Frog Report: Winter Edition

Hello again from the Frog Report! We are once again back to discuss the most common, overplayed talking points that are so edgy no mainstream publication will print them.

In the past six months, we’ve been yelling at people who wear glasses to stop wearing glasses and just try harder to see faraway things. We’ve been proving that we are healthy, well-balanced people with hobbies like building side tables out of driftwood and shaming anyone who likes video games. As you can see, this has nothing to do with our personal problems and everything to do with a need to keep anybody we don’t like from doing things.

Since it’s winter, we are finally writing a Frog Report from the ideal place for a frog: our mud pit! Fully surrounded and hibernating in our slimy ideals, we are poised to defend our views by saying we are just people who like frogs. Or, in my case, “just a woman who likes frogs.”

After all, if you are a woman and you like something, you always have to highlight the fact that you are not like other women in that you like the thing. Otherwise, people may erroneously believe that it’s common for women to enjoy pizza, wine, trucks, conservative values, sports, pants, cats, unfair public policy, books, swear words, beer, unnecessary violence, Disney, scary movies, getting paid, autumn and being a mother to a boy.

We also insist that nobody appreciates the true meaning of Christmas anymore. We express this by continuing to get rid of our traditions because we don’t feel like doing them and instead continuing to commercialize the holiday even more. While this may seem hypocritical, rest assured that we are doing our duty by yelling at culturally-Christian agnostics who still celebrate to remember the story of Christmas.

Of course, it wouldn’t truly be a Frog Report if we had anything meaningful to say or any structure outside of just saying our opinions loudly. It’s just too much fun watching people act shocked at stuff many people have said before and probably better, even if it’s still wrong and said in bad faith. I hope this page has opened your eyes to everything the media has hidden from you, which it somehow manages to broadcast nearly 24 hours a day.

Featured image: hehaden on Flickr

Years of never being invited to parties finally pays off for Dominic Cummings

Former SPAD, moderate eugenicist, and hideous gremlin Dominic Cummings today told The Lampoon that he’s grateful to have never been invited to parties by Johnson’s government.

“It’s a real relief now, let tell you,” the gargoyle-visaged campaigner stated, in an interview with The Lampoon’s society and plague pits reporter. “I mean, now that all of these pictures are getting leaked by some unknown figure with a grudge against the Government and, probably, a very large penis.”

“Of course, it was originally very distressing: I wept so much that my eyes actually became affected; I was actually forced to test that they were still able to work correctly by… well, never mind that now.”

Significant anger has been levelled at the Conservative Party, which, it has been alleged, held as many as seven Christmas functions in 2020, while the people of Great Britain were forced to remain in lockdown. Though, as a spokesman for the Conservatives has pointed out, these measures protected the people of Great Britain from having to pair up with Priti Patel for Seven Minutes in Heaven.

The defending victor of the annual John Christie Lookalike Contest assured The Lampoon that clear evidence of these parties exist, “including photographs of Michael Gove making a cocaine angel, and Jacob Rees-Mogg being shown the error of his ways by the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

The Government has issued a statement regarding members of the public who were unable to be with their loved ones during their final moments, with a spokesperson assuring The Lampoon that Conservative MPs would have loved nothing more than to be there to watch their family members die.

Featured image: Flickr

2021 Conservative Christmas party to be held at your mum’s house, you whiny fuck

Following the widespread public outrage over the developing story of the Government’s string of Christmas parties, the Johnson administration has announced that they intend to hold their 2021 Christmas events at your mum’s house, if you’re so keen to have a fucking party.

Earlier today, Boris Johnson revealed that the Cabinet, a number of Conservative MPs, and any aides that look like they won’t go running to the press will arrive at your mum’s house during the run-up to Christmas and make merry.

“We have heard the outrage and hullabaloo regarding both last year’s lockdown and the number of events that may or may not have taken place,” the Prime Minister stated. “In order to address both of these issues, we have determined that the best course of action is to rock up at your mum’s place and slam our faces into cocaine until Liz Truss starts to look worth the effort.”

While the Government has claimed not to have a schedule of events in mind for this function, Downing Street insiders have stated off the record that plans exist for traditional Tory Party games of Burning Money in Front of a Homeless Person, Covid Contract Bingo, and Stick the Knife in the Prime Minister.

Plans for a professional photographer to be in attendance remain unconfirmed.

Featured image: Flickr

Chris(mas) Day’s Christmas Day: the inside scoop

Christmas is a season of joy, exchanging presents, feigning joy over said presents, and stalking.

You read that correctly: stalking. One of the most popular and influential Christmas songs to date does include the lyric “he sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake,” after all. So when the opportunity came up to sneak into the household of Chris Day for the investigative scoop of the century, our dubious moral code meant we couldn’t say no.

