RH Occasionally 04

Slide1: 

Richard Huish the Issue “The views expressed in the so-called “Occasionally” are not those of the College, nor of any person or persons outside of a mental institution. This is a disgrace. If I wasn’t a vampire, I’d eat this paper just for the pleasure of excreting it at a later date.” - Peter “The Litre” Avery Dear readers, When informed that we were to write a magazine for secondary school students we, the writers of the “Occasionally”, were initially sceptical. Is the ability to read beyond the reach of a secondary school student? Equally, is the content of the “Occasionally” so inane and ultimately worthless that no sentient being, let alone an intelligent student at Heathfield, would ever actually lower themselves to reading it? And, most importantly, could we really be bothered? When we presented these concerns to our master, of course, he told us to shut up. So not only did we shut up, we also wrote this new issue of the Richard Huish Occasionally. Regular readers might notice that some of the articles are from old magazines. These readers, outraged that they have wasted their money on old material, may feel the insatiable urge to hunt the writers down and drink their blood. While we normally condone mindless and self-destructive violence, we instead advise any impending mob to take out their anger on the secondary school students who propelled us to print this issue of the magazine. It is like the poet Byron once said: “Oh! too convincing - dangerously dear - In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!”. We suspect that he was in fact beseeching large and unruly mobs to Burn the School, man. Sincerely, The Writers Matt D Editor Will Figurehead Matt L Deputy Editor Seb Overlord Tom R Technical Director With thanks to Complaints? Opinions? Piles? E-mail us:

Slide2: 

A scene from a mad Italian’s Lilliputian fantasies looms above visitors to Hampstead Heath this week. His “monument to the loneliness of writing” has taken the idea of gargantuan art to a new level. During a recent interview on the channel 4 news at ten, Neri claimed that the piece was not about scale, but more about the creative process involved in being a writer. My arse. Before being an attention seeker/artist, Neri was an attention seeker/professional footballer. This calls into question why Neri seems so sure that the loneliness of a writer can be accurately represented with a gigantic table and chair. Hmmm. Well, I’ll leave you pondering on that one. All this writing is making me lonely- I have a sudden compulsive urge to make a giant chair. I’m off. “The Writer” by Giancarlo Neri By Kate Alex S Chris Kate “Mad” Olly Tom A Matt J George C Joe George H Rob Jon Alex E Holly The Deep Blue By Tom A Poseidon strike me with waves so substantial! To fathom your depths leaves problems exponential! Your coral reefs are sometimes segmental! Your tidal sequentials are not coincidental! In a recent survey of occupations by Hark!, Tom A answered several questions with the word ‘poems’. Now one of our many resident poets, Tom is issuing a challenge to all readers. If you can come up with a better poem than the preceding one, then send it to RHoccasionally@hotmail.co.uk and be in with the chance of winning a prize! Tired of picking up paper? Then why not read the “Occasionally” on the web? Go to www.koreanfellow.de and click on the RHO link!

Slide3: 

