Scotland’s Jesus: The Only Officially Non-racist Comedian

by Frankie Boyle

  But this isn’t just an American issue. Doctors have warned that half the UK population will be obese by 2030. It’s great to hear that so many people will have slimmed down by then. Britain is leading Europe in smoking, obesity and depression. Smoking, obesity and depression – that’s what most Scots put in the hobbies section of a dating website. The good news is that there’s an easy way to tackle this. Keep eating and soon you won’t be able to reach your trouser pockets to get your fags. That should cheer you up.

  There was the story of Rob Gillett – who’s 35st 10lb – a rare example of someone whose waist measurement is greater than his height. Rob’s nicknamed ‘Doughnut’, as in the phrase ‘Doughnut eat any more or you’ll die.’ Also, he’s always totally covered in sugar and can usually be found lying on the pavement outside Greggs. He’s tried everything to remedy his condition, but no matter what he does he just can’t seem to put on any height. He needs to take a good long look at himself in a really, really big mirror.

  More men than ever are asking for moob operations. ‘Moob operations’ sounds like it would make a great Sade song. It’s weird, because after all these years of men saying if they had breasts they’d never go out, it’s turned out to be true. But not for the reasons they thought.

  Research suggests that sitting for long periods increases the risk of heart disease, diabetes and death. So keep that happy thought in mind the next time you have to listen to a taxi driver talking about immigration.

  Then again, too much exercise can be bad, too. Andrew Marr revealed his recent stroke was down to a rowing-machine work-out. Please take it easy on those things. I just lie back and drift, my hand trailing dreamily on the gym floor. By speaking out about the dangers of intensive exercise, Marr has helped a lot of people. People who were about to start exercising and were looking for an excuse not to.

  Marr’s recovery was a good news story for the NHS at a time when patients are being left on trolleys for up to twenty-four hours because of spending cuts. This is causing major problems in hospitals, as junior doctors no longer have anywhere to sleep. A survey revealed that public confidence in the NHS is at an all-time low. Not here in Scotland. It’s been rising ever since they fitted teats to those alcohol hand-gel dispensers. It’s not a concern for me as I go private. I’m comfortable in the knowledge that if my doctor underperforms, the newsagent will take his card straight out of the window. It’s led to calls for more respect for patients. Quite right. My nan recently spent two hours on a trolley in A&E. Then another three on the floor when the nurse decided to return it to Tesco so she could get the pound back.

  A new government plan calls for all foreigners arriving in Britain to pay hundreds of pounds up front to cover the cost of any healthcare they might receive. Typical bloody government, sponging off our foreigners. A record number of foreigners are getting free NHS treatment. It’s because you need relatively few documents to sign up with a GP. Then again, I’ve never asked mine for any of his documents, something that occurred to me during my prostate exam when I noticed the latex gloves were still on his desk. I confess I was a little suspicious when he took the run-up. Still, I’ve got his watch now.

  The government’s launched a GP-recruitment drive. It’s not easy to become one as there’s a gruelling written exam. And if, when you’re done, any of it’s legible, you can forget it. Recruiting extra qualified medical staff surprisingly often leads to worse patient outcomes. But only in the parts of the Third World we lure them from, so no matter.

  The government wants new measures to reduce NHS sick days. I’d suggest clearing the hospitals of all those people with diseases – that can’t help. Figures show that NHS staff have an average of fourteen sick days a year, three times the national average and, more crucially, infinity times as many as their microbiological foes.

  Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt believes in homoeopathy. The joke’s on him. If he believed in Batman he’d now be Justice Secretary. It seems strange that he’s getting a hard time for believing in homoeopathy when the Education Secretary believes in God. I’m looking forward to Hunt running the NHS – at least we can be sure every waiting room is going to have Sky. He always looks like he’s just come off a fifteen-hour shift selling vacuum-cleaner attachments on Bid TV. I’ve never understood reshuffles. Cameron changing which cabinet ministers are going to give you bad news is like asking for a different postman to bring you the results of your AIDS test.

