A spokesperson for the ambitious High Speed 2 railway project today revealed that the organisation would be utilising artificial black hole technology in order to save time for its busy commuters.
Speaking to the media, Press Officer Tom Barrett explained that the use of an artificially-constructed black hole that could bridge two points in spacetime would “offer real, measurable improvements in terms of commute time”.
“Current thinking dictates that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line,” Barrett told the press. “What we’ve not considered in terms of rail travel is, in layman’s terms, bending space in order to bring those two points together.”
Several questions have been raised about the safety issues involved in creating a black hole for a train to pass through, and the issue has even been debated in the House of Commons. Prime Minister Boris Johnson, however, referred to the concerns as “pointless fearmongering”.
“The British people are a nation of bold rail travellers,” Johnson announced at this week’s Prime Minister’s Questions. “And to suggest that the prospect – the exceedingly unlikely prospect, I should add – of, to use a hypothetical example, damage to luggage, accidentally being transported into an unending and nightmarish hellscape, some slight noise in the quiet carriage, would turn them from their rightful prerogative to use these trains is not simply divisive, but beyond the pale.”
“I say, on with these new and wonderful leaps forward in our great British travel and, in the fitting Latin words of Sir Topham Hatt, liberate tutemet ex inferis.”
It was announced today that the price of rail fares, including off-peak long-distance returns, will now include the purchaser’s firstborn child.
Given the government’s eagerness for people to return to their places of work following the coronavirus lockdown, many have viewed the move as “strange”, “poorly thought out” and “a dystopian nightmare”. Ministers defended the move by saying “Don’t answer back, you commoners!”
A government insider, who agreed to meet The Lampoon‘s reporter on the conditions of anonymity and using the reporter as a footstool, laid out the government’s thinking.
Upon being asked what the government planned to do with the children received, the source took a sip from his chilled glass of Chianti before answering.
“The Secretary of State for Transport Grant Shapps is planning to start his own chocolate factory when he leaves politics. Naturally, this means he needs a lot of small people who can sing jolly songs in wildly unsafe working conditions.”
The Saudi Arabian government has today accepted the blame for a historic mistake after they accidentally bombed St. James’ Park, the home of Newcastle United. This came after it was announced that the Saudi-led takeover of Newcastle’s football team had fell through.
Speaking on the accidental bombing campaign, Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman has claimed “there was a slight mix-up on our part, I’ll be the first to admit that. You guys know how these things go.”
Citizens of Newcastle are bewildered with the latest development in the takeover saga. One local man, Neil Waylike, told The Lampoon he’s “devastated. Absolutely devastated. I know the takeover didn’t go through, but this is a bit much like. In fact, we’re in an even worse situation than we were before. Heartbroken man. I’m heartbroken.”
Even more bewildered at the news are the citizens of Yemen. One man from the Yemeni capital of Sana’a, who wished to remain anonymous, told local press that “the mood here is weird at the moment. On the positive side, due to the Saudi investment, we’re now favourites for the 2022 World Cup. That’s pretty good I suppose.”
The Lampoon has journalists on the ground in Newcastle, ready to bring our readers any further twists in the takeover saga.
Unfortunately, chances are that while you are at Newcastle University you will have at least a little cry. It’s one of the things you can guarantee about your university experience. That, and crippling debt, which may jolly well be what makes you cry in the first place. But having a cry in your room is so generic, so why not spice up your cry-life with some of the best spots to tear up in Newcastle?
The Robbo
If you’re feeling a bit down and feel in need of letting the water works flow, why not do so in style? Book yourself a room in the Robbo for an hour. Sure, it is supposed to be for studying, but letting all your emotions out seems like a much better use of that time and you can do it in peace and quiet. Only downside is all those gremlins waiting outside for your time to be up so they can crack on with some macroeconomics. That, and having to mop the desk after your sobbing session.
Mog on the Tyne
Crying is always more fun with both a fuzzy companion and a drink to hydrate you for extra tears, and which place has both? Mog on the Tyne, that’s which. What’s better than tearing up while stroking a little kitty? Sure, the cat probably doesn’t give a damn about your wellbeing, but that doesn’t mean it won’t help. And when you’re done you can always use the cat as a hankie.
Image: Sophie Hicks
Grey’s Monument
Crying is the new cool. Doing it shows the world that you are confident and willing to express your emotions. So if you really want to express yourself, do it somewhere everyone can see. Like Grey’s Monument. Sure it’s high up and probably a bit cold, but it’ll make for an exciting cry that everyone will see.