By Matt D For the last century, the question “Who was more likely to be a flapjack: Stalin or Hitler?” has been met by experts with an overwhelming indifference. Since the Millennium, however, the growing trend in Comparing Historical Figures with Food Items has given fresh publicity to the debate. Members of the Stalin (1879 – 1953) Campaign yesterday asserted forcefully that there was no doubt that their candidate has more similarities with the flapjack (“a chewy cake made with oats” according to Microsoft Encarta 2000, “a cake made of oats, syrup, and butter and cut into squares before eating”) than his National Socialist counterpart. “All photographic evidence of [Joseph] Stalin shows him to be a significantly fatter man than was average at the time,” says Dr T Alexander, “and it is universally known that fat is chewy and found in both syrup and butter – showing significant similarities to a flapjack. Jeez, it’s just so f*cking obvious,” he concluded. Many dispute this opinion, and according to a government survey so do exactly 50% of the population. Dame L Kirby is one of them. She writes: “As far as I’m concerned, [Adolf] Hitler might have been a flapjack. I don’t really give a damn either way. Please stop contacting me.” With the people of Britain well and truly polarized, the time seems to be right for the Government to address this issue fully; a letter addressed to the Deputy Prime Minister has been composed by the Writer, and a detailed government report is confidently anticipated. The growing trend in Comparing Historical Figures to Food Items has given rise to this debate From Issue 01 Man of steel? Or washed up addict? I approach Dean’s one bedroom flat above Burger king with a slight sense of anticipation. What will he be like? Will he be dressed in his Superman’s outfit pretending to fly around, or will he be dressed as his Clark Kent alter ego, pretending to solve mysteries with sidekick Lois Lane? (Who is now in the hit show “Desperate Housewives”)? Stepping over syringes and empty whisky bottles I approach Dean’s front door. Knocking on the door causes a cloud of dust and what appears to be a midget dressed up as Superman fall from the ceiling. On closer inspection the midget had been dead for some years, no doubt a die hard fan. He answers the door with the words “I told you before Jimmy I ain’t doing porn anymore!!!!” He invites me in to his “house”, I take a seat on what appears to be a dead cow. After he sobers up a little I begin the interview: - So Dean, did you always dream of being Superman? - HUH? Who the **** is superman? - Ok. Did you ever act as a child? - Yeh. I had to act to pay the bills. I got a job at Burger King. I had to dress up as a Burger and dance around. - I bet that was humiliating! - Huh? My agent got me that job! Who are you? - You’ve done your fare share of modelling, would you ever consider gay porn? - Oh, every actor does gay porn, it’s just the norm! I’ve starred in “Super Willy 2000” and “I’m Superman, let’s DO IT!” I felt that the interview had come to halt (as Dean had passed out). So I did what any self respecting reporter would do - I urinated in his sink, stole some money and left. By Will An interview with

Slide4: 

The End of an Era: Orville the Duck 1979-2005 ‘I wish I could Fly’ It came as shock to all: Orville the Duck is gone forever, but as scores of children mourn his passing we look closer into the life of the bird who was loved by so many. Born from a litter of 49 mutant hens, Orville was always rejected from birth. In an interview not long before his death, he said: “Oh my childhood was f*****g cruel. All my brothers and sisters crawling all over me, it was like ‘JEEZ GIVE ME SOME F*****G ROOM!’ you know?” It was around this time that Orville discovered that, already carrying the unfortunate burden of incontinence, he had a disability: his wings failed to mature properly and the poor creature was left flightless. “Yeah that was harsh; as a bird you just want to be able to soar above the clouds. When I found out that that would never be possible and all my siblings left the nest it was like ‘JEEZ STOP FLYING EVERYWHERE YOU F*****G C**TS! HOW MUCH MORE DO YOU WANT TO RUB IT IN?!’ you know?” Orville spiralled into a depressive state. Getting through two bottles of whisky a day and blowing all his money on gambling and prostitutes, he ended up in a veterinary on a stomach pump. It seems, though, that this was where he got his lucky break: “Oh yeah, those were tough times, but you know I’m glad. As I was lying there Rolf Harris turned up. I was like “Jeez what the f**k are you doing here?” It turned out that he was just starting Animal Hospital and they needed a duck to feature in a reconstruction of a bestial rape…I was more than happy to oblige.” This performance led him on to greater things: “I met up with Keith Harris in a Soho bar. He was like “you know, I can do this really cool party trick with ducks…” and we were friends forever after that.” ‘I Wish I Could Fly’ was the song that turned Orville into a global superstar: “It was a heartfelt song; it was all my troubles wrapped up in one beautiful chanson! It was Keith’s idea to put it on kid’s TV, though. I was like ‘WHAT THE F**K? DO YOU HAVE ANY F*****G IDEA HOW MUCH THAT SONG MEANS TO ME?! YOU C**T, I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!’ you know?” But I got a s**tload of money out of it so principles kinda went out the window.” Keith Harris was later sued £10,000 by RSPB. Asked why Orville responded: “Why? WHY?! I’m not naturally green you know! That nappy was handy though, god…I got such bad stage fright, I s**t myself all the time on stage.” In retrospect Orville was a sad and troubled mind trapped inside an absurd and utterly repulsive exterior from which he could never escape. His bitterness and general hatred of the world was clearly demonstrated in the work he did towards the end of his life. ‘Duck Off’ was a play banned in 148 countries worldwide for its offensive and indecent content. “That play was genius. God bless Wales for being the only f*****g country in Europe to air it on TV. After the failure of that venture I resorted to drugs.” Interviewer: “Drugs? But you’re a kid’s icon!” Orville: “Yeah I done ‘em all, bitta coke, bitta smack…mm smack got any on you? Like now? Ah sweet, sweet mind-bending hallucinogens…I can smell them now…DRUGS! DRUGS! GIVE ME DRUGS! RAAAA!” Orville was later visited by a local vet who decided it would be in the interests of the welfare of both Orville and everyone else if he were put down. A loving Memorandum from Tom A Are you aware that every year, over 200 individuals leave Heathfield actually believing they went to a school; that is to say, a place of education? It’s shocking but true. In the time you’ve been reading these few sentences, presupposing you can read and aren’t still staring in drooling admiration at the coloured title, two ex-Heathfield pupils’ brains have imploded due to the sheer lack of information they actually contain. This is less shocking, and indeed very much less true. Think of all the Greats who have gone to Castle: Mr T; Mussolini; The Village People; Richard Gere; Dave; the list goes on and on and on. And what fine individuals did Heathfield produce? Pat Sharpe, that’s who. Pat f**king Sharpe. Who is he? No idea – Matt L knows him, which just about sums up how much of a useless f**king lowlife insignificant c**ting s**t he is. I hate him, and so do you. People from Heathfield also smell of rabbit lard, and Castle has less Puerto Ricans. In conclusion, I never really had a point. F**k you Heathfield, and f**k you Matt D, and f**k you Will, and f**k you Alex, and f**k you George, f**k all of you. Eat s**t and die. A Public Information Broadcast by Rob and Bob Geldof Orville pictured here with his ‘Father’, Keith

