Government officials expressed ‘shock and regret’ last night at news that a number of senior weapons inspectors were found alive and well in the south of England. The latest reports have confirmed that at least one hundred individuals - dressed in white coats- were seen drinking tea and eating biscuits in an otherwise quiet area of the English countryside. So far the exact identity of the scientists has not been confirmed although a sources close to the government have suggested they may well be part of a notorious network that has cells across the western hemisphere.

First news of the sighting came when local farmer Peter Bunglesome, who was busy ‘calming’ rush hour traffic in his tractor, noticed a convoy of white 4x4 vehicles driving through his field. Changing gear to second he met them as they crashed through his garden fence. Indignant, aghast and shocked by the descending platoon of inspectors’ indifference to him bellowing ‘get orf my fooking land’ he became aware that they were taking an unusual interest in his tractor and in particular the crud in the tire tread. In fact one inspector got some mud stuck on his lapel, and was speculating on its potential use as a weapon of war. ‘Hey chaps’ he is reported to have exclaimed, ‘the next generation of bio-warfare has just arrived’. His companions broke out in laughter as another member of the party responded, ‘this shit doesn’t half stick’ and another with ‘we’ll sure get that nasty dictator now’.

Food on your hands

News of the discovery reached Prime Minister Blair as his plane touched down in Tokyo for the world summit on sustainable government. With Cherie at his side, Blair paused briefly in front of inquiring journalists to comment that though regrettable the events were they did nothing but further the British Government’s resolve to further the British Government’s resolve. Blair was pressed by one journalist who asked if he had blood on his hands. Blair laughed off the accusation; ‘of course’, he chortled, ‘I do tend to eat with my fingers’. At which point Ms Booth appeared to shriek unexpectedly and proceeded to rummage about her person complaining of a lost purse. Amidst the turmoil the Prime Minister was audible in calling for restraint(s).

Meanwhile…

Awaken sleepy county, murmur, all is astir, hear the cathedral bells,
Chop, chop woodpecker knock.
Awaken sleepy Oxford, Milton Keynes, Canterbury and Wells.

Awaken representatives, consultants and co, the paper is at the door.
Chop, chop woodpecker knock.
Awaken Bishop, Press secretary and classy whore.

Awaken Laura Ashley curtains twitching with news, patterns ne’er so alive,
Chop, Chop, woodpecker knock.
Awake SUV and BMW is that a Black Maria on the drive?

Awaken roaming satellites for mirror, ft and sun
Chop, chop woodpecker knock.
Awaken Motorola and Nokia and bring the messages on.

Awaken impartials bystanders and all, the sunlight is your due.
Chop, chop woodpecker knock.
Awaken sleepy bloody England, awaken to those who.

JOHN BIT(CH)UMEN aged 7 ½

Job Fact file

UN weapon inspector ( 1 Vacancy)
Age: 50+
Job Location: disused factories, deserts, English countryside
Marital Status: close ties with military
Income: undisclosed
Experience: biological/ nuclear weapons manufacture
ability to write, ‘just doing my job’ in undecipherable code
Skills: servility, scientific neutrality
Weaknesses: inability to deal with hypocrisy/ carry the buck
Benefits: you do not have to press the red button
Most likely to say: ‘this does not rule out the possibility…’
Least likely to say: ‘saddam’s weapons programme is about the same threat to the west as a single mosquito is to the arse of an African elephant on heat’
Biological status: parasite
Languages: russian, german
Responsibilities: fine tuning of the military industrial complex.
Apply: in writing to the address we gave you

Afghanistan strikes back with biological weapons

The Home office Spokesperson dismissed claims that they were 'a bunch of fucking hypocrites'.

Bourgeois complacency brought to a standstill

Even though the momentary campaign for the immediate abolition of work has not even got off the ground yet, it has already struck terror into the hearts and minds of the ruling classes. The slighest questioning of the role of work in our lives and the demand to expand our free time, touches on the central nerve of our social system.

Still waiting for a technical engineer to swoop it up and make it interactive, the MCIAW is sitting silently and threatening, audaciously flaunting the covert censorship on any discussion about liberation rather than obedience. Once it takes flight MCIAW will guarantee definte results in distracting punters from the job in hand and into an ideational realm where ideas of freedom, leisure and pleasure can grow to be a full time occupation.

