Shagnasty's January 2002 "The POC"
Issue Twenty Two (22)	Release Date: 1st January 2002		© PenisOwner.com 1996-2002
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A note from your Editor, Shagnasty:

...and another year starts... and what better way to commence a new one that to have a quick look-see at the last, especially as I have been far to busy consuming booze, mince pies and large game birds to actually write any original material. So as is traditional on The POC I present some of my personal favourite bits from last years editions, just in case you might have missed them like... Enjoy...

Your regular contributors, as always are: -

Shagnasty	Demonic Dave	Tangent Man
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Enjoy!

Shagnasty's Two-Word Revue: The year commenced with my being taken to see the great man himself, Tom Jones. His extreme Welsh-ness left me perplexed.

Shagnasty's Hospital Report: 2001 started in hospital for me - following the well publicised attempt on my life by Rolf Harris - I was given the full treatment. Now you get the same.

Shagnasty's Agony Aunt Service: A sample of my services to women everywhere.

Guide to the Terrifying English Countryside: 2001 was in the UK the year of Foot & Mouth, pah, that's nothing. You should see what else lurks in the gardens of England.

Shagnasty's Stag Report: One of my favourite events of 2001 was the POC outing that was the Stag Night of James. A report was published in Aprils edition, again here it is.

Demonic's Religious Comment: Back in May 2001 Demonic passed on his advise regarding suitable lairs baddies may wish to consider when preparing for world domination. Ok, so the caves of Tora-Bora were omitted but he got the rest right now didn't he.

Shagnasty's Perfect Moment: I had more than my share of perfect moments during 2001 - perhaps the most memorable for me was this one. Due mainly to the large number of tits involved I have to confess!

Rolf Harris: OK, so he did try to blow me away with a large calibre machine gun, but he's still a top bloke and no look at 2001 would be complete with the Rolf not present now would it. Lets revisit one of his past great works.

War: Obviously 2001 featured a fair bit or warfare - but were we really attacking the nations that deserved it - I made some alternative suggestions back in November.

Readers Feedback: Your comments in print.

Sponsors: Another name for advertisements people, well you can't blame me for trying can you?

Monthly thought: -

Funky-see, Funky-Do (I did!)

Shagnasty's Two-Word Review
Tom Jones in concert

"He's Welsh"

Well what can I say? Tangent Man had bought me tickets to see the great man live. The night came and we set off. Demonic was there too but as he stated that he intended to stand at the front of the audience with his back to the stage brandishing a huge net to catch as many knickers as he could, we elected to sit apart. The lights burnt on to the stage and Tom entered, I nearly swooned, despite the fact that he's Welsh.

The opening number being fast and soulful his skin tight pants and skin tight hips commenced making love to thin air with an eagerness I would be hard pressed to match if I were in the showers with the over 16's Sussex ladies hockey team, again! The man put me to shame, despite the fact that he's Welsh.

Mercifully and eventually the intermission came and my beating heart made the most of its brief reprieve. There I stood in the foyer enjoying a Marlboro, repeating over and over, "but he's Welsh".

All too soon the sound of music crept to my smoking spot and the smooth tones of Tom and "The Green Green Grass of Home" oozed over the audience lulling them into a wholly unprepared state as "what's new pussy cat" was used like a funky club against funky seal clubs, we were knocked physically backwards with the energy, even though he's Welsh.

Just as I thought that it would never end the mighty Tom declared good night to all and left stage right. There I stood with thousands of others begging at the top of our voices for a Welsh man to come back into the room! Then, just as our cries were starting to appear forlorn, Tom re-entered, and I was glad, even though he's Welsh.

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Shagnasty's
"Hospital Report"
I learnt a valuable lesson whilst in, as usual I share...

As you are all aware I was hospitalised for the best part of January following the attempt on my life on Boxing Day. The emergency services of the great city of London sprang into action and I was rushed into The Royal Chelsea Hospital where, after checking that my penis wasnt bigger than his, the eminent brain surgeon Dr Alfonso began his work. He operated for 19 hours before declaring my condition to be "funky, but stable", for the first time some might say!

I would take this opportunity to thank the multitude that amassed outside of the hospital and burnt candles for 15 days and nights awaiting my return to good health. Likewise the thousands of cards and presents I received provided me with much needed cheer, I'd like to particularly thank the person who thought to send me copies of Swank and Rubber & Barbed Wire Monthly!

There was however a dark element to my time in hospital, the visiting politicians. It would appear to be the case that in the event of a national tragedy, disaster, plane crash etc they creep out of the woodwork and into the wards with camera crews and reporters falling out of every pocket. You cease to be a patient and become a photo opportunity. As a result therefore I suggest that you adopt my policy and just like the UK's organ donor system you..."Carry The Card".
Yes people, don't let yourself fall to these vultures, let your relatives know your wishes. Just print these cards out and after signing laminate together and keep in your wallet at all times. Just as I now do.