Slide5: 

From Issue 02 Mr T is one of the greatest and most influential people ever to grace our world. The former star of The A Team and Rocky III has already achieved so much in his short life that we feel it would be unnecessary and exploitative to show you, in an educated and scientifically-informed way, what he will be doing in the years to come. 2006: Mr T declares he is giving up acting for a career in politics. His final film, the Hollywood Blockbuster Mr T vs. Godzilla breaks box office records by becoming the highest-grossing film of all time and the fastest-selling DVD. 2008: Mr T becomes Senator of Ohio. 2013: Mr T becomes President of the USA. He stays President for a record successive five terms, despite this being thoroughly unconstitutional, and wins the Nobel Peace Prize for defeating the forces of Islam. 2038: As Mr T moves out of the White House he is offered the position of Head of Physics at Princeton. 2042: After tireless work, some of Mr T’s greatest theories are completed. The equation Mr = T is used to reveal some of the most fundamental secrets of the Universe. The following year he is awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics and Chemistry. 2003: Mr T invents time-travel. 2049: Following a major heart attack and in need of heart surgery, Mr T becomes the first person to perform open-heart surgery on himself with no anaesthetic. For this he wins the Nobel Prize for Medicine. However, this bad spell of health forces him to fully retire. 2070: After a string of successful novels, Mr T finishes his master work which becomes the biggest-selling novel of all time, even outselling such works as The Bible, Harry Potter 8: Harry Potter and the Curse of the Age-Diminished Libido, The Bible 2 and The Richard Huish Occasionally 50th Anniversary Novel and wins Mr T the Nobel Prize for Literature. 2085: Mr T becomes the first non-British person to be voted Greatest Briton ahead of contenders Isaac Newton and William Shakespeare. 2099: Mr T is voted Man of the Century. 2109: Whilst at the gym, Mr T collapses and dies from natural causes at the contextually inconsistent age of 352, making him the oldest person to die ever. By Joe Hull is a town of contrast, their is some rich people what lives in the middle of it which is the town centre. They’re is also some poor people who lives in slums and things in the outside and a bit in the country but not too far away. The rich people have big houses and cars like mersaydes and poshes. The poor people have cars like skodas and bikes but. Hull was made in 1730 by a person who made a castle and a town wall to protect hull and things from Vikings who raided everyone. In hull there is a big cinema where u can watch films and also rugrats and there is mcdonalds and burger king but not wimpy cus its rubbisher than them. Some people may think that hull is a lot like every other town. HOVEVER I think that it isn’t cuss its in a difrent place and it has stuff like hull museum which is loads of old things in cases like William Shakespeare and rocks in conclusion hull is a town of contrast and also it int as boring as some people like my dad sez because of the stuff what I already sed. What a town hull truly is by matt L. Spoiler of the Week In the film Bambi, Bambi’s mum dies!