Under the Arches
You can’t go wrong with a classic, and there certainly isn’t a more iconic spot than under the Arches on main campus. It isn’t just the go-to spot to share your dissertation with anyone who will listen, but also prime real estate for lovely little cry session. It also provides some great overhead cover so when it rains the only thing that’ll get wet is your cheeks.
As the jetsetting travel correspondent for the Toon Lampoon, I’m regularly lucky enough to see exotic and exciting places across the world. I’ve travelled to every continent, to every country in the EU, I’ve been to jungles and deserts. Now, I get to say I’ve been to the last truly wild place on Earth.
When our editor told me of the opportunity to travel to Antarctica to do a joint piece with our science correspondent, I jumped at the chance. The idea of shadowing a scientific expedition intrigued me. I was to join a group of researchers from a university in Massachusetts who were intending to survey uncharted parts of the Southern continent. It would seem ludicrous that in this age of satellite imaging there would be unexplored areas of the Earth’s surface, but as one of the team’s geographers explained to me, some mostly mysterious magnetic forces at the pole means images often come up distorted and useless.
A research vessel not unlike the one we travelled on.
We travelled by boat. A plane big enough to carry all of us and our equipment would not have been allowed to land on Antarctica due to its strict environmental protections. We launched from New Zealand, traversing the Southern Ocean with the intention to land at Zuchelli Station. It’s a permanent research post run by the Italians, and would be where I’d call home for a week or so whilst we set up our equipment and prepared for the expedition. However, conditions were particularly rough on the waters as the boat approached, and we failed to receive radio contact from anyone there. Instead, we had to sail further into the Ross Archipelago to the US-run McMurdo Station. It was from here that the journey began.
People always assume Antarctica is a completely frozen land. Most of it is, but in the coastal areas – warmed by the ocean – temperatures can rise just enough for the frost to melt, exposing the jet black rock underneath. It’s a strange type of rock, unlike anything I’ve seen. It’s surprisingly smooth, despite being untouched by geomorphic processes in this eerily still continent. Sometimes the rock even appears to bulge and flinch out the corner of your eye due to (the team’s geologist informed me) thermal processes within the rock’s chemical structure. The rock has an odd aura too it, as if it doesn’t want to be exposed to sunlight. I hate to anthropomorphise minerals, but that’s the only way I can accurately describe it.
There’s something strange about the rock on Antarctica.
We were heading South, towards the pole. Past the rocky shores the landscape gives way to the polar wastes. Vast white sheets of nothing, broken up in part by occasional craggy mountain ranges. To use a cliché, it truly must be seen to be believed. Language is not advanced enough of a tool to express clearly what it feels like to be there. The wind whips incessantly, and sounds like the roaring of some huge beast. The environment is so hostile it triggers some base psychological reaction. You feel watched, though from where in this endless expanse you do not know. You feel like you are being told by this place that you are making an affront to the Creator. A human in a decidedly inhuman place.
The days drag on in Antarctica. The sixth months of daylight in Summer are not bright, but 24 hours of infinite dusk. It doesn’t feel like night or day, but like purgatory. We could travel in the jeeps for what felt like weeks only to find we’d been going 2 days. It was worse to find out it had been 2 hours.
How long has it been like this?
As the pole grew nearer – or, at least, our navigation equipment told us it was drawing closer – members of our teams began to have breaks. The biologist, a young post-grad from a university in Germany began to complain that her teeth and eyes felt like they were growing. She said the sensation was unbearable. Once in camp, the geologist had to restrain her. They found her missing two incisors and a canine, bloody pliers in hand.
Officially 5 weeks into the expedition, we came across a crevasse emitting a low rumbling noise. The leader of the expedition, a quiet veteran of the continent said nothing except to ignore it and be extremely careful not to look directly into it. I dreamed of that crevasse for days after.
What was down there?
At some point between week 6 and week 9 (our electronic clocks and calendars began behaving erratically, displaying days that couldn’t exist and years far into the future), we came across a seal carcass in the path of our vehicles. The bloated corpse of this sea mammal was hundreds of miles from the ocean. I stepped out onto the plateau to get a closer look, and saw its belly was gashed open. Inside was a mass of writhing tendons.
Oh God, the tendons.
I wish I did not remember the tendons.
Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh GodOh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God
Don’t travel to Antarctica. The shapes there aren’t real. Time exists in a loop in a loop in a loop in a loop.
I don’t know how I got back. I just awoke here at my desk. I feel inconceivably compelled to write this article. Antarctica doesn’t want you there please don’t go there don’t listen to anyone who says you should go there please please please please I beg you, the continent begs you it tells you it commands you please don’t travel there it’s entirely not worth it you’ll regret it oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god.
The Toon Lampoon 