How did this come about? Well, settle down and I shall reveal the full story.

It came to our attention that the Day household was seeking to employ staff to cook and serve the Christmas Dinner on the 25th. After all, COVID-19 was taking the day off, as confirmed by Johnson, so it was okay to not wear a mask. Obviously that did not mean Day was going to interact with or associate with the staff. That simply is not done. We selected our least controversial Toon Lampoon journalist (most of our reporters are instantly recognisable from the warrants out for their arrests), clothed them in one of the many maid costumes from the editor’s office (we don’t want to know what’s going on there after-hours) and sent them on their way. Our reporter gave us the full story as to what happened next.

The staff turned up at the crack of dawn to begin preparations for the Christmas breakfast and lunch (unlike the preparations for semester two from the university, which still seem to be as clear as mud). Our reporter was surprised to see elite foodstuffs like caviar, porridge seasoned with gold dust and avocado toast – but this makes sense, considering how Day earns £373,600 a year. Breakfast was served in the third dining room with solid gold cutlery and portraits of previous Day patriarchs staring down at us from their gilded frames. Our reporter swears one of the portraits blinked so there is the possibility that Chris Day is also a wizard, but we cannot be certain.

Then there would have been the exchanging of the presents, but this occurred via Zoom. Our reporter was able to keenly observe this morning ritual whilst topping up everyone’s drinks of festive mulled blue trebs (the recipe for which was created by a student and left on the university cloud before the data hack, meaning it could have been an inside job – see, we can do proper investigative journalism!). Not only did only half of the family members turn up to this Zoom meeting, entitled “Forced Family Meeting”, but the half that did turn up did not even have their cameras on! The call ended up with the Days opening presents in silence and family members mysteriously losing their WiFi connection so they couldn’t rejoin…

If the breakfast was an elaborate affair, then the lunch was practically a royal banquet! No vouchers for the NUSU Co-op vouchers in sight. Our reporter, who hadn’t been given any solid food for the past three months, was salivating at the sight. Before they could begin eating, a prayer was read out: not a Christian one, but a weird untranslatable language. Definitely a family of wizards.

Whilst the family was outside undertaking a walk of their property (namely Newcastle University) and the rest of the staff started to clean the plates, our fearless reporter took this opportunity to investigate the rest of the house. Notable discoveries include the the star on the Christmas tree in the foyer being a striking resemblance to Chris Day, and some sort of noise from the basement. Before these could be investigated further, the Days returned in time to watch the TV. If you are expecting them to have watched the Queen’s Speech, you would be sorely mistaken as they instead watched his virtual speeches like this one on repeat. No wonder the family soon found themselves in a drunken stupor, ended up in bed by 5pm and left the staff to finish the mulled trebs and 173-year old-whiskey. Coincidentally, that is where our reporter’s account finishes and which cannot account for why the reporter was found half naked at the top of Grey’s Monument this morning by police officers.

What have we learnt from this piece of investigative journalism then (we promise we won’t make a habit of it)? The Days lead an elite lifestyle and are potentially a group of wizards with people trapped in their basement. More importantly, we now cannot use this reporter for future undercover work since they have now got a warrant out for their arrest (for public indecency and other related crimes). You just can’t get the staff these days…

Featured image: Pxhere

Excerpts from The Toon Lampoon letters to Santa

We Toon Lampoon journalists, either due to an inherent childish disposition or due to a need for hope after working here so long, have all been writing letters to Santa. One would expect them to be sent off, but our heartless editors normally burn them on the fire instead. To be fair, we don’t exactly have the budget for fuel.

This year, however, they have not been in the office to burn them, so they have been sent off to the North Pole. Our editors found out about this, and to make up for it, we have to publish excerpts from these letters to publicly humiliate ourselves. So much for it being the season for kindness.

One writer, in a glittery purple pen, wrote asking for world peace and an end to global hunger. Clearly, we have an imposter in our midst. No genuine Lampoon writer would ever be thoughtful enough to ask for that. We pride ourselves on being villainous and corrupt enough to not even deserve coal for Christmas. Time for a purge, pitchforks and all.

Another letter seemed to have been written in a hurry and has tear stains on the side. It is less a letter and more a cry for help. It includes lines such as “please may I have chain cutters to help me escape this place” and “naps for more than 30 minutes every other day”. They make the Lampoon office seem like a hellish place to work, but it definitely is not! I promise!

We must also add that this journalist mentioned something about freeing the Northumbria students from our basement. In response, we direct you to our already-issued public statement absolutely refusing to do so. In true Lampoon style, it consists mostly of typos and swear words.