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Shagnasty's Agony Aunt Services
We have all seen the Agony Aunt sections in women's magazines, they bleat on about their partners or perhaps their hair or the size of their arse. Some sad old lady who spends far too much time in her own anal world then pours out advice like gravy for her grandchildren's dinner. Whilst I don't really have a problem with people wishing to seek advice in this way I am concerned that the advice that they are given doesn't often reflect the whole truth. Aunties everywhere take note, I Shagnasty receive many such letters and answer them all truthfully and without bias. I offer a few examples below (the names have been changed to protect the ladies concerned). You will note that some of the boxes are coloured pink, this is to make it easier for the ladies to read and clearly demonstrates my deep knowledge of the female mind.
Dear Shagnasty My husband goes out every Friday night drinking with his friends and doesn't come home until very late; he is also nearly always drunk. What can I do? Yours Mrs Wilson ============== Dear Mrs Wilson This aspect of your husband's behaviour is perfectly normal, he does it because he loves you so much, it should be actively encouraged. It is a little known secret that most men actually gather on Friday nights to tell each other how wonderful their partners are. They force themselves to have this time away from you so as they may fully appreciate you upon their return. If he returns home drunk this will be because the pain of being parted from you was so great that he turned to drink. I suggest that you cook him a nice meal and buy him an expensive present.	Dear Shag (Can I call you Shag?) My husband demands oral sex nightly, is this normal? Yours Mrs Maxy ============= Dearest Mrs Maxy, yes you can call me Shag. It might surprise you to know that oral sex is in fact very painful for a man and your husband is making a great sacrifice in allowing you to perform this on him so often. I would also advise you that semen is not only great tasting it contains only a few calories this is in fact your man's way of making sure that you receive sufficient sustenance without gaining weight, it also contains excellent moisturising properties, so if he chooses to aim it in your face this is more evidence of his consideration towards you. Your husband obviously loves you a great deal, I suggest that you cook him a nice meal and quietly continue to allow him to suffer orally when he chooses. Don't mention this aspect of his behaviour to your girlfriends, they will only be jealous.
Dearest Mr Nasty My husband says that he wants a three-in-a-bed romp with my Sister; I don't want to do this but don't know how to tell him. From Mrs Kirk =========== My dear Mrs Kirk It is clear to me that your husband loves you a great deal. So much in fact that he wants more of you and is suggesting the next best thing, your sister. I suggest that you allow him to honour you in this way and if your mother is still attractive get her involved too. If they will not agree then he may settle for nude photos of them instead, arrange this if you can. It might also be a good idea to cook him a nice meal and buy him an expensive present in return for his obvious devotion to you.	Dear Shagnasty I have been married to the same man for nearly 15 years and have never had an orgasm. Is there something wrong with him? From Mrs Levey ============ Dear Mrs Levey There is no such thing as the female orgasm, this is a myth propagated by man-hating feminist lesbians. Normal and fulfilling sex is where the man comes within a few minutes and immediately rolls over and goes to sleep. Farting afterwards should be interpreted as still more evidence of his overwhelming love for you. You should really cook him a nice meal and buy him an expensive present.
Dear Shagnasty My husband wants to film us both having sex, I'm not happy with this idea, as he has recently purchased hundreds of blank tapes and video reproduction equipment. Yours Mrs Prentigast ================ Dear Mrs Prentigast This is simply because your husband wants to enjoy you when you are not there for him, it's a sign of his considerable love for you. As far as the blank tapes are concerned I would think that your husband merely wants to help with the family budget by offering them for sale at boot fairs. I think that as your husband is obviously a very considerate man you should do your part by agreeing to his suggestions, you might want to help further by filming yourself in the shower whilst he's away at work. You are a lucky woman; show your appreciation by cooking him a nice meal and buying him an expensive present.	Dear Shagnasty My man has suggested that I get a boob job, I'm upset that he doesn't find me attractive as I am. Yours Mrs Harvey ============== Dear Mrs Harvey You are mistaken, your man obviously thinks that your breasts are magnificent and therefore wants to enjoy more of them. You should immediately agree to his suggestion and further may want to consider paying for the operation yourself as your man has paid you such a great compliment. Ensure that you let him appreciate your new breasts as much as you can by serving his meals topless, you may want to consider also wearing roller blades to further enhance his enjoyment of the woman he obviously loves so dearly. Oh yeah, buy him an expensive present too.
Dear Shagnasty My husband only has a small Penis and doesn't satisfy me. He hasn't said anything, shall I? From Mrs Baker ============ Dear Mrs Baker No! I think its highly unlikely that the cause would be your husbands Penis size. It's more likely to be the case that your own genitals are deformed and enlarged making your husbands Penis appear to be smaller than it actually is. Never discuss this subject with your Husband as his own silence clearly demonstrates his consideration for your deformity, similarly do not mention this to any of your girlfriends as they will immediately be alerted to your unfortunate physical state. Your condition is not uncommon and many women take to performing oral sex more regularly as a result. You may also wish to stimulate yourself with extra large sex toys that are available for people with a handicap such as yours. It might also be a good idea to video yourself whilst doing this and sell the tapes at a local boot fair to assist with the family budget, your husband is married to a freak after all and it's the least that you could do. You should cook your husband a nice meal and be thankful that at least one of you is normal.	Dear Shagnasty My husband in uninterested in foreplay? From Mrs Black ============ Dear Mrs Black Foreplay is very hurtful for a man. What it means is that you do not love your man as much as you should - he has to work a lot to get you in the mood. Abandon all wishes in this area and concentrate on making your love-making sessions as efficient for him as possible. You may wish to purchase several crutch-less knickers and wear them always so you will be better prepared to allow your man to demonstrate his great love for you whenever he feels that it is appropriate. Some practice standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes whilst he loves you might not go amiss either. You are indeed fortunate that your man is happy to show his love for you without the need for any false and unnecessary gestures beforehand, I'd cook him a nice meal and buy an expensive present as a sort of thank you.
Dear Shagnasty My husband doesn't know where my clitoris is From Mrs Lou =========== Dear Mrs Lou Your clitoris is of no concern to your husband. If you must mess with it do it in your own time. To help with the family budget you may wish to video yourself whilst doing this and sell the films at the local car boot sale to ease your selfish guilt. I think an expensive present for him may be appropriate in this case.	Dear Shagnasty My husband still pines for his old girlfriends? I'm afraid he will not be faithful. From Mrs Arnott ============= Dear Mrs Arnott A man's capacity to love is boundless. It has been proven to increase with the number of sexual partners that he has. Thus, by having a few other women your partner is really increasing his love for you. Strangely however the exact reverse is true for the women, this phenomum is yet to be explained. The best thing to do is buy him an expensive present and cook him a nice meal.
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"The Terrifying English Countryside"

