Prime Minster Tony Blair is reported to be recovering after an operation to provide a new tongue. Sources close to Downing Street say Mr Blair’s old tongue became so jammed by George W. Bush’s anal musculature, that it had to be surgically removed from Mr Blair’s mouth.
However, scientists have now taken stem-cell tissue from Mr Blair and have managed to grow another tongue – this time shaped to fit the anal cavity of Iqbal Sacranie, the secretary-general of the Muslim Council of Britain. Oops! It’s Sir Iqbal now – begging his pardon and doffing the hat. This means that Mr Blair can now have his tongue inserted into two fundaments at the same time by the simple expedient of leaving his old one in Washington.
Mr Blair told G&LH while trying out his new member, “Look, y’know, it’s really quite splffllspblyspfll.”
It’s hard to speak with a forked tongue – but Mr Blair keeps on trying.
Fun-loving Sir Iqbal – known affectionately as Icky – is said to be delighted that Mr Blair’s tonguoplasty is progressing so well. And so he should be: kindly Mr Blair’s government is now forcing through a law that only Sir Icky and his arse-in-the-air-five-times-a-day chums think is a good thing. But, then, it was just for them, because there was a fear that nice Mr Blair might lose the Muslim vote in elections. And a promise is a promise, and Mr Blair is an honourable man.
This law could prevent much of what Infidel has had to say so far. While ministers – who are honourable people – promise that jokes will be permitted, they have not even managed to define a religion; they have lumped atheists in with Christians, Muslims and Satanists; they say vaguely that language “likely to” lead to religious hatred may be enough to send someone to jail for seven years; they fail to notice the difference between race (which we cannot help) and religion (which is a choice); and they promise there won’t be many prosecutions – but of course the damage is done if rational people choose to stay quiet. Seven years in choky is no jokey.
Mr Blair has gone further, in ensuring that Sir Icky got a knighthood in the Queen’s Birthday Honours – along with that other example of sanity and clear thinking, Jonathan Sachs, the chief rabbi.
Bacon butties all round, then.
Talking of which – the smell of bacon, that is – Infidel has come across evidence that gay men smell a certain way. (Not necessarily of bacon – that was just a way of linking ... Oh, never mind.) According to some recent research by Charles Wysocki of the Monell Chemical Senses Center in Philadelphia – which did the rounds of the more sensational newspapers – gays prefer the odour of other gays to that of straights.
What the centre failed to include in its published findings was the further research it has done on religionists. Such research might lead to the following exchanges among the pious as their innermost religious secrets are revealed:
“Been at the communion wine again, Deirdre? Thought so. Can smell it on your breath. You sexy little Christian, you! Do let me ravish you and shag you senseless.”
“Ah, Sanjay, my friend, you are smelling most excitingly and deliriously of stale water from the Ganges that is containing the sweat of thousands. I love you. I am wishing to fellate you here, now, in the middle of the gurdwara.”
“Hassan, I recognise that you are truly a man of Allah, a true Muslim, for I detect on you the fragrant aroma of blood from a deservedly dispatched infidel. It is unmistakable, Hassan: you are truly a brother.”
It is to be fervently hoped the wrong pheromone does not find its way into a nostril that favours a different religious bouquet, since the offended nostril’s owner might resort to inflammatory language and stir up hatred of that odour’s chosen faith. You can get seven years if you wrong a pong, you know.