The last letter is almost normal in its requests, which is certainly bizarre considering how normal people don’t last a day in the office. There’s the usual mentions of money, clothes, games and the like. Also “a new brother”.

Wait. That’s my letter.

If my long-suffering brother is reading this, it should come as no surprise to you since I’ve been trying to wish you away to the Goblin King for years. It just hasn’t worked out. Sorry bro.

We hope you have enjoyed this brief insight into the depraved and twisted minds of The Toon Lampoon journalists, your ever-loyal servants. We can only hope our wishes have been heard. Knowing our luck, it’ll be Krampus, not Santa, paying us a visit.

Student missing Soho during Christmas enjoys mulled blue treb

A Newcastle University student who is suffering withdrawal symptoms from Soho has decided to treat themselves to some homemade mulled blue treb. To get the authentic flavour, the student made the mulled treb with own-brand vodka, fruit juice and a small measure of washing up liquid.

Withdrawal symptoms from Soho can be deadly, and include things like regaining a sense of taste.

Speaking to The Lampoon, the student reported “The mulled treb is hot and sticky, just like the dancefloor at Soho”.

Of course, all Lampoon writers are banned from attending any nightclubs or social activity. Some have criticised this rule as superfluous, seeing as attending nightclubs or social activities generally requires having friends.

Nevertheless, to appropriately appreciate the Newcastle nightclub experience, our reporter put a pan on his head, and had the editors smash it with golf clubs. Once he had incurred the appropriate brain damage, it was decided he was finally ready to enjoy Soho.

Man watching Belle Delphine porn on Christmas Day beginning to question some choices

A man has admitted that he is beginning to feel regret over some of his life decisions after watching Belle Delphine’s sex tape on Christmas. He made the confession opening up to our pornography reporter, a dominatrix who works in the sex shop that doubles up as The Lampoon’s office.

Speaking to our reporter, he asked “aren’t we meant to be having sex now?”

He agreed to keep talking, though, after she assured him that teary confessionals were her kink.

“I only watched the video once, but it’s the kind of thing that sticks with you,” he explained between sobs. “The rest of the day, I’m going to get flashbacks every time one of my family members mention ‘stuffing’.”

“To be fair, I can see it becoming a modern-day Christmas tradition, like watching Die Hard or breaking lockdown.”

The man has been referred for mental health support before someone takes advantage of his vulnerable position, and a Lampoon editor offers him a job.

Britons shocked to discover Christmas lunch isn’t that British after all

We’ve all heard that terrible cracker joke over the past few years: “How will Christmas lunch be different after Brexit? No Brussels!” It usually merits a few groans and speeches from grandparents on how we made a mistake entering the EU back in ’73. They then tend to proclaim how proud they are to be British, and end up passing out half-drunk on the sofa before the Strictly Christmas Special even begins.

It may shock them to learn that Christmas lunches, a staple just like the Queen’s Speech, aren’t that British after all.

Let us begin with the humble potato, which also happens to be the sole source of food here at The Lampoon. Originally domesticated in Peru, they did not arrive in the UK until the Golden Age of Exploration when travellers like Walter Raleigh thought a weird beige object would be the best holiday souvenir to bring home. I’m sure their families were delighted. Whilst they might now be closely linked with British cuisine in the form of fish and chips, they still aren’t British in origin.

At least we still have the star of the show: turkey. Actually, we don’t. December Fools! That’s a thing, right?

Turkey is once again an import from the Americas, arriving in Britain in the 15th century. Even then, it did not become a Christmas lunch must-have until the 17th century amongst the working class, who couldn’t afford geese.

What did we have before turkey? One individual from 1773 recorded having cod and oyster sauce, amongst other things, at New College, Oxford University. We might see the dish return if the fishing quotas all work out.

We can’t even claim ownership over the vegetables or herbs that play a minor role in our lunches. This includes onions, garlic and thyme (thank you Romans), as well as brussels sprouts (despite the name, they likely originate in the Mediterranean).

What can we take credit for? Yorkshire puddings, if you add them to your Christmas lunch, you weirdo. That’s it really.

Whatever will the Brexit-loving Britons do when they discover most of their favourite Christmas foods aren’t British in origin? Will they see their mistake and beg Brussels for forgiveness? Will they beg Santa for a People’s Vote? Or will they follow in the footsteps of everyone’s favourite hypocrite Nigel Farage and ignore any evidence to the contrary of their opinions being wrong? Methinks the latter.

Whether you are a Brexiteer or a Remainer, we hope you have an enjoyable holiday period. Maybe you can spare a thought for us Lampoon journalists, who have been left locked in the office by the editors with only rotten Christingle oranges – which also aren’t British! – to keep us going. Maybe one day, Band Aid will come together to sing a song about us.

Note: the featured image is of The Lampoon editors’ Christmas lunch. The writers were not invited.