OK, so by now the rest of the world must be laughing itself silly at our feet and mouths, or to be more specific the Foot & Mouth that appears to be charging across the British Countryside in reckless abandon being rather forlornly chased my members of the agricultural community armed with "humane killing devices" (someone please explain?) and lighting the largest barbeques that the UK has ever seen. And you thought that the British Countryside was a nice safe place didn't you, well read on people, we have more horrors you know...
The day tripping American can scarcely move under the weight of the equipment he carries. If he ever hauls his lard-ridden body more then ten feet from the car my trans-Atlantic cousin will be packing a rifle, flares, emergency rations, bug juice and eagle repellent. That's because, as the yanks love to boast, they don't have countryside they have "wilderness" where violent death is just a bears breath away. Aussies are the same, blathering on about the "outback" and its man-eating reptiles, killer spiders and poisoned creeks. In fact, wherever you go ion the world you're told that merely straying off the path would be about as conducive to good health as a rummage through your doctor's wastebasket. But even little old Blighty (err, that's the UK people!), will kill you given half the chance. True with our density of pubs and teashops you're unlikely to dehydrate on a nature ramble. Buts that not to say we don't have our own share of hell on this green and pleasant land
TICKS Britain's photogenic badgers, otters, squirrels and livestock are crawling with ticks, in whose veins can be found literally dozens of species of deadly parasite. A friendly pat of a sheep could result in the bloodsuckers making their home on you - and passing on Rickettsiosis, royal farm virus or the fearsome Omsk Haemorrhagic fever. Sounds nasty eh. Most prevalent however, is Lyme's Disease. The bacteria behind the desiese is now found on ticks on more than 100 British mammals, birds and reptiles. A rash soon develops into cardiac and neurological complications, and several hundred cases were reported last year. [SN - Yeah OK, it isn't exactly the most fearsome thing to look at, but pretty nasty nevertheless]	Wild Boars Native across the British Isles until hunted to near extinction the 17th century, these killers of the pig world are making a comeback in Kent and East Sussex having escaped from farms and a date with the sausage factory. Aggressive, strong and with no fear of humans thanks to their farmyard upbringing (a bit like a Welshman), up to 300 hogs have established breeding colonies across the South-East, where they run in packs and sharpen their eight inch tusks against tree trunks. [SN - Getting better eh, look at that boy. You wouldn't want to meet him on a dark Kent night now would you?]
Farms Shotgun-ridden workplace for the farm hand, deadly adventure playground for the young, farmyards kill a person every week in the UK. Crushed by tractors, electrocuted by fences, drowned in slurry, and suffocated in grain silos, the causalities mount up. Even cattle can kill; last year a bull gored to death the 85-year-old farmer who'd raised it as a calf, while the bacteria which causes foul Weil's disease lurk in unpasteurised milk. Also found in streams, where its deposited in rats urine, Weil's disease affects several hundred people a year, causing jaundice fever and bleeding. One in ten victims never recover. [SN - and least we forget that you should you accidentally stray on to a farm the cry "Get orf moi laaaand" is normally followed by two quick shotgun blasts from the local Farmer Palmer]	Adders Shy and reclusive for most of the year, in spring Britain's only native poisonous snake is all too feisty, as it wakes from its winter slumber and looks for tasty mice, voles and snakes of the opposite sex. Quite how it tells the difference is beyond me, but I guess they kinda know! Adders take a lump out of more than 100 people each year, but ironically your real trouble will begin at the cottage hospital to which you lug your nausea ridden, aching body. Nursing staff rarely has experience of treating snakebites, and half the 12 fatalities in recent years have been caused by incorrectly administering anti-venom. Incidentally don't try and suck the poison out, it'll just make your lips fall off! [SN - I do have to admit that the fact that the nurses treating Adder bites kill more people than the snakes themselves does somewhat take the edge off this one, but I'm doing my best with what I have to work with]
Fungi A few days of rain and the woods are crawling with hippies and students, grubbing around for handfuls of mind-expanding mushrooms. But if any Amanita Phalloides should go into the soup, the only trip they will make is to the morgue. Our very own "death cap" first induces dizziness and difficulty in breathing, followed by violent vomiting and Cholera-like diarrhoea ("evil smelling and abundant" says my text book - mercy!). Deceptive remissions can occur, but cardiovascular collapse is likely within six days. Even many so-called "edible" fungi require prolonged boiling to prevent poisoning, while wild toadstools suck heavy metals and radioactive particles out of the air with frightening efficiency. [SN - Look at the picture, now doesn't that just have "eat me" written all over it?] So there you go, ok, ill admit that its not quite as scary out there as I first thought, indeed a night drinking down The Old Kent Road probably contains more horrors than the English Countryside. No! Wait. I'd forgotten what started this discussion haven't I, BSE and Foot & Mouth. Beat that my colonional friends if you can.
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"The POC People Hit The Beer"