  Complaints about doctors have jumped in the past year. Most relate to poor communication skills. I say, cut them some slack. If I’d my own prescription pad I’d be unable to string a sentence together, too.

  NHS surgeons made 230 major bungles last year. Mistakes included sewing up incisions with foreign objects in. That happened with my appendectomy. When the doctor put his stethoscope to my stomach in the post-op examination it turned out he was just checking his voicemail.

  Surgeons put my nan’s artificial hip in back to front. On the plus side, now no one in the care home can touch her at Twister. It’s a great game for the elderly as it removes the stigma of having to spend the day crouched over a plastic sheet. Artificial metal hips have been linked to a host of health problems but they did mean that my nan was flexible enough for her care home to store her in a filing-cabinet drawer when her direct debit ran out.

  The government plans to introduce annual Ofsted-style inspections for care homes. This should be a huge improvement, as residents will be assured of proper treatment for at least one day a year. The public will be able to compare care homes in league tables, with any that repeatedly fail checks being relegated into the prison system. It’s sad the way we offload our elderly now. When I was a kid my granddad lived with us and every Sunday my dad would take us all out for a drive in the country. It helped keep my granddad’s mind sharp; right up till 92 he could find his way home again, though only because his colostomy bag had sprung a leak. Even now if I shut my eyes I can see him receding in the mirror. Or using his hooked stick to crawl up the boot like T-1000.

  Care-home residents might be getting personal barcodes with details of the drugs they’re on. It follows an increase in the number of residents being given the wrong medication and waking up before it’s time to put them to bed. I’m not sure about barcoding them, though. Those things never read properly when they’re all wrinkled. We don’t want care workers who fail to get a beep holding them up and shouting, ‘Trace! Trace!! How much valium for this one?’

  The world’s oldest man died aged 116. How do you get to still be alive at 116? Well, step one is to do something that makes God really hate you. Guinness World Records named Tao Porchon-Lynch as the oldest yoga teacher in the world. She’s ninety-four. She said, ‘I love yoga. It brightens my day and makes everybody smile.’ What she’s failed to grasp is that she’s upside down with her head between her knees. That’s not a smile on her daughter’s face, it’s a frown. She wants to convert her mother’s room into a conservatory but she just won’t die.

  An eighty-year-old ex-RAF officer is to become the oldest person in Britain to have a sex change. It means before he goes to sleep at night he can put his willy in a glass beside his bed. I don’t know why they don’t wait a year or two more and let it drop off on its own. He’s already changed his name by deed poll. Which is, coincidentally, a Scottish medical term for a penis after a sex change – a ‘deed poll’. In 2009 the NHS in England conducted 154 sex-change operations. You’re probably wondering what happens to all the penises that are cut off. They were all put together in a mould, compressed and used to make Louis Walsh’s model in Madame Tussauds.

  This Morning was hoaxed by Dan Richards, a guest who claimed to run a new sperm-donor website called Fame-Daddy that offered celebrity-obsessed women the chance to have their babies fathered by a star. They had some ex-footballer sperm on offer, apparently gathered off the side of Imogen Thomas’s face. Having a Premier League footballer as a surrogate makes it a very realistic situation as the mothers will be single mums an
d the child will never see their father.

  Richards said that prices started at £15,000, which seems steep when you can get the same result by turning up at the Chelsea FC Christmas party in a miniskirt. At sperm-donor clinics they usually have magazines to help men get in the mood, but as this one claimed to appeal to footballers they’d have to get six of his mates in the room and the sound of a girl’s tears piped in.

  It’s a great idea, really, because women get to pick the qualities they’d like their children to inherit. For example, you might pick sperm from a TV presenter if you wanted your child to be quite good at reading an autocue but have crushingly low self-esteem. Even though it turned out to be a scam, Russ Abbot was quick to say that for five hundred quid he’d come round and quickly knock one out through your letterbox. In case you get them mixed up, Ant’s is always the test tube on the left and Dec’s the one on the right. Richards also claimed all the sperm is tested for venereal disease. To ensure it does come from a real celebrity.