Toon Lampoon writers excitedly put out milk and cookies for Rupert Murdoch

Writers for satire outlet and part-time money laundering front The Toon Lampoon have been seen putting out milk and cookies for Rupert Murdoch.

This is in eager anticipation of Murdoch’s overnight visit to every news publication in the world. Our writers can tell he’s been when they wake up the next morning to find their phones have been hacked.

Murdoch makes the trip every year on his yacht. The ship is used for heart-warming schemes all year round, like hosting Prime Ministers behind Parliament’s back.

Lampoon writers hope that they don’t appear on the naughty list, like how Murdoch does on Jeffrey Epstein’s ‘little black book’ under two separate numbers.

Christmas is of course expected to be difficult for The Lampoon writers this year, who are spending it alone. They can at least take solace in the fact that coronavirus means the rest of the country are finally doing the same.  

Excel Spreadsheet blunder means millions without christmas presents this year

Seven year-old Tamara crept downstairs early this morning, eager to be the first person in her family to see all the presents under the tree. It had been a hard year for her, a year of zoom classrooms, no contact with her friends, and too much contact with her parents, who are both now raging alcoholics. On top of that, her grandmother hasn’t moved since Tamara hugged her on Christmas Eve morning.

Tamara had stood strong through this year’s hardships, though, knowing that Christmas would eventually arrive. She’d asked Santa for an iPod and a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, telling the Lampoon that it “would help to drown out the screaming my parents are always doing since Dad got furloughed.”

But when Tamara opened the living room door this morning, she didn’t find any iPod shaped presents – in fact, she didn’t find any presents at all. The room was empty of everything but tinsel-coated furniture, a Christmas tree, and her grandma’s corpse.

Many children this Christmas experienced the same traumatic scene. In an unprecedented Christmas catastrophe, Santa missed millions of children’s names from his Excel Spreadsheet Nice List this year.

Our Christmas correspondent asked Tamara’s parents what effect this disruption had on their festivities, and her father told us “Well, to be honest, she asked for an iPod, which was already above our price range anyway. We thought Santa might be able to pull through, but if he thinks the little brat doesn’t deserve a merry Christmas, who are we to argue? We’re just mortals.”

“You mean you didn’t buy the iPod?” Tamara’s mother cut in, “I wondered why she was trying to talk to me this morning. For Christ’s sake, David. Jesus Christ! I’m going to get my bourbon, and not to make eggnog. Christ, David – you’ve got me blaspheming like a heretic on the birthday of Our Lord.”

As David pulled a Christmas cracker by himself, our Christmas correspondent decided it was the right time to fake a faulty internet connection and end the Zoom interview. Just as they were leaving the meeting, they caught a glimpse of what was inside the cracker: a paper party hat, a piece of paper that said “What goes Ho, Ho, Ho, thump? Santa laughing his head off!”, a thimble shaped like a reindeer, and a mid-sized, well-sharpened kitchen knife. David took the last item and moved out of frame with a deeply un-festive look of vengefullness.

In order to understand why this Excel spreadsheet error had occurred in the first place, the Lampoon’s travel editor managed to get an exclusive interview with Father Christmas himself, in exchange for the release of two elves we had tied up in our office with tinsel.

“Basically,” Santa told the editor, “the problem was to do with the file type or something. We were using XMS file types for our spreadsheets. But apparently they’re too big for Excel. I can’t see why we had to move from good old quill and parchment, personally, but there have been some pretty major difficulties recently, so maybe we can blame this on the Elvish Workers’ Revol- I mean, on Covid. Blame this on Covid.”

When asked why he had used the ineffective XMS file type, Santa replied: “Well, it looks like ‘Xmas’, doesn’t it? See, here at Santa’s Grotto, we use a legacy system, which means that practically speaking we need to include references to Christmas in as many different places as possible. We even go to the point of not treating an elf’s skin condition unless he calls it ‘eczemas’. So naturally XMS files will continue to be used.”

“Wait,” our travel editor replied, “does this mean the same issue will continue to happen every Christmas?”

Santa chuckled a smug ‘ho ho ho’: “Well, more or less. We’ve worked out that the number of children missed out from our global spreadsheet is the exact number of children living in the UK. So from now on we’ll just miss your lot out and deliver to everywhere else.”

“But why the UK specifically? Surely there are other small countries you could ignore.”

“If I answer, do you promise to release my elves? Those two were loyal to me. I need them to bust up all the talk of unions in the factories.”

“Absolutely. A time for giving, forgiving, forgetting and getting.”

“Doing all the paperwork in time to get into the UK next year would take a Christmas miracle. I’m not planning to get stuck in Kent.

“Now give me back my elves.”