Jesus Original Author of ‘Take My Wife’ Joke

Following the discovery of an old scrap of papyrus that refers to Jesus’ marriage to Mary Magdalene, experts have also revealed that it contains the first written example of the ‘Take My Wife’ punchline.

The comedy ‘bit’, in which The Saviour riffs on the subject of parking the donkey, followed by a light-hearted attempt to get shot of His prostitute spouse, is “equal parts hilarious and sacred” according to Professor Peter Lord.

“A morality tale about the treatment of mules, followed by a jibe at a disciple – this is exactly the kind of tomfoolery one expects from the self-proclaimed Son of God.”

This is the start of a new comedy news piece written for the satirical British website NewsThump (related to this little item), and you can clicky here for the whole thing.

Cheryl Cole: Geordie Martyr?

There are many perfectly good reasons to sack Cheryl Cole, but her Newcastle accent shouldn’t be one of them

Three weeks. That’s all it took. Three measly weeks for Cheryl Cole’s role as chief mollycoddler of the musically mental to be savagely snatched away. Word has it, she was axed for her accent.

Of course, that may just have been a convenient motive to get shot of her: perhaps, behind the scenes, Fox execs were really sweating over her lack of profile Stateside; or at her dull, nodding-dog-style screen presence. But if we believe the News of the World (and why shouldn’t we?), it all came down to the way she speaks. In the 21st century, when television should celebrate and embrace diversity, that’s surely a damning indictment of America’s tolerance of English accents. Continue reading

Billygean’s Blog: Hooray for the Humdrum

[ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON 17TH DECEMBER 2009 BY RED C MAGAZINE]

I have a love-hate relationship with blogs. There are several I enjoy – travel blog Going Local is an absolute delight, for example, and James and The Blue Cat is consistently chucklesome – but there are many more that incense me. Like spite-filled celeb rumour mill Perez Hilton, an ever-present reminder of humankind’s inexorable retreat into idiocy. Though it’s the ‘personal diaries’ that have traditionally acquired the majority of my goat.

“Come on”, I thought. “Wake up and smell the narcissism. How can you be so arrogant as to expect total strangers to give a flying fig about the mundane happenings of your mundane life? It’s the 21st century equivalent of popping round the neighbours’ to show off snaps from your latest break in Bognor.” Continue reading

Alrite R’kid? Why I Love the Manc Accent

oasis_narrowweb__300x367,2[ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON 28TH JANUARY 2010 BY RED C MAGAZINE]

When I was growing up in a quiet little town in the south of England, I was always jealous of people with accents. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, I thought, to be able to ask for jellied eels, or a sausage barm, without sounding like a ponce. Wouldn’t it be bloody brilliant if the sound of my voice alone communicated a deep-rooted link to the precise location of my upbringing.

I do, of course, have vocal indicators that identify me as southern English. Many can even place my accent in the south east. But am I from Basildon or from Basingstoke; from Berkshire or from Kent? My part-BBC, part-Estuary English style of speech gives few pointers to a precise location. The fact is, millions of people across a large part of the country speak in much the same boring way as I do. My voice is a poor compass. It’s hardly surprising, then, that I dreamt of having a real accent. Continue reading

A Quick Word About Wordle

Words words words... an image of words from Joe Reaney's We Like posting for Red C Marketing, Advertising, Online Marketing and Brand Marketing Agency Manchester & London[ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON 18TH NOVEMBER 2009 BY RED C MAGAZINE]

I like words. They happify me. In fact, they make me tripudiate with joy. I’m one of those people who take far more pleasure in hearing about a crepuscular splodge than actually seeing one; and would much rather read about a spelunking scrimshanker than go and cheer him on. I get a kick out of the English language and, at the risk of being philodoxical, I think everybody should. Language may be fundamentally a means of communication, in the way that food is fundamentally a means of nutrition, but both offer pleasure far beyond their function. Words should be savoured like a sumptuous steak.

Of course, when I try to convince my chums about the myriad delights of mellifluous language, they call me a ponce. Well, until a few weeks back. All of a sudden, they’re casually dropping obscure words into every conversation. It’s frippet this and proprioception that. And while I love to think it’s down to my strategic nagging, I’m afraid it isn’t. They still think I’m a ponce. But they’ve become huge fans of this website called Wordle. Continue reading

Getting Back to Losing Ways

As England’s World Cup dreams turn to soiled bed sheets for the second time in six short months, Joseph Reaney asks if it’s time for the country to get back to losing ways.

After a week of endless debates, accusations and excuses, the country has finally settled on the key reasons why England’s vomit-inducing World Cup pity plea ended its long life nestling in the u-bend of an Alpen-clogged Swiss shitter. In the end, we decided, it all came down to three things: the British media’s nasty habit of reporting the facts, the FA’s naivety/arrogance/collective ugliness and Sepp Blatter’s thoroughly unpatriotic lack of neutrality (although personally I’d also like to see some of the blame fall at the feet of Guy Garvey – after all, there are only so many times you can listen to One Day Like This without feeling the irrepressible need to defect to Russia.) But whatever the reasons for the nation’s failure, the simple fact is that England weren’t good enough. What baffles me is why this constitutes news; surely not being good enough is what we’re good at. Continue reading

An End to Fringe Bashing

Britons rejoice! Last Friday 6th August the Edinburgh Fringe Festival kicked off for the umpteenth time – sparking scenes of wild celebration across the UK. As all the nation’s most insufferable, preening, self-obsessed performer-brats occupy their next three weeks in the Scottish capital by wobbling around on tartan stilts and exposing their genitalia with little to no artistic justification, we ordinary folk elsewhere on this great island of ours can finally enjoy some quality, tosspot-free time. Rejoice!

Or rather, stop it. Stop it now. I’m looking at you, the ‘quality papers’ – because I’ve had quite enough of your Fringe bashing. I accept that the world’s largest arts festival has its flaws – there are undoubtedly too many fresh-faced Etonians attempting ill-informed political comedy, and Christ couldn’t we all do without the performance poetry – but the endless media piss-shower is really starting to grate. Continue reading