Slide6: 

An epic by Rob To many, short people are classed as a diseased peoples. To others, a plague upon this earth, sucking our economy dry by their petty exploits as they go their day to day business of (metaphorically) excreting on you, the hard-working citizens of this fine nation. Fortunately, help is at hand. The Labour party, in a final desperate bid for popularity with the masses, has requested a public service document against that common insubordinate to human society, the little people. Why they are Evil Their heads are tiny, thus with miniscule brains unable to sup upon such deliciously advanced thoughts as you or I so frequently do. They have very small hands, thus frequently sold on the black market, even on the yellow and blue markets, as natural pickpockets living off your hard work stealing your food, with their grubby filthy dirty little hands. Short people are cannibals. Sometimes. They have no place in society. While normal sized people can do all sorts of jobs, such as building, secretarying and training aardvarks, small people are “challenged” in these areas, as those politically correct spicks in Washington would have me say. Unable to work real jobs, they clutter our streets, providing yet more waste for us normal folk to accidentally step on. If you put them to work in a mill, they get stuck in the machinery. If certain babies are too small, they do not have enough sustenance to maintain their body without support. Therefore most small babies are injected with a vitamin serum, Phantasmagorigesium or Schmuck to give it its Latin title. This vitamin serum unfortunately carries with it several major side effects, the most becoming of which being that the users frequently, if not always, turn evil, stupid and in many instances homosexual. Short people smell of wee. Now we’ve identified the problem, we can move on to how YOU, as an individual or working in a group, can deal with this significant hindrance to our noble society. How you can Help Kick them Hit them Set mousetraps for them Gas them Stand on them Grind up, roast and eat them Shoot them in the kneecaps, then roast and eat them Twist their eyes out with a large wooden spoon Pour boiling tar on them Nudge them loads of times on MSN ‘cos that really p*sses people off Put a large potato sack over their head and upper body and beat them with a club Put a large potato sack over their head and upper body and beat them with a club with a spike on it Jam a large spiky instrument into their spleen, which would explode into an array of tiny flesh eating bugs, which would slowly and painfully devour the body from the inside out and then explode again. Crucify them Get them drunk and gaffer tape them shaved and naked to something Break into their house and hold them down while you rape their wife in front of them singing “Singing in the Rain” This following passage marks the final article of the late philistine, General Eisenhower Z Washington of Canada. He has long been a protestor against animal rights, women’s rights, human rights, the fifth, second and nineteenth amendments, all decisions passed by the Cuban government 1994 to present, and Drew Barrymore. It was during a skiing trip to Hawaii that he died suddenly and gruesomely under bizarre and remarkably unknown circumstances involving a single guava halve and a toothpick. This conclusive document remains unabridged in his memory, the ugly communist b*stard. As the famous song lyric goes “Loving you, is easy ‘cos you’re beautiful, dooin dooin doo doo, AAIIIIII!!!!!!!”. In conclusion, short people are evil; I hate them and so do you. Vote Labour. General Eisenhower Z Washington Normandy, 1978

Slide7: 

