In response to a moany comment left on this post, where we joke about Terry Pratchett fans asking Death to take Jeremy Clarkson instead, we’ve decided to stop being politically incorrect about Jeremy Clarkson, the poor little lamb.
Obviously it’s our job as bloggers and satirists to protect fully-grown adults capable of finding and reading a spoof news blog, from the kind of gentle humour found in a tribute to writer Terry Pratchett. You can’t just go around making jokes about things on a humour site, because somebody might accidently read it and get upset.
Anyway Jeremy Clarkson, we’re really really dead sorry about all of the jokes we’ve made about you recently, and for taking the piss out of you being a sort of comedy racist, and for being the BBC’s latest untouchable bigot, and wondering who’s ‘agenda’ you sucked, to be able to behave so appallingly on national Television, at the license payers expense.
We asked our readers to come up with some sensitive, politically correct jokes about you, to replace all of the awful things we’ve been saying about you recently.
Drum roll please! We are proud to present our collection of politically correct Jeremy Clarkson jokes, from our wonderful readers:
“Knock knock
Who’s there?
Jeremy Clarkson
Jeremy Clarkson who?
Jeremy Clarkson helping a diverse group of under privileged, inner-city children onto a lottery-sponsored bus.”
“Why did Jeremy Clarkson cross the road?
To go back to help the partially-sighted, disabled Muslim Grandmother, who was struggling to cross the road safely with her heavy shopping bags.”
“How many Jeremy Clarkson does it take to change a light bulb?
One. Because each person is beautiful and valuable in their own right, and each has their own unique way of changing a light bulb.”
“An English man, an Irish man, a Scotsman and a Prostitute walk into a bar.
Jeremy Clarkson buys them all a drink, because he’s quite rich and privileged, and he doesn’t discriminate based on race or occupation.”
“An Asian man, an African man and Jeremy Clarkson walk into a bar.
They have an extensive, cerebral conversation about the importance of interracial unity and equality, several drinks, and part company with kisses upon one another’s cheeks, continental-style.”
“Jeremy Clarkson walks into a bar…
‘Why the long face?’ Says the barman.
‘I was born this way,’ says Jeremy ‘but also I’m incredibly upset about all the horror in the world and people being mean an’ that…A pint of organic lager and a packet of free trade lesbian crisps please,’”
“What’s the difference between Jeremy Clarkson and a misogynistic, racist jingoistic little Englander?
Oh my dear fellow. Absolutely everything,”
“Doctor Doctor- I keep thinking I’m Jeremy Clarkson!”
“Good for you! He’s a wonderful gent with a great sense of humour”
“There were three blokes in a bar. Jeremy Clarkson, Jeremy Clarkson and Jeremy Clarkson.
Jeremy turns to Jeremy and says…”I think black female caravanners from Argentina are among the best drivers there are.” Jeremy responds, “No, Asian vicars over 65 years of age are far superior”.
Quietly putting down his pint, the third Jeremy wanders over to Jeremy’s one and two and states… “Gentlemen, you guys are hilarious and would make excellent hosts for a new show called “First Gear”, which reviews low carbon motorhomes for underprivileged children.”
“Jeremy Clarkson walked into a gay bar.
He fit right in, and had a marvelous time.”
“What do you call Jeremy Clarkson in a dress?
A cunt in a dress.
No, I can’t do this.”
Contributers:
James Cohen, Bruce Jackson, Mason Storm, Andy Bentley, Elizabeth Swanson, Guy Carnegie, Paul Manning, Brian Trevalyn.
The Beezly Street Gazette 
Could YOU Be A Commentator For The Daily Mail?
Reactionary tabloid spaff-rag the Daily Mail is one of the most widely read ‘newspapers’ in the world, despite the fact that most reasonable people wouldn’t line their budgie cage with it, in case their budgie suddenly started shouting “Immigrants! Coming over here, giving our house prices cancer!”
But the populist wingnut virtual chip-wrap has seen its notorious ‘comments’ section at the bottom of each article dwindle over the past couple of years, and is now appealing for fresh blood.
The rise of Twitter and other social media, mean it’s now easier than ever to type ignorant, judgemental horseshit about total strangers on the Internet. As a result, activity on the comment boards is at an all time low.
“We think the cold snap has probably killed off half of our commentators,” said the Mail’s only LGBT columnist Melanie Phillips. “They’re all old, mad and don’t have any friends or anything better to do. They’re the kind of people that wouldn’t let British Gas into the house to fix their boiler in case they stole their false teeth, so it’s not surprising the vile comments are dropping off a bit. I can imagine them all frozen solid in their beds, with the jar of crumbs that they’ve saved so that the birds don’t eat them, slowing going mouldy in their icy grip,”
“It’s a great way to harass people indirectly,” said the Devil via Ouija board. “The DM has got into trouble in the past for its pitchfork mentality towards innocent members of the public. Now they just get their readers to do it for them,”
The Daily Mail prides itself on the tolerance, pseudo-Christian values and open-mindedness of its readership, and is seeking semi-literate applicants with passion and flair.
Last year’s ‘Commenter Of The Year’ award went to Joan Bigot from Hull, with her magnificent “String’em up & make’em eat the key!” rant regarding teenagers performing lascivious acts for free drinks in an Ibiza nightclub. The Mail hopes there are more curtain-twitching dipshits that buy concrete garden mere cats from B&M, that are willing to put their snarky two pee into the overfilled, underpunctuated piss-pot of loathsome twattery that is the Daily Mail comments section.
It’s very easy to apply – all you have to do is scroll to the bottom of your favourite Daily Mail article (preferably one about Josie Cunningham’s tits) and write something that only a friendless fucking moron with absolutely nothing better to do would say.