  A Chinese hospital has introduced a special machine to collect sperm ‘automatically’. I suppose sticking your penis into something lifeless and mechanical will give us all an insight into what it’s like to be Amanda Holden’s husband. I can’t help thinking that one day this will be used in evidence as to ‘why all humans must be disintegrated’ at the Intergalactic Court of Robot Law. It sounds like an amazing technological advancement, but let’s be honest – a robot you stick your dick in is just Henry the Hoover without the face painted on.

  Two women in Sweden have been given their mums’ wombs so they can have a baby. They’re brave. I don’t even like borrowing an old carrier bag off my mum in case the handles go while I’m out.

  The number of teen pregnancies has plummeted to its lowest level since the 60s. Ending any remaining doubt about Jimmy Savile. Nonetheless, this year’s expected to see the most UK births since the early 70s. Pregnancy can happen so suddenly. If you’re a man you must prepare for it. At the very least get some fake ID for when you’re out on the pull. Our midwife was marvellous. She not only let me film the birth, she helped me stuff him back in for the retakes.

  New research shows breast feeding can lower the risk of depression. Especially if you try have some fun with it! My suggestion – start off hunched up, then slowly unfurl and start widening your eyes. Then the more easily offended can kid themselves your child is just inflating you.

  Babies. The ultimate blank canvas. I often wonder, if you could keep one inside a totally empty big white ball, just leaving food for it while it slept, would it by itself conceive of a God? Or even of parents? I guess we’ll never know. Someone tipped off social services and they did a raid.

  The word ‘dad’ is to be removed from an NHS pamphlet about childbirth. It’s about time. Having gone through it twice myself a more appropriate term than ‘dad’ might be ‘horrified bystander’. The word ‘dad’ was removed from Glasgow pamphlets years ago and replaced with ‘It’s complicated. Just call him your uncle.’ The booklet is called Ready Steady Baby, which coincidentally is what I like to shout just before climaxing when having unprotected sex. Ready Steady Baby: the ideal name for a porn film hosted by Ainsley Harriott. The man gives jolly nicknames to salt and pepper grinders. Imagine the fun he’d have naming a bag full of dildos.

  If there are any men out there worried about fatherhood, well, what can I say? When mine was just a month old I looked down at him clutching my finger with his tiny trusting hands and thought, ‘I would gladly feed my cock through a mangle, just for a half-hour’s sleep.’ Amazing to think that you need a licence for a dog and by all accounts even a TV, but not for a baby. You need a licence for a car, a moped, a licence to sell hot food from a cart . . . a licence to kill . . . a licence to fish . . . sorry, I’ve sort of lost my thread. So tired . . . son off school all week. So very tired.

  Women considering abortions are to be made to have counselling to ensure they’ve thought it through. It’s an emotive subject. I’d an argument about it with my gran the other night. In the end I just said, ‘Shut the clinic. You don’t know what you’re doing.’ It seems the government wants to reduce abortions by a third. Is there any evidence that a third of abortions are unnecessary? No, they just think it sounds like a nice figure. Essentially, they’re haggling with reality.

  Pro-life guys get a hard time but there are good reasons to be Pro-life. For example, you might fear women or hate women or be dumb as a rock. The thing about anti-abortionists is that they’re generally a fairly compelling argument for abortion.

  New research claims babies born to smokers can weigh eight ounces less. You don’t need to tell me that smoking while pregnant can be dangerous. When my little boy started kicking he used to knock the ashtray clean off my girlfriend’s tummy. He’s still paying for the new carpet out of his pocket money.

  Half of Britain’s shopkeepers sell cigarettes to adults buying them for children. I confess I’ve sometimes agreed to buy fags for kids. Split their money with the shopkeeper and they’ll always let you out the back door. A lot of kids in Glasgow ask you to buy fags for them but I always refuse. I worry about them handling matches when they’re drunk.

  The government’s decided people shouldn’t buy cigarettes from display cabinets in shops. We’re way ahead of you – we buy them from a Polish guy down the pub.