Take a collection of gentlemen, all of whom have received reasonable education, indeed some of whom attended the finest schools in the country. All work for a living holding responsible positions, providing for their families and generally going about their daily lives in a law abiding and respectful manner.
Take these people, say 16 in total, place them in a mini-bus and label the journey a "stag-do" and you are guaranteed public urination and vomiting, rowdy and uncouth behaviour, endless disrespect for all that they meet, nudity, childish giggling, excessive drinking and or smoking and bad dress sense. During the course of the day and on into the night they commence a decent into depravity of such a horrific nature that it makes Dante's Inferno seem like a travel guide.

This people, is the British Stag-Do, magnificent!

Or more specifically this is the stag do that I, Tangent Man, Demonic Dave and Filth McNasty attended last month. The event was being held in honour (or mourning depending on your view point) of James who is getting married soon. Other than the POC contingent in attendance were James, obviously, my brother who was dressed alarmingly like a member of some sickly boy band, Cavey, a Scotsman, an Irish man and a collection of other individuals some of whom I knew others I didn't, but do now!

The day commenced with a mini-bus drive into the British countryside, which other than a debate in the morning revolving around my refusing to walk to the bus, was uneventful. Hey, isn't that what a bloody bus is for?
We were driven by a nice man, who I knew would soon come to hate us all, but nevertheless he delivered us safe and sound to the location of our chosen morning activity, shooting things! Now I am aware that some of the readers will be from America where shooting things is a daily activity and holds no fascination for you but here in the UK we don't do a lot of that sort of thing, so the novelty remains. Indeed most of our party had never held a gun in their lives, myself included.

Acutely aware that Demonic Dave was amidst our ranks I entered the shooting place with some trepidation to be greeted by a rather rustic looking chap who was immediately transfixed by my dark shades. I think that he found the sight of someone wearing dark shades so early in the morning, and indoors, unusual. He clearly failed to appreciate that it was for these very reasons that they were being worn in the first place. Silly man!

"Oh, I Like the porn star shades" he said.
"That's nothing mate, you should see my cock" was the reply that accompanied my broad grin and furiously wriggling eyebrows.

The tone of the day had been set, and I felt proud that of the 16 of us, it had been I that had struck the first blow.

Clay pigeon shooting was fun, even though we were all kind' a crap at it with one or two notable exceptions. It has to be said though that awards and acknowledgement in the following categories are due: -

Best Shooter: - James. (Not the Stag James, he was shit, this is another guy of the same name.) The proficiency displayed by James in fact did not impress me but rather caused me to have concerns as to where he might have developed such skills. I made a mental note to ring Special Branch on my return to London.
Best shouter of the word "Pull": - Demonic Dave. Dave issued forth his "Pull" with a command and a level of confidence that could only be attained after years of practice. The fact that he too has never been shooting before leaves me to but wonder to whom in his private world he shouts pull and to what he may be referring.
Worst Shouter of "Pull": - Without rival Cavie, known to his mother as Simon. Cavie managed to dribble "Pull" from his lips like Snagglepus, it's frankly a miracle that the clays flew at all and didn't just drop from the machine saying "Pardon mate, what was that, did you say something?" His inability to utter this simple phrase had a terrible effect on his shooting also as with each feeble attempt 15 blokes behind him would burst into uncontrollable laughter and manic ridicule, which he claims put him off. I laughed so much at one point that I had to wipe the tears from my shades. Yes, I was still wearing them.

Ok, things having been shot at, and in the most part missed we were on the move. Mind you there are a few trees in those woods that won't forget the day that Shagnasty came'a'callin with his shotgun I can tell you.

On to the next activity, Go-Karting, via a pub of course. Wouldn't want to operate anything with an engine without some

beer inside us now would we. Being held in a disused warehouse the go-karting wasn't bad at all, a reasonable track, acceptable karts and rather snug fitting overalls being provided we were a happy bunch. After a lecture from the guy running the establishment and a walk around the track discussing safety and track rules I think that he found us all to be - well arseholes really. I think that was the word that he used.

I'm told after the event that there was some sort of points system in use during the karting event, I can't say that I noticed. I was far too preoccupied with watching Filth McNasty who appeared to have mistaken go-karting with the lads for his first driving test. He dawdled around the track at a sedate 10-15Mph looking disapprovingly at those who rushed past him. The word "Granny" is an insult to all senior citizens who hold a license.

Demonic Dave had never held a steering wheel in his life, normally being one of four horsemen I suspect, with the inevitable consequences. Tangent Man protested that the mass ratio sub-equation of his fuel tank in relation to the thrust and force generation potential of the combustion device were not sufficient to produce the required forward velocity. In other words, his belly was too bloody big for the go-cart to drag around the track at any speed.