I’m sure there cannot be one person among us who did not feel either one of three very deep, intense emotions in the past few weeks: anger; enchantment; impassiveness. I for one felt a mixture of all three: I call it “angchanivenest”. You may have felt any one of these, or indeed another emotion, at some point recently: maybe because your dog died. Maybe because you regained your eyesight. Maybe because you saw a leaf. Or maybe, just maybe, because of the results of the European Referenda. Many sat on the edge of their seats, gripped, as those results came in: a resounding “non” (which means “no”) came from France, while the Dutch emphatically shouted “nJoj” (which doesn’t mean anything) at the prospect of a new EU Constitution. Wondering as to the motives of the people who had rejected the constitution, I interviewed three Dutch people I found in a lorry. They were smoking “marijuana”. And they didn’t understand a word I was saying. I locked them inside the lorry, set fire to it, and reported the incident to the police who were very cooperative. I can only conclude, then, that the French and Dutch and illegal Belgian voters in the Referenda voted “No” simply because they don’t speak English. They didn’t understand what either option meant, so they went for the first one alphabetically. Many ethical issues have been raised by these proceedings: What is a “Europe”? Are the French garlic-munching bedwetters? Is it ever right to commit blasphemy? Offer your suggestions to RHoccasionally@hotmail.co.uk. From Issue 03 A surprising statistic from the census of 2001 is that the number of drag-queens in the county has risen from 2% of all men to 60% in the last century. Drag-queens, ‘lady-boys,’ ‘monkey-chokers,’ ‘cock-smugglers,’ or ‘bearded women,’ have certainly become more vocal in today’s society, with over a third of them being politicians, religious leaders, or mayors. One local drag-queen we spoke to, A. Evans, shared his views on the rise of the modern man: “I think in modern times, since gender equality has been moving towards a fine balance, many people were expecting things to go too far the other way.” With the future of Britain looking like it would be female-dominated, the chaps split into two groups. The old saying ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’ was applied for many of them, and so they started wearing women’s clothes and make-up to try and jump on the bandwagon. The other reaction was to exaggerate manliness, and as such the other men took a big interest in the stereotypical male activities, like contact sport, beer drinking competitions, and humorous bodily functions. With this huge split in society it was up to the government to decide how to re-unite the country, and so the question was left to the women of the House of Commons. With a small majority due to the amount of secretive votes from the drag-queens of parliament, the ‘lady-boys’ were deported to the African country of Madagascar, meaning a new deputy prime-minister had to be found. However, far from reducing the amount of new drag-queens, many young men are now choosing to travel to Madagascar and join the new race of men in women’s clothing. This is meaning a dramatic population decrease in Britain (especially Wales) but also a dramatic rise in Madagascar. We spoke to economist Mark Speight, “This was always going to happen. What with the amount of bad role-models for children we had in the 90’s it was certain to result in a population decrease due to deporting drag-queens.” Speight gave us this chilling message; “Within 5 years or so, the drag race of Madagascar will feel the need to mate, and when they do, this country of 80% women will be the most obvious target.” So, what does the future hold for Britain? Well in this reporter’s humble opinion we need get rid of the people taking our children away to Madagascar. A group of 7 or 8 former MP drag-queens are driving across to Madagascar in their ‘fun-bus’ picking up budding ‘lady-boys’ with them. As for the rest of us, with 5 females per male, most men are extremely happy. Also, the company Gucci has built 700 stores over Madagascar reporting record business. By Matt L By Matt D

Slide8: 

