listen to old sarge...

[Imperial Technicians recently provided this transcript of a secret, coded Rebel transmission.]   [Apparently, it’s an exchange between old sarge and his work colleague, MW, fellow Star Wars fans and ‘Rebel scum’...] Hi MW, are you in the office or do you have the RAS fob to hand, fella? [Editor’s note:   in an ensuing telephone call, it turned out MW was leaving the office in 20 mins for a galaxy, far, far away, and it was then a race against time for old sarge to get connected to the customer system before MW left the secret Rebel base on the moon orbiting Yavin 4 for the day...] Just a couple more minutes...Death Star approaching... 😜 MW:  LOL Starting Death Star trench run, Red 13 going in... MW:  😆😆😆😆😆 What's this on the NavComputer...must update McAfee before torpedo launch can be initiated...WTF!? Do I need to get out and THROW them?? 😡😜 MW:  Use The Force Who said that? Some Auld guy in a duffle coat last seen on a talking bear?! Too

old sarge's sad, but true tales from The Lockdown presents:   'hit me with your postponed wedding stick, two fat persons, click, click, click', incorporating 'reasons to be cheerful, one, two, three'... gentle reader, sad, but true...The Colonel and me and, as I lovingly refer to them whenever possible, Our Rancid Offspring...   (...sweet fucking creeping covid-19 jesus, it just occurred to me that there's the hideous prospect of a supergroup of the same name to form/have formed somewhere in the multiverse, featuring members of Our Chemical Romance, Rancid and The Offspring...you have been warned, I do appear to have developed the Lockdown Superpower of being able to bring unlikely, even fictional scenarios into existence these last few weeks...it compliments my almost supernatural ability to pack boxes of assorted household shit into the tightest of cupboard spaces, first time, every time...you know, like Magneto but with cardboard boxes...again sad,

the fourth in a short series of lockdown top-tips… old sarge lockdown top-tip #4... hairdressers of the UK! your desperate nation needs you! please mobilise immediately to full alert status, sharpen those scissors, rehearse your inane small talk, and be at full readiness to be deployed at the drop of a sweaty, greasy hat in a few weeks’ time when The Lockdown is further eased. if you already find yourself surrounded by resentful, chemically burned, skinhead family members; if you’ve already scalped your Girl’s World (Boris Johnston 2019 Limited Edition); if you’re scraping the bottom of your signed and officially endorsed tub of Sir Keir Starmer Brylcreem; if you’ve burnished your First Minister Jimmy Crankie hard-hat-helmet-hair wig to a dazzling, epilepsy inducing finish, why not keep your hand in between now and then - and be in the running for an invite to be Liz’s Guest of Honour at the Glorious Key Worker Garden Party and Victoria Cross Medal Ceremony at Buckingham Palace l

the third in a short series of lockdown top-tips… old sarge lockdown top-tip #3... alert citizen of the UK! do you have a dry, persistent cough, are sweating profusely and currently possess only three of the five senses? perhaps you’ve just been on a bicycle ride in continental temperatures with a rucksack full of alcohol purchased from your local convenience store, where you were by-chance verbally abused by a self-appointed non- staff random social distancing special constable prick? if I may be so bold, sir, tell the cunt to fuck off, promptly remind them to maintain the correct social distancing protocols themselves, excuse yourself from further debate on the matter, then retire at haste to a suitably safe social distance to enjoy your purchases: as your attorney, I can recommend you quench your thirst with the cerveza of the hour, a tall, frosty Corona: no sense of smell or taste required ...don't thank me, you're weclome… two empty bottles of beer showi

the second in a short series of lockdown top-tips... old sarge lockdown top-tip #2... citizens of England, be alert! when you're out and about this weekend, don't forget to keep your electricity meter under your left arm and your gas meter under your right arm at all times to comply with the government's social distancing rules and guidelines: always keep a safe distance, always keep your two meters apart... don't thank me, you're weclome... the owner of this property was later arrested for not following government guidelines on social distancing

Well, guv, we was called out to the modestly extravagant suburban London gaff of the Arsenham United and England player in the early hours of Thursday morning. Apparently, a burglary in progress had been reported by the hysterical householder, so we got round there quick sharp with the old blues and twos on, roads was empty, what with the lockdown and all that. One minor incident to report on the way, guv, Dave got a minor scald when he spilled his flask of tea on his bollocks when I had to swerve to avoid a jogger on a pedestrian crossing in Chelsea. 1-fucking-am and some Lycra-clad fatty is out there having a coronary to herself in the middle of the fuckin street in a pool of her own piss and shit. Reminds me, will need to hose down the side of the panda once we’re done here, sarge, might have got a bit of splash back on Dave’s door. Aaanywaaay, we gets there, I jumps out, and a freak gust of wind catches the door, and it goes and prangs the wing of the Bentley parked in the driv

giving this some serious consideration…goany go up to the local golf course…it’s ok, I’m normally a member, but the course is closed and my membership suspended for the duration of the lockdown...before I go, goany take all my clubs and balls out my golf bag and replace them with bricks, two-by-fours, and other sundry heavy scrap…you know, get my government prescribed and sanctioned exercise for the day, push my trolley and golf bag full of building supplies around the course…while I’m at it, and to keep it interesting, goany have a pretend round of golf…you know, swing imaginary clubs at imaginary balls, replace invisible divots, walk my invisible sloth…(sepia toned memory coming in…do you remember, gentle reader, the stiff dog leads with wire in them from the 70’s and 80’s, looked like you were walking an invisible dog?)...see how long it’ll be before some local magoo-esque fucking curtain twitcher calls the real polis, the non-imaginary plod, the bona-fide killjoys, to get me lifted

here goes for the first in a (very) short series of 'old sarge lockdown top-tips' (with apologies and whatever royalties are due to Viz comic..)...don't thank me, you're weclome... old sarge lockdown top-tip #1... now, there's no shame in it, but we've all got an IT nerd that we won't admit to knowing or perhaps even having in the family...it might even be looking back at you in the mirror in the morning...but I digress...so, if there's a lockdown birthday just around the cor ner, why not consider old floppy disks and other redundant media formats as an ideal and yet completely pointless lockdown gift for the IT nerd in your life? the 3.25" floppy disk makes for an ideal coaster for those excrutiating Friday night Zoom-er parties that they can't avoid, and if they've smashed all of their architectural salvage public toilet roof artisan slate tile 'dinner plates' in a pique of Come Dine With Me lockdown angst/clarity, old laser d