  It appears that nicotine patches might combat Alzheimer’s disease. They certainly helped my nan from going off on her wanders. It took about two hundred to stick her to her armchair. They could soon be available on prescription, so Alzheimer’s sufferers will just have to make the short journey from doctor to chemist before asking for half a pound of sausages. Forget patches – my family have long known that cigarettes prevent Alzheimer’s. They all smoked forty a day and were mentally sharp right up to the end, as they were dead by their mid-fifties.

  • • •

  Reports reveal a huge rise in the number of student medics becoming prostitutes to pay their way through university. Not sure I’d fancy a medical-student doctor as a prostitute. Can you imagine if you asked them to whisper something naughty in your ear and what you got was, ‘I once prescribed barbiturates for a patient but instead of 2.5ml I wrote 25ml and it killed him.’

  An outbreak of syphilis is threatening to shut down the porn industry in America. They tried to stop the outbreak but unfortunately every time someone in a nurse uniform showed up, they’d strip and join in the scene. The medical authorities are hoping to find the porn star who’s spreading it, so they can tell her step-father he’s the source.

  An Indian company launched a cream that claims to make a woman feel like a virgin. I’ve tried it, and it really does tighten vaginas – I slipped a little into Robbie Savage’s drink, and he immediately refused to get the next round in. It’s clearly more about that stupid male thing of wanting to pretend you’re a girl’s first partner. I’d the same silly feeling when I met mine, but it was never going to happen. Not after I pulled that number 19 ticket from the tombola. It took the enjoyment right out of things, not least as I couldn’t stop worrying if I’d put enough money in the parking meter.

  Two-for-one deals on cosmetic surgery could soon be banned. This would be bad news, particularly for women who can only afford to get one tit done. The government wants to put a stop to deals that encourage women to go under the knife for cosmetic reasons, as opposed to them doing it for peace in the Middle East.

  Health chiefs have ordered a major crackdown on cowboy plastic surgeons. So this is why Amanda Holden always looks like she’s crying – her surgeon’s got the dosage wrong and the Botox is overflowing out of her head like someone’s left a tap on. It seems pretty much anyone can do these fillers without qualifications – and an enthusiastic butcher doing it would certainly explain why Donatella Versace looks like something out of The Lord of the Rings having a dump. I’m not sure she even got as far as a cowboy cosmetic surgeon – it looks more like she’s gone to a shoddy mechanic who’s filled her with ne
wspaper and given her a re-spray. Still, men shouldn’t judge women by how they look. Let’s leave that job to other women. I’d never have some op to make me feel better about my body. Not when I can achieve the same for just the cost of a return ticket to Coatbridge.

  Women who have massive boob jobs are just divorcing themselves from real life; having them removed will be like coming down from ecstasy to find yourself living alone in a slaughterhouse. Dr Andrew Jones of Nuffield Health clinics has asked all bust-enlargement patients to send him photographs of the work they’ve had done. At least, his Facebook page says he runs a clinic. The head of British Association of Aesthetic and Plastic Surgeons is contradicting the government’s findings. I know who I want to believe – the man from the organisation called BAAPS.

  It’s a sinister story. All the perpetrators are rich men, all the victims women who will now have to have their breasts cut open. It’s like a Europe-wide Jack the Ripper flashmob. Ironically, the last time Britain was full of women with their breasts bandaged up they were disguising themselves as men to get into universities. How time moves on.

  The NHS has also been told to spend less on tattoo removal. Please not before I talk my girlfriend into having hers done – she has lines radiating upwards from the buttocks, in the style of a shotput field, with points marked at varying distances, a man’s name written alongside each.

  Experts say that taking sleeping pills makes it five times more likely you’ll die young. Indeed, the report says many users of heavy sedatives won’t reach old age. To be honest, up here in Glasgow a lot of them will be lucky to reach the weekend. Taking a high dose dramatically increases your chance of getting cancer. There you go insomniacs – something to think about while you’re trying to drop off tonight. Do go to sleep, though, because lack of sleep has been linked to heart attacks. Just go to sleep.