An extract from By DJ Snozzcumber So anyway, I said to Phoebe, I said “Hell, waddya say that for? You’re just a stupid little girl.” Boy, was I mad at her by that point. I just felt like taking her phoney goddam face and shoving it in an oven or something. “It’s like the goddam ducks, Phoebe!” I was practically shouting at this point. “Like the what?” she said. Boy, she’s stupid. Then, for some crazy reason, she asked me what I wanted to do, for chrissake. “Do?” I shouted, “What the hellya mean?” “What do you wanna do, Deejay? Like when you’re older and stuff.” Jesus, I was so mad, I swear, I just put my fist through the goddam window. Just for the hell of it. I had a million pieces of goddam glass in my knuckles, I really did, so what I did was I picked up Phoebe’s goddam globe, and I spread jam on it, and then I started hitting myself around the goddam head with it. And you know what the funny thing was? Goddam Phoebe was staring at me like I was some kinda goddam madman or something. I swear she’s crazy sometimes. “What I wanna do, Phoebe, is be that…” I couldn’t put it right. I have a lousy vocabulary, and a penis that’s less than a centimeter long, I really do. “Look, Phoebe, you know that Nursery Rhyme? The one that goes: ‘When the pie was opened, The birds began to sing.’ Y’know? Y’understand, Phoebe?” Phoebe stared at me like, you know. “Yes…” “Well that’s what I wanna do, for chrissake!” She scratched her foot. “What?” “Boy, Phoebe, I wanna be the guy who catches those goddam crazy birds, y’know? The Catcher in the Pie?” She just kept goddam staring at me. That’s what I hate about people. They look at a guy who plays squash on the weekends, who works every goddam day and has a wife and two kids, and they treat him like he’s normal. But they look at some guy who spreads jam on globes and eats squirrels and digs up corpses and gets married to them and I make love to the decaying limbs and they treat him like he’s a goddam madman! I hate people. I wish they were all dead. “It’s like I told you, Phoebe – like I said to ya, about the ducks. About, where the hell do the ducks go in winter? Where do they go, anyway?” She just stared at me again. So I shouted, like a goddam sergeant, “Hell, Phoebe, it’s the goddam crazy sonovabitch f--king baby-raping weasel-eating bastard ducks, y’know?” I could tell she didn’t know what the hell I was goddam shouting about, so what I did was I just punched her in the nose. Boy, was she sore when I did that. And then, of all the crazy things, she started crying and bleeding. She really did. So what I did was – and boy, you’ll love this – I took out my knife and started cutting her eyes out. She phoned the police after that. Boy, that killed me. That’s typical Phoebe. So what I did was, I ate her lungs, and put her brain on my head – like one of those goddam top-hats those phoney British Aristocrats wear – and started tap dancing on the bed. Eventually, there were these crazy sirens, so what I did was I pulled my trousers back up, tucked Phoebe up in bed, and climbed outta the window. The window was still kinda smashed up from my fist, so I ate some glass and urinated in a birds’ nest. So what I figured I’d do, I figured I’d go see my old English teacher, Mr Davis. He’s a real swell guy, that Mr Davis – he’s always letting vulnerable young boys like me sleep over his house. He’s a helluva guy, that Mr Davis. Compiled by Matt D “fun to use in order to make others look stupid. Unless you are stupid. Then you shouldn’t take it. Unless you want to pretend to look clever.” Holly

Slide9: 

