ISSUE 55 January 5th 2001
		C O M E D Y C H R I S . . . This is a story that I thought would die a sudden death (just like my Grandfather did after he dressed up as a massive Christmas tree and staggered through no-mans-land, singing ‘Blue Moon’ during World War II). However, like my Aunt Millie after her third bucket of chocolate sponge, it simply grows and grows. Yep, the romance between Billie and Chris Evans is about as sick as it gets. Admittedly, I wouldn’t say no to having sex with the young slapper, because I have had sex with someone called Billie before (he was our postman), but I’d never slip old ‘hairy tangerine’ a length (or 4 inches) even if he did show me what a million pounds looked like. However, the real killer is having to listen to ‘comedy Chris’ pour his heart out about a woman who wouldn’t look out of place in a Red Rum documentary. Just read this ‘anal drivel’ that made me more violently sick than my ASDA oven-ready turkey this Christmas: "I saw her from afar and knew she wasn’t being looked after. The moment I saw her she sent a huge wave of electricity straight through me". Yep, and I bet it went straight from your mind to your nether regions you filthy little monkey. BEN