex in a hotel room with an underage girl, narrowly avoiding heavy jail time, some may say due to celebrity status"! Haha, but all jokes aside, football's a funny game! Actually, it's not, what's funny about it? Who invented the phrase it's a "funny game"? There's barely anything comical about it at all. Apart from Aston Villa's continued mediocrity, eh readers?! Nah, that's not funny either. Just incredibly dull. Imagine being an Aston Villa supporter. I'd rather wash my face with bees. Yeah, but all jokes aside though, here's some of the latest football chants hitting football stadia near you!

"Good decision, good decision, good decision Re-fer-eeeee!"

"And it's [Name of team], [Name of team] F.C.! They're 13th in the table, and not all that good really!"

"It's just like watching Grimsby, it's just like watching Grimsby, it's just like watching Grimsby..."

"Referee, referee, we disagree with your decision but respect your author-i-teeee!"

"Referee, referee, what you up to next Tuesday do you fancy going for a drink, oh well what about Saturday, I'll get my wife to knock some food up for yooooou."

Jim woke that morning to find the world changed. Since he was born, or at least since he could remember (he couldn't remember being born but sometimes said he could, to impress the kind people he hung around with - mainly people who were really impressed by feats of memory) he had wanted to go into space, and now that the world was changed, perhaps he would finally get his wish!

Unfortunately, the nature of the world's change was that it had stopped spinning. Space seemed further away than ever to Jim, despite in fact remaining exactly the same distance away. 100 miles or something. Jim was no scientist, which is why he had never got to go into space prior to this day.

Anyway, one thing led to another and basically they got the world spinning again with rockets or whatever (use your imagination) and Jim learned his lesson - he should have tried harder in science lessons at school. Next time you're in a school, think of Jim and smile, because you know not to make the same mistake.

THE END

Ron looked down at the radiator. He put his hand on it, and felt nothing. He slumped, pushed his back up against it, put his head in his hands and began to cry.

So there was this man, right? His name's not important. His name was Ian. It had long been Ian's ambition to visit a bread factory. Ian had a fascination - you could say he had an obsession, some kind of fetish, even - with bread. He loved bread in all its forms; raw bread! Partially baked bread rolls! And other types of bread too - even up to and including toast! As long as the toaster dial was set no higher than 3, of course.

Ian was the sort of man who would stand and stare in slack-jawed jealousy if somebody walked past him in the street eating a sandwich. Ian, he used to stride up to the counter in Greggs, and demand: "Give me a sandwich! I don't give two shits what's in the sandwich - I just want the fucking bread!". Ian could have saved a lot of money if he'd just have bought loaves of bread, instead of sandwiches. But we all have our foibles.

Imagine the look of surprise and delight on Ian's face when he received a letter from the bread factory, informing him that he had been selected to go on a tour of the bread factory! Go on - imagine it! Christ, he must have been happy! Ian liked bread, you see. He really really liked bread! Although that has already been covered.

Ian wondered why this invitation had arrived, apparently out of the blue. Could it, he wondered, be a sinister plot by the Bread Marketing Board (Bread Board for short), who had realised that they could no longer keep up with Ian's relentless appetite for bread, and had decided to do away with him before the bread supply/demand equilibrium was unbalanced too far - with catastrophic consequences? No. No, Ian decided. It was probably something to do with the dozens of letters which he had sent to the factory the other week, asking if he could have a look around (and maybe try a few samples - cheeky Ian!).

Well, the day of the great Bread Factory Visit arrived. Ian jumped out of bed, and had his usual breakfast (as it was a special day, he allowed himself extra thick slices of bread). He ran up the road to the bread factory, perched atop the hill like a bread-producing concrete goddess. "Finally!" thought Ian. "Finally I will find out the secrets of making bread! Perhaps - perhaps one day, I could even bake my own!". Ian, as you can probably tell, was a man with big plans.

As soon as the factory tour began, Ian was captivated. He found out that flour is used to make bread. "Well I never", thought Ian. "Flour! Who would have thought it!". He was right. It was a surprising thing for anybody to have thought, unless they had read a bread recipe or had even the most basic idea about baking. Alas, Ian had not, and did not. Ian and his guide rounded the corner to see the most beautiful sight - a spurting cascade of golden bread dough! Tumbling down, down, down, into a lake of pulsating raw bread!

Ian reached out his trembling hand in awe. But wait! His plastic Warburtons watch (£2.99 and 5 tokens from any Warburtons wrapper) was cruelly snatched from his wrist by an extra-large blob of dough which shot downwards and quickly out of sight. Ian thought the offending blob of dough looked suitable for a granary batch loaf, or maybe even six smaller rolls. Thinking about bread again, Ian almost didn't notice that he was sailing through the air - and into the lake of bread!

Ian loved that plastic watch. He loved it like his own brother. So when it left his wrist, Ian's body acted where his mind did not, and leapt over the barrier. After the watch. Down. Down. Ever further down. Ian was fucked.

"Nooooo! I don't knead this!" shouted Ian, laughing at his clever bread-related joke as he was mixed, folded and pressed into a uniform mass by the enormous bread-mixing machine.