This is an extract from the email Matt D sent us [the writers], telling us to write articles for the ‘Heathfield Special Edition’: “Well well, my little sexually-frustrated monkey-bait, it appears that Issue #03 has finally been completed!” That was one quote, but the one that is relevant is this: “Tell years 10 n 11 (in the nicest possible way) what a sh*tty school they go to and how great RH is in comparison (with Bridgwater).” Now, for starters, I’d just like to say that Huish isn’t all that great. I know it might be hard to grasp this idea considering that, right now, I have a four day weekend, I only need to be in college for half a day when I do need to be in, and I get PAID £10 a week just to turn up (oh, and they don’t really care when you don’t). But seriously, it’s mind-numbingly boring. What are we meant to do with that amount of free time? It’s not natural. So, it was the first day we’ve been in college for a while (we had ‘study’ leave) and you know what everyone did as soon as their lessons were over? Yep; we all hung around college trying to think of interesting things to do… you know, like drugs, or eating, or more drugs…but we had no money (because we had already spent it on drugs), so we all went back to our individual houses, and sat around waiting for the day to finish. If the same situation had arisen in school, we would have been building human pyramids or playing “keys” or rounders or something. Wait, we did that anyway. The point is, at college, you can’t have fun. Everyone is too judgemental, or just lacks energy, I don’t know. But we had such fun back at school, and I don’t want you guys to miss out, because although it may seem as though college is a doss, the novelty of free periods soon fades away. And it lacks Mr Backhouse (we loved him) and Mr Mac (he’s cooler than most). To conclude, make the most of school. And DON’T DO DRUGS. Oh, and just for the record, Huish IS better than Bridgwater, because, well, Bridgwater smells. A review by Holly Darling students of HEATHFIELD COMMUNITY JAIL, I was once a sad and pathetic loser like you; I used to lie awake; deep into the middle of the night crying like a little baby girl. I cried and cried and cried; why do the children beat me? Why can’t I fight crime? Etc. And then I found the wonders of fruit! That’s right kids! Fruit! It turned my dull and worthless life into a paradise of late night parties and dancing girls. I now own a large chain of supermarkets, and I owe it all to the rich, tasty fruitiness of… fruit! “I was so hideous my parents kept me chained up in the basement, then one glorious day they chucked me a piece of FRUIT! My life changed forever! Now I’m the president of the Ukraine, and I live in a three-bedroom house, overlooking my slave-people. It’s fantastic! And I owe it all to the rich, tasty fruitiness of fruit.” - Unnamed sponsor of Fruitcorp.com Students of Heathfield Community Jail, I put it to you to try my scientifically acclaimed fruit diet! Watch in horror as your weight plummets to an unhealthy low, as you gradually fade away out of existence! Day one: eat the skin of half of a banana. Day two: eat the other half. Day three: You require no food. Day four: eat the half of the banana from day one. Day five: You require no food. Day six: You may eat a bug of your choice. That’s one bug. Not two. Day seven: If you still live you may eat the other half of the banana from day one. If not, then don’t. WARNING: RHO IS IN NO WAY RESPONSIBLE FOR DEATHS OF CHILDREN UPON ATTEMPTING WILL’S WONDER DIET. Loved into life by Will

Slide10: 

“I came into this course thinking that by the end of it I’d be able to read people’s minds. In reality, it is the worst course I took “ – Holly. Hannah concurs. “I dropped it after two days.” - Matt D Studies show that Rick Waller, famous TV fatman is actually nothing natural at all. He is in fact an escaped Genetically Modified experiment conducted by scientists at Price’s Candles LTD. “We were trying to discover an alternative to wax in our candles; we developed something close to human fat. As a joke I made a crudely constructed man…somehow it escaped and called itself Rick”. Now the main question is what to do with the beast, or ‘Frankenstein II’ as he has been dubbed… Waller: should he be put down? Loving thoughts from Tom A The writers of the “Occasionally” usually try to stay out of national debates, for fear of offending our dwindling readership. The issue of Fox Hunting, however, is one which we are now addressing with gusto. Invented in 1985 as an alternative to the original Live Aid concert, “fox-hunting” was originally a sport strongly resembling cheese-rolling. After the great Cheese-Cancer epidemic of 1990, however, it was thought that the circular dairy product would be better replaced by a living creature. Several animals were tried: dogs; cats; worms; horses; Belgians; but eventually it was concluded that foxes were the most similar in shape and texture to cheese. When fox-hunting was outlawed in 2004, pro-hunting campaigners promised an ongoing “Civil War” for justice; they were the Roundheads, the Confederates; and they were as good as their word. On 15th September, literally five protesters succeeded in invading the House of Commons, leaving devastation in their wake by shuffling papers, waking up old people and leaving muddy footprints on the floor. Truly, this was the greatest battle of the struggle. Comparisons have been drawn with Trafalgar, The Somme, and that time a gypsy broke into the school and was shot by a teacher. In conclusion, I believe that it is up to the rich, middle-aged men of this country to step on poor people, smoke out immigrants and waste money on Caviar and novelty horse sex-toys. And if they need to eat foxes in order to keep doing this, then I suggest we just let them get on with it and crawl back into the foetid holes from whence we came. Written by Matt D Can you spot Czechoslovakian Dictator Bobby “Sugar-Puffs” Davro in the picture below? In some languages the word ‘multitude’ is spelt and pronounced differently Mary Poppins, The Lion King, 101 Dalmatians and many other Disney films are works of fiction, so the characters do not exist and never have.