Awards for go-karting are as follows: -
Hardest braking on corners: - Tangent Man. Tangent insisted on stamping on his brakes on entering every corner.
Hardest Rear-End ram: - Shagnasty into Tangent. See above!
Driving like a bloody girl: - Filth McNasty

Oh yeah James won by the way.
(Picture: - You've heard of The Right Stuff? Behold, The Collection of Crap!)

The karting done it's back to the mini-bus for the drive back to town. This should have been a simple journey

where we all caught a bit of rest, oh no, not on our mini-bus. We decided to generate large volumes of steam from under the bonnet and then come to a halt on the side of a bloody steep motorway where other vehicles charged past us speeds well in excess of 80-90Mph. After a strange debate in which some of our party actually wanted to remain within the sardine tin like death-trap that our bus had become, those sat at the back, myself included, eventually won the day. I learnt that my powers of persuasion increase significantly when the chances of having some bloody car collide with my butt do likewise.

We decided that the best course of action would be to make the driver run up the motorway dancing between the racing cars in search of water, and as there were 16 of us, he agreed. Eventually returning alive and possessing fluids we moved on. Demonic managed to find an animals skull whist we were waiting for the water, which impressed us all. Knowing him better than most I suspect that he may have had it with him all the time, but I can't prove it.

Ablutions were conducted in record time with shits, showers and shaves all being completed in record time ready for the night out. My brother's boy band image took more than his allotted time but as Tangent stated that he "required no external attention" and therefore took no time at all, it all evened out in the end.

Another mini-bus ride to Dartmouth and our nominated eating-house. Food was good; we had a private room allotted to us to keep us away from the other diners, and with the exception of one poor chap who we noted had a comedy beard segregation was maintained to the benefit of all concerned. After dinner entertainment was provided by one of our party who demonstrated some strange deformity on his arm, which was essentially a wart like growth that he was able to move, lovely eh. The eating done we tipped the poor suffering waitress well, all except Cavie that is, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest his armpits, the tight bugger, and we moved to the bar.

In the bar the English skill known as the Yard-Of-Ale was admirably demonstrated by James. This involves drinking from a large glass tube with a bowl located at the bottom. The design is such that done correctly the beer will, at one point; rush

down the tube and up both nostrils of the drinker. James didn't disappoint and his conk was soon awash with fizzy fluids. Great!

Several beers and several moonies (the great British tradition of showing another person your bare arse) later we were again on the move, this time to someone's home, the fool. En route a quick stop at a public lavatory, otherwise described as "a wall".

Arriving at the house more drinking commences and a decent into slow motion begins with all becoming less and less active, this is conversely accompanied with the talking of more and more shit. There was a point however when it was discovered that one amongst us was what we call a "Sweaty Sock" a Jock, a Scotsman no less. Nobody is really certain how he managed to infiltrate our ranks but once exposed we took immediate action in the form of a close-range fart into his sleeping head. Most appropriate I think you will agree.

It is at this point that I find myself unable to continue as my own personal recollection of events wanes, indeed my last memory is the image below being that of Tangent and Demonic and some bloody big dog that I don't recall having come with us. Looking at it now I cant decide if its post coital or if Demonic is attempting

some form of Vulcan mind meld with the K9. Either way I find it as disturbing now as I did then. I think it's the reason that my mind and body elected to go into stand-by, not rebooting until the next day.

Roll on the next outing I say, as it was indeed fun.

(Note: - The picture of Tangent and Demonic has not been altered. Tangent is often found to be somewhat out-of-phase with the rest of the world, and Demonic, well, he just looks like that! Sorry!)

(I guess you had to be there to fully appreciate some of it)

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Demonic Dave's Religious Comment.

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"Evil Lairs for evil people!"
OK, you've been reading my piece for a few months now and you should be starting to get a bit more evil than you were at the beginning.
Well, no self respecting evil-doer would be without a secret lair from where you can conduct your evil deeds. Lets take a look at a few possibilities shall we my fellow bastards?

Demonic operates outside of the control of the POC, he alone is responsible for his comments.

