Here at The Poxhole News, we cater only for true patriots. If you’re some kind of lefty, do-gooding, woke, yoghurt-knitter, sod off and read the bloody Guardian with the grown-ups. We aren’t interested in you. You must really hate our bloody country, you vile, little, communist twat. If, on the other hand, you happen to be a PROUD PATRIOTIC BRIT, you’ll love our new website. Especially if you’re English – we don’t really care for Jocks, Micks and Taffs, to be honest – no offence, folks, but you just aren’t as BRITISH as we are.
We’ve got some awesome stuff for you this week. And what a week it has been thanks to Brexit and lefties dying of the ‘Rona but we must be careful. Johnny Foreigner is still out there and we’ve got to stay on our toes.
Let’s hand you over to some of the brightest and whitest minds in Britain with their latest blog posts.
How I Won the War by George Useless M.P.
When Mr Churchill announced that we were under attack from the evil euro-wogs, I knew I had to do my bit.
I set aside my developing career as a rocket scientist and signed up for the Army, the Navy and the Air Force. I also joined the SAS and the SBS for good measure. There is no such thing as over-commitment when your very sovereignty is at stake!
It wasn’t easy, I can assure you, but I’m not going to brag. I simply played my part.
My first major strike was when I sank the Bismarck. I swam all the way from Dover to stick a limpet-mine on the pride of the German fleet. At one point, holding my breath for four and a half hours. It was pretty damned chilly, too but I didn’t complain. I am, after all, British!
My finest hour, of course, was the Battle of Britain. Supplies were short and I had to build my own Spitfire. There were no Airfix kits back in those days, so I had to make the whole thing from scratch. My mum was a bit upset that I had used her best bathtub but she soon forgave me when she heard Churchill making that famous speech. “Never, in the field of human conflict”, he said, “has so much been owed by so many to Charles George Useless.” And he was right, of course, but I am far too modest to say so. Fifty-eight Messerschmitts and forty-seven Fockers, I shot down that day. And that’s just the ones I could be bothered to count. I wasn’t in it for the glory!
It wasn’t all amazing feats of courage on the battlefield, though. When I cracked the code over breakfast one morning, it seemed like a trivial thing but people often say that it was the moment that I really won the war. Who am I to argue with people who say that I’m brilliant?
What with my triumph at El Alamein and everything, I like to think that that I played a key role in making sure that Britain would continue to be ruled from the playing fields of Eton. And that is why I will always maintain that Brexit was a great idea no matter how awful it is in reality.
You can read more about George’s remarkable role in the war in old copies of Victor and Warlord.
Why GBeebies Will Save the World by Nick Lamborghini
Face it, folks, if there’s one under-represented group in British society, it’s the London taxi driver. With only two national radio stations, The Poxhole and a handful of newspapers to represent their enlightened views, our plucky black-cab drivers are pretty much ignored by the MSM.
And let’s be honest here. Nobody, but nobody, knows more about life than someone who takes people on ridiculously long tours of the world’s capital city. You name them, our cabbies have had them in the back of their cabs. You always know you’re dealing with quality when someone starts every other sentence with “that Alf Garnett had it right, you know, guv’nor”. It’s a mark of class and erudition.
That’s why I’m working with Andrew Kneel on his exciting new television project – GBeebies. We’ll be doing away with all those boring old “experts” and asking the people who really know their British onions – the humble taxi-drivers of London.
We’ll be showcasing all of the classic routines including “I’m not racist or nothing, but …”; “That Enoch Powell, he knew what he was talking about”; “I’d hang the bloody lot of ’em” and, my personal favourite, “Three quid for a bleeding coffee? it’s political correctness gone mad! That’s your sodding EU, that is!”
The voice of common sense has been buried for far too long and now we’re fighting back.
Just don’t expect us to broadcast south of the river at this time of night.
Sod Masks, I Want my Lebensraum by Lozza Pox
If one more trendy, lefty, pinko arse-wipe says a single rude thing about my views on Covid, I’ll get jolly miffed.
Why is it that the metropolitan elite can’t see that the Chinese ‘flu is actually a GOOD thing? All this crying and whining every time some old dear dies a painful death is completely missing the point. This glorious virus is wiping out all manner of undesirables – poor people, old people, foreigners, communists, gays, vegetarians, hippies, intellectuals – none of the bastards are immune. How on Earth, can it be seen in such a negative way?
Yet every day, our left-wing government bleats on about “fighting the disease”, “protecting each other” and, worst of all, “saving the NHS”. I went to Harrow. Why, in God’s name, do I need a bloody NHS? I’ll tell you what I need, Mr Boris so-called Johnson, I need some bloody space. I need roads that aren’t full of plebby cars. I need pavements that aren’t cluttered by the needy. I need towns that are unsullied by “social” housing. I need lebensraum! Say what you like about Hitler but he was certainly right on that one. Good, honest, well-bred Aryans need room to play in – and plenty of it!
That is why I am urging you all to do your bit for England. Lick a rat today and help purify our race.
Support you nation. Buy something off this lot.
What I Look for in a Woman by Tommy Yaxley-McCartney
People often ask me what a charismatic, fighter of oppression like me looks for in a woman. When you’re a proper bulldog, like I am, you can’t just settle for any old tart, that’s for sure. Obviously, you look for all the normal stuff like being white and having tits, a fanny, a back-door and a pulse, but what really counts is what’s inside. There’s no point having some bird that looks like a super-model if she turns out to be a bleeding-heart liberal, is there?
It’s all a question of genetics. She’s got to be of good Anglo-Saxon, Aryan stock. Nothing with the slightest touch of the tar-brush is ever going to ride Tommy’s rocket, I can tell you. If she’s got tats, they’ve got to be the right tats – BRITISH flag of St George, EDL logo, swastika – all the kosher stuff, none of your doves and fluffy bunnies for this wild stallion, thank you very much.
Let’s be honest, lads, you don’t look at the mantelpiece while you’re stoking the fire. I don’t give a toss what they look like, I just want one that’s got her head on straight. And, I’ve never heard of a woman that’s got her head on any straighter than my nomination for The Poxhole’s page 3 bird of the month. So how about it, Anne? Fancy whipping your tits out for the boys and then nipping round my prison cell for a quick conjugal? You won’t be disappointed, darling and it’ll only take a minute. Go on, please! I’m begging you – I’ll pay!
Thanks to Paul O’Connor, from whom I stole “GBeebies.”