Slide11: 

Sir: Yo magasin is so full of shti I fkucing gonna rap yo mom innit uckf nuff t Although I am positive that your accusations will prove to be entirely false, I can heartily reassure you that George will represent us by engaging with you in a naked fight to the death. Sir: I can’t help but think that Will’s “story” makes little or no sense. The three brothers seem to be continually swapping places within the storyline. Why is this? Is the high salt level in children’s food to blame? - kris, Yeovil - Mrs A Skovell, Ham It is a sad fact of life that some children, no matter how much salt they so readily consume, will always grow up to become incompetent lizards like Will. It’s best just to humour him, and pour acid in your eyes whenever you read Will’s story. Sir: Please tell Matt L to stop sending me naked pictures of Bernard Manning. - Will H, Taunton I have asked Matt L, and he says this: “Never!” I hope sincerely that this helps in your quest to find the perfect man. Sir: I must take issue with Tom A’s views on Vegetarianism. I have been a vegetarian for my entire whole life and I have never once eaten another human being apart from that one time when I was naked and gay. - Rob H, Oxford Many people have complained about Vegetarians in the past few weeks. We agree with you, Rob: Vegetarians are disgusting, slimy, evil little Nazis who need to be made Christian like the rest of us. E-mail us: RHoccasionally@hotmail.co.uk Worried about Well don’t worry, they’re not as expensive as you might have been told. With Hark! Supplies, you might end up paying less for Class A drugs than you would for Nazi-lessons, a slave, or a Furby™! Just contact us through RHoccasionally@hotmail.co.uk. Coming soon to a small, blurry screen near you The Tragedy of George From “Sovereign Studios” comes a masterpiece that will leave your organs empty, as George battles against inexplicable monsters, disloyal friends, and ultimately his own conscience. To find out more, or to advertise your own product, e-mail us: RHoccasionally@hotmail.co.uk

Slide12: 

Coming up in We name and shame eighteen suspected paedophiles, including Michael Jackson’s pet chimp, Bubbles Joe goes in search of the Lost Island of the Monkeys, disguised as an unsuspecting banana George hangs a dolphin Rob learns about Global Warming with matches and barrels of oil Alex E shoots foreigners whom he suspects of terrorism and/or imagining Matt J genetically splices a jar with a bigger jar, creating a medium-sized jar Tom A gets drunk and vomits Kate robs an orphanage Holly explores Taunton’s sewer system using only her sense of taste Byron once declared that “A celebrity is one who is known to many persons he is glad he doesn't know.” There can, of course, be little denial of the simple fact that Richard Huish College is the best educational establishment since Bridgwater became a prison, and it is with the consent of various celebrity chefs that I implore any secondary school pupils reading this to come here once you finish your “pointless” GCSEs. Until that point, I must add, the only alternative to revision as a way of ingesting knowledge is drug abuse, and the only alternative to drug abuse is more drug abuse. One man who knows more than anything about this particular way to enhance your mind is the great 14th Century cowboy, Emperor Byron. He says: “The best drug is learning. And the best learning is drug. And the best lug is drearning. Take that pickle out of my eye, Ted.” In the 21st century, and now armed with the knowledge that Elephants are heavy, we at Richard Huish College welcome any inane, tiresome queries you may have regarding our education, and would be positively ecstatic if you e-mailed us with your concerns at RHoccasionally@hotmail.co.uk. In addition, it is now possible for you to send us large, angry rectangles thanks to our sponsors, www.largeangrygeometry.org. If you, having masticated this crown of a magazine, are now consumed by a whirlwind of purple hatred, then by all means boycott Issue 05. We, given our international status as “idiots”, do not need your custom. We don’t need anyone’s custom. All we need is love. Doo, doodoo doo doo. All you need is love. Yours infinitely, The Richard Huish Occasionally Unfortunately, due to cash shortfalls and climate change, the Page 11 Spectacular is now 33% less spectacular