Medieval Castle
One of the most popular lairs for evil-doers has always been the medieval castle. It's got atmosphere, it's desolate, and inspires terror in peasants and medieval townsfolk everywhere. You can stock your castle with all the basic amenities, including portcullis, moat, boiling oil, and gargoyle statues that come to life. Many castles also commonly come with an armoury for outfitting your minions, as well as a torture chamber we are sure you will find most useful. If you are an evil-doer who likes languishing upon a throne condemning innocent souls to a terrible fate, then a castle might just be the choice for you.
Giant Corporate Tower
The corporate skyscraper is another excellent base of operations, and one that is being seen with increased frequency these days. Perfect for company scheming and insider trading, this sinister abode will provide you a world within a world you can completely control. The workers can be beaten down and demoralized as they toil in a honeycombed maze of cubicles, and your network of security cameras will eliminate any sense of privacy that may have once been felt. Furthermore, the sheer height of the tower can serve as an intimidation measure, as there is no more oppressive feeling than standing beneath a structure so tall it literally bends over you. Why not choose a corporate tower today?
Underground Secret Headquarters of Doom
Perhaps what you're looking for is a gigantic underground complex housed miles beneath the earth's crust. To the untrained eye it looks nothing more than an isolated building in the middle of nowhere, but should you take the secret elevator within then all becomes horribly revealed. A diabolical lair of a demented madman, filled with doomsday machines and terrible devices. The sprawling expanse should provide ample room for the creation of your robot army, and the cryogenic tubes are useful for freezing yourself to awaken in a new and better world. Popular for their isolation from humanity as well as their 'only a madman could live here' feel, a subterranean lair may be right for you.
Abandoned Church
The more atmosphere-oriented evil-doer may want to consider the possibility of an abandoned church. Besides the innate irony of such a locale, these former holy grounds can actually make quite sinister bases of operations. The entrance can be adorned with an upside-down and bleeding crucifix, and further investigation can reveal blasphemous altars, sex chambers, and insane cultists trying to bring about the return of unspeakable gods. Many churches are also built upon the ruins of old pagan temples, which may possess ancient tunnels leading to any number of lost civilizations. If heresy and sacrilege make you tingle, then you may want to purchase an abandoned church today.
Fake Mountain
The fake mountain with a hollow interior is yet another site often used by evil geniuses. While on the outside it looks like any other mountain, with the flip of a switch you can transform it into a deadly fortress of doom! Where once stood rock can now stand rocket turrets, as the front opens up to reveal missile launchers and powerful artillery cannons. The central base can easily house your armies of destruction, and the whole thing folds up quite nicely when you are done playing with it. The only caveat with the fake mountain is that you should not place it in the middle of cities. They are for some reason too often noticed there.
Desert Island
Perfect for the evil-doer in need of a vacation, the desert island is an wonderful site for corporate headquarters and secret lairs. The scenic locale is ideal for greatly relieving your stress levels while at the same time providing an earthly paradise to destroy and despoil. Island natives are quite common on these, thus giving you a people to torment as well as rule over like a god. These places are also quite good for the creation of mutant races, in particular when you're played by Marlon Brando. If you've had it up to here with the hustle and bustle of city life and want something new, then you may want to consider this exotic alternative.
Amusement Park
Amusement parks are an especially fun-filled type of lair that have been treasured by super villains for decades. The décor can easily be transformed into a carnival of horrors, with the roller coasters becoming death machines, fun houses filled with booby traps, and a hall of mirrors at the end for confronting the heroes. You can also theme the park any way you choose, creating such areas as Apocalypse Land, Evil Clown Land, or even Nightmares Made Flesh Land. The tunnel of love can become the tunnel of screams, and the Ferris wheel can always be turned into one big gatlling gun. But perhaps best of all, you can take the family, and engage in such wholesale slaughter to create memories for years to come.
Space Station
One of the finest possibilities is not even located on this earth. That's right, a space station may be right for you, superb for plotting out your evil deeds far out of reach of any under-funded do-gooder. Space fortresses nowadays come standard with former Star Wars and SDI technology, and can be easily retrofitted with disrupter rays and cloaking fields. They also make an excellent base of operations for bringing about the destruction of the earth, particularly should you not want you yourself to be destroyed along with it. Though you may suffer from occasional alien attacks and the periodic asteroid, the space station is an excellent lair and should not be overlooked.

Reasons that Shagnasty isn't a politician
"Another One!"

We've discussed before reasons why I'm not a politician haven't we. Well a recent event in UK politics provides yet another sterling example why The Shagnasty would be most unsuitable to represent his country - indeed if the tendency to refer to himself in the third person were not a clear enough sign of impending madness!

Today the Deputy Prime Minister, Mr John Prescott - Wait - lets make this clear now, I'm referring to the man second-in-charge of England, ok that being understood I'll continue. Mr Prescott was attending an election publicity thing in North Wales and was just exiting his battle bus when an egg collided with the side of the door, near, but not actually making contact with him.

Egg missiles are a common feature on British politics, regarded as being not as damaging as, oh I don't know lets say a brick or a small child being hurled through the air, eggs are the preferred weapon of demonstrators everywhere. The mere suggestion that intelligent debate or the lobbying of your member of parliament will always fail when the option of throwing the output of some poor battery-housed hen is on offer. …and so it was that an egg made its merry way through the air towards our glorious leaders deputy. The first salvo, as I said, missed.

Not to be deterred another protester stepped forward to within 2 feet of Mr Prescott and let the second attack go, straight into the guys mush - Ahem, I mean face. Having watched the video evidence I think that it must have hurt quite a bit not to mention severely damaging his dignity. Mr Prescott responded, as one would by closing his fist and ramming it into the chin of the eggy protestor. There then followed a rather undignified scene where the Deputy Prime minister fought on the floor with this guy whilst nearby Police attempted to drag the two of them apart.

The next day of course Mr Prescott, who's in the middle of an election campaign remember, "regretted" the incident.

Ok, so why won't I make a good politician then, its not because I wouldn't have lamped the guy who threw the egg I can tell you straight away, I'd have stamped repeatedly on his left one until dragged away, oh yes indeed. No, there is no difference between me and Mr Prescott there.

I think the best way to highlight the difference would be in the form of a transcript had it have been I making the press conference this morning.