Sussex Professor condones racialism

“Racism is good like sex,” pronounced George (soon to be “a nice little severance package”) Sampson. The Weasle Councillor last night rebutted claims that there was no room for explicit racial thinking in the Conservative party. “Of course we are racists,” he said; “ some of my best friends are black”. He further went on to say, “I have the most ordinary collection of prejudices, would you like to hear some?”

Under fire from John Prescott in the Commons, accusing him of ‘letting the cat out of the bag,’ Conservative Leader Ian Duncan Smith admitted that Sampson had ‘let the side down badly’. He however rejected demands by labour backbencher Prissy Beech, that sanctions should be immediately imposed with the threat of ensuing military action.

“Since November the 11^th” began Prescott amidst groans from the backbenches, “nothing will stop our resolve to rid the world of races,…”. With this, at once greeted by cheers of approval, the democratically mandated unaminously resolved to settle it all with a game of cricket. “With lashings of ginger beer” added the speaker with a grin.

After an anxious drive through a strange green valley Fifi found herself in what she was pretty sure was, or was some part of, the University of the Earl of Sussex. Daddy still wasn’t answering his cellular; he’s at a cricket match apparently. At the university it was market day or some such thing, and people were busily bustling about.. But Fifi couldn’t find her way in this maze. “Oh I know its here I know its here somewhere” she cried. In renewed despair she grabbed a passer by. “You must help me: you must.”. “My dear, what ails”, said a soft reassuring voice. “Please, I am looking for the library” she spluttered. “ Ahhh…” said the kind voice of Professor Sampson “ you are looking for the path to knowledge my child………”

As operation ‘restore racial meaning’ drew to a close, the smoke cleared on a changed campus. Scattered amongst the rubble lay the bodies of those people; those people that had harboured the terrorists. But there was hope in the smokey air as life began to get back to normal. Civilians crept out of the wreckage of what once were their spiritual homes, unaware perhaps of quite what had turned their small community into a war zone. Shell shocked by the bombs, but shocked too at the speed and precision of the democratic process, the people began to assemble in small groups. Miraclously one building had remained standing, unharmed by the bombing. All of the windows were shattered and pages from books littered the surrounding terrain. “This is a sign!” shouted a voice from the wreckage. People turned to look. The voice belonged to a man in a long dark gown. “It is knowledge that has brought this upon us” he continued. “He’s right! Burn the books” shouted another man. “Yes, burn the books”. “And the niggers” continued the first man. “Yes, burn the books and the niggers” sang the crowd. As they set to work a new community was formed.

Those cricket scores in full:

Scores recorded as follows

Fun in the Sun

Thugs rampage streets of Genoa

Darkmarkets in Vienna

Purple Make World

Make world could be nothing other than an assemblage, a converge of powers in a communication. Make world is a command as well as a question. As a command it expresses a spirit of taking charge over our tools and creations. As a question it challenges our disposition to think in the negative. Forwhy should we not Make World? Are we so virtuous a generation as to be spiritually immune from being dispossessed of our power?

Make world comes into being where the dialectic of appropriation and reappropriation fractures. It expresses itself purely as an enactment, as an exercise in unconstrained production. Its art of maneouver is to cross borders as it refuses to accept any borders or boundaries on its own capacity to evolve. Thus the object of Make World is a collaboration not restricted to anyone imagination. Digital generation can act in no other way than through recombination; the breaking of limits through association. It bids farewell to the crisis aesthetics that spawned the monstrous runt of individualistic entrepreneurship and is a scandal to the pitiful privatisation of the general intellect through the machinations of the suited gangsters that zealously guard the vaults of human potential as well as its auxilliary parcelisation into the legalistic garb of intellectual property.

Make world is more than a reclamation. It opens up the war onto many fronts. It is disobedient because it is the multutide speaking for itself, outside of its juridification into legal and illegal, legitmate and illegimate. As such it percieves that the discourse of responsibility, moral constraint and the language of legitimacy merge in the command structures of governance. That we can speak of Make World unveils subjectivities that by necessity of their own demand for life displace the mechanisms of subjugation and command into arenas where established power is forced to expose the arbitary character of its own impulse to order. In not accepting any sectoralisation of the terrain of struggle the multitude that makes world refuses to be Subject, it refuses representation and counterpoised to the velcro symbolism of
capitalisms' spectacular night it emerges from the shadows and blinks at the light.