Reporter: - Shagnasty, why did you strike the protestor this morning whilst campaigning in Wales?
Shagnasty: - Well I obviously don't condone the use of violence but I'm sure that you will all agree that in the face of such enormous provocation I was really left with no alternative.
Reporter: - But Shagnasty, it was only an egg, no real harm done surely?
Shagnasty: - Never mind the bloody egg, the man was overtly and blatantly Welsh!

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"Shagnasty Perfect Moment"

As regular readers will be aware now and again I experience a moment in my life that can only be described as perfect.
That is to say that nothing whatsoever could have improved upon that moment.

Let me set the scene

Its just gone midnight in one of London's central parks, for we have more than one. (Citizens of New York take note) Battersea Park to be precise. I generally consider Battersea park to be one of London's best, I'm a little biased as this is the one in which I grew up, but I don't think that my statement would be regarded as too contentious by those who don't have my happy childhood memories. Good memories, never to be replaced, not even by the strange and restless type of dreams that I have these days - but enough about that.

OK, so Its gone midnight, I'm strolling and whistling a nice Otis Redding song. Summer is just creeping out in London so the night is nice and warm with the first signs of summer blooms rearing their heads. Young couples stroll hand in hand around the parks large pond whist ducks and swans discuss their differences. A Marlboro hangs from my lower lip and I'm wearing my favourite trainers - nice and comfy like, hair's slicked back and generally looking Goooood!

As is always the case with my perfect moments, just as I'm thinking that life can't be any better God has an extra special treat arranged for me. This time however he's outdone himself. Creationism must have been a mere pat on the back for the globe compared to what God gave me, for around the corner, coming out of the moonlight stroll 8,000 women dressed in jogging shorts and bras. Yeah, I had to double take as well. I'll repeat myself! Eight Thousand women dressed in jogging shorts and bras.

Unbeknown to me fate had led me in the path of the 4th Annual Playtex Moon Walk in aid of Breast Cancer. This charitable walk raises money for the cause, but enough about that crap, were talking about 16,000 individual breasts walking towards me. Bras in pink, blue, black. Bras with tassels, beads, braiding. Big bras, little bras, some as big as your head bras. And each and every one was filled to capacity with a tit.

Damn I love my life and I love my city.

Help fight breast cancer lads, hey, its in your interest after all! - Serious Info on breast cancer: - Here

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Porkie-Pie Blast
19.07.2001

Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I present to you a liar!
The vizzog below is that of Lord Archer (Liar) who has today been found guilty of perjury and perverting the course of justice and sentenced to four years imprisonment. In short a newspaper printed a story stating that he (Liar) had been shagging some whore, he (Liar) sued for liable and he (Liar) won, having fabricated evidence and got his (Liar) mate to lie as well. So now the smarmy git has to face the music.
Oh dear. As you may have guessed my heart isn't exactly bleeding for him (Liar).

Bet he won't be looking so smug taking his first incarcerated shower now will he lads. Ho-Ho.

"Hope you had a good Christmas Mr Archer - sorry, that's a lie, I don't really!"

The House of Rolf

It is becoming apparent that there still remains a few of you who haven't let The Rolf into your lives, offering ignorance as to his Godly attributes as the reason for your continued refusal to set aside your current false Gods.
It's clear therefore that a little glimpse into the great mans work is required: - We'll start with a classic public information film he made shall we?

Rolf Harris - Serving The Nation
Uncle Rolf strips down to his Speedos and asks the kids if they can tell what it is yet?

The Year: - Circa 1970's
The message: - Teach kids to swim - Rolf stars in a public information film.
Featuring: - Rolf Harris and a load of kids.
The Scene: - Rolf Harris minus didgeridoo, paintbrush or indeed clothes, the antipodean doodler is waist-deep in chlorine and surrounded by children. He's looking slightly sinister and twitchy without his specs and clearly in no mood to muck about: "Those of you who can't swim yet just wait over in the shallows for me," he barks at any would-be drowners, who wade off looking relieved.
"Kids and water, they love it," chirps Rolf, ignoring the baleful evidence in front of his eyes. "Rivers, Canals even the lily pond in the garden: you can't keep them away from it". Rolf appears to be talking about frogs not children. "When I was three I fell in the river at our place" - the children choose not to challenge the painfully outrageous claim that the Harris family had their own river - "I couldn't swim but managed to scramble my way to the bank..."
The dark undercurrent of his tale signals that the fun stuff's over. Rolf's quavered Animal Hospital voice kicks in: "…but some kids aren't so lucky, and if they go off and play by themselves near some water… well you know what might happen"
A nation nods sombrely.
"That's why you should have your children taught to swim as soon as possible." Rolf turns abruptly as if something - or someone - is stirring in the water beneath him. "If you can swim. Why not teach them yourself. Its fun, see ya" he falls back into the water a little too eagerly and wiggles his toes to the camera. Message received - loud and clear.

Rolf Harris - keeping the little kiddies safe.

The above is terribly serious - don't mock the Rolf.

WAR!

Ok, so were at war, well sort of anyway. It’s a bit of a US led thing but we in the UK are helping – a bit.
I think we’ve fired two cruise missiles at a cost of 1 million pounds each, which no doubt caused literally hundreds of pounds of damage to some already knackered Afghan building. But that’s not the point – we're helping you and thought that it might be nice if you gave us a hand with a few nations that we’ve been itching to give a bit of a slap to for ages now – don’t mind do you? Ta.

Tanzania Why them: - One over on Jerry of course. Britain and Germany tussled over Tanzania during the last century. Britain more-or-less won, but by then it was time for independence anyway. Easy: - The Anglo-Zanzibar war of 1896 is history’s shortest according to Guinness. When they proudly refused to surrender to the British Navy on 27th August, we started shelling them. About 45 minutes later, they decided they’d surrender after all. Spoils of War: - Bananas, lots of them in fact. Bugger all else though. Their Defences: - Magic Water. In 1905 tribesmen rose up against German rule, thinking they were invincible because they were anointed in holy water. The Germans promptly mowed down 12,000 of them.	France Why them: - You need to ask? Easy: - With P&O Hover Speed on our side we can be there in under an hour. Then, says history, its just a matter of waiting for them to surrender. Our Possible Allies: - The Australians aren’t keen on Frenchie. In 1995 for example, the Canberra association of prostitutes boycotted French underwear to punish France for resumed nuclear testing. So there’s potential for parachuting in a team of knickerless Auzzie whores. Their defences: - With 70% of the world’s cheese exports, most nations would fear a French “fromage embargo”. Luckily if things get though we can rely on good old English Wensleydale. Phew!
Iceland Why them: - Ongoing dispute with them over ownership of the Rockall Continental Shelf in the Atlantic. God knows why we want it – buts it’s bloody well ours ok. Easy: Has no standing army, but does have a US manned defence force – and Bjork, don’t know which is worse really! Spoils of war: Fish is the obvious booty – Iceland has extensive fishing rights in the Atlantic – but they also grow spuds. So it could be a UK satellite for producing fish’n’chips for the mainland now couldn’t it.	Bulgaria Why them: Err, Human Rights abuses? Persecution of ethnic Turks? Oh ok, its because they’re the worlds largest exporter of cigarettes and we want 'em. Easy: Not noted as being sharp-shooters. Army documents just released show that in 1971 a Bulgarian General and a Marshall fired 37 shots at each other without scoring a single hit during a duel. Bodes well for us eh. Our possible Allies: Serbia. Still smarting from defeat in 1885. And you know Serbs, always up for a scrap. Secret Weapons: - Dancing bears. Brigitte Bardot says their numbers have reached epidemic proportions. Expect battlefields clogged with tangoing grizzlies then.
Germany Why them: Revenge. Two of Britain’s most heart-rending conflicts have been thanks to the Boche. Penalty shoot-outs aside, they are our rivals for dominance of the EC. Easy: A recent survey of the German armed forces found that 40% of soldiers over the age of 40 were classified as overweight – and one in ten clinically obese. Should be able therefore to overrun the fat bastards through aerobic exercise alone. Our possible Allies: Everyone. Spoils of war: There’s only one reason we want a piece of the Fatherland – and its liquid. Germany produces 33% of Europe’s total beer output, and has more than 5,000 brews. Cheers Fritz.	Vatican State City (Included at the request of Demonic Dave!) Why them: As part of the UK’s commitment to protect democracy, it’s our duty to intervene in a state where suffrage is limited to cardinals under the age of 80 – even if the state consists of nothing but the Pope’s house. Easy: With a total area of only 0.44Km square, the Holy See is landlocked and has no airports, so it’s a sitting duck. The resident Swiss Papal Guards won't hold out for long once the Para’s have gone in, but Italy has also sworn to defend the state – unless we can buy them off. Our Possible Allies: Ian Paisley. One Billion Catholics worldwide are likely to be a bit miffed, but you can't please everybody.
Japan Why them: Old times sake. Easy: The Japanese have a history of not giving up, hari-kiri and kamikaze being just two of the traditions that have made them unpopular opponents in the past. Not to mention what they did to my Grandfather – RIP. Their Secret Weapons: Robots. Japan has kept very quiet about the fact that they possess 410,000 of the world’s 720,000 “working robots”. Not scared? Perhaps you’ve never seen the film Mecha-Godzilla Returns. Our Possible Allies: Russia, with whom they have been bickering over some islands. Spoils of war: With an annual revenue of $463 billion and the edge in the most hi-tech industries, Japan could be a right earner for us. Plus all the digital watches you could wear.	Australia Why them: Still trying to drop the Queen as head of state, the impertinent scamps. Who do they think they are going to have instead, Dame Edna perhaps? Easy: In June Australian defence chiefs announced that the Army, Navy and Air force would compete against each other in a new reality show called Battle of the Forces. We sneak in while they are busy at it I reckon. Their Secret Weapon: None. The aussie government is vehemently anti-nuke. Our Possible Allies: Plenty. Bruce isn’t known for diplomacy – Australian MP’s have recently called each other “scumbag”, “perfumed gigolo”, “harlot” and “dog’s vomit”. Spoils of victory: The Ashes – and this time we keep them. Also, I’ll have Elle McPherson if that’s ok, I kinda like her.
*There is never a warmonger around when you need one is there!*

Shagnasty's Two-Word Review Tom Jones in concert "He's Welsh"

Demonic Dave's Religious Comment.

Reasons that Shagnasty isn't a politician "Another One!"

The House of Rolf

WAR!

Shagnasty's Two-Word Review
Tom Jones in concert

"He's Welsh"

Reasons that Shagnasty isn't a politician
"Another One!"