Tuesday, 9 February 2016

EXCLUSIVE to All Tabloids – Leaked Trash Article Template Revealed!!!!!!

Taken from the pages of the Hampstead Buzz:

Yes, you heard it right here first! Top hacks from the Buzz can reveal that notorious blog the Hampstead Trash applies a simple template to ALL articles! That’s right – insiders that we ‘accidentally’ overheard when we sent one of our hacks to hide in their water cooler in Trash HQ said that they simply plug in a bunch of ideas into a piece of software (technology OMG!!!) along with the template and, with a bit of tweaking from a copy editor, is good to go. What an outrage! We though all their ideas were original!

Below, along with 10,000 reaction tweets to this very article, is the template that ALL Trash articles are based on, as well as in-depth analysis of those tweets (wow!):
[Insert punny title here] 
Introductory paragraph full of witty repartee that uses your P.E.E skills to put across to the average Joe reader what you are talking about. Keywords to use include: ‘Head’, ‘wrong’, ‘Management’, ‘incompetence’ and ‘student voice’. 
This [timescale] the school have only gone and done [thing], in which [random statistics]. This new evidence of the school’s incompetence shows how incompetent the school actually are. [Jokes about the Head’s name] 
Furthermore, this other evidence of the school doing [anything] goes to show that this incompetence is a trend – you could even say 5-year-trend. This reminds us of the time when [this happened] and [that happened] which shows that the school are eternally incompetent and will never do anything right. [reference to ‘mad writings’ and ‘fruity language’] 
[Insert the name ‘Abdi’ arbitrarily into the names of public figures to make the article relatable to current affairs] [banter about current affairs to make the school look vaguely topical, relevant and interesting] 
Brief conclusion, perhaps including some gloomy prospects line, or some banter that could be spoof or real, meaning the reader is left in an unsure-what-is-real-and-what-is-not state, leading to Nineteen Eighty-Fouresque panic and ridicule of the genuine situation. 
Repeat as necessary.

You heard it here first guys!!!!!!!!11!1!

DISCLAIMER: This is obviously a spoof. Nothing in it is true; we're too lazy to have a template.

A day in the Hampstead Trash Offices

We sent renowned documentary maker and GCSE Media student, Louis Thepoux, to spend a day in the offices of the Hampstead Trash, observing the comings and goings of the largest online news vendor in Norf Weezie. With a staff of several thousand journalists, the Trash has quickly become one of the most prolific and up-to-date publications (as can be seen from the News ticker above).

Only the cleaner is awake. She cleans. She takes out the Trash.

08:35 (no later)
Heywood Jablome, P I Staker and Phyllis Stine walk into their offices. We see Heywood Jablome try and check BBC News for the day’s stories, but gets distracted by a GIF of Michael Gove falling over.

After laughing at it for an hour, he goes to get some boost and a doughnut before finding P I Staker crying in a dark. He is sad because he was sent home from school yesterday for not having the right colour skin.

The Editorial Team assemble around the conference table and decide which article they are going to spend the day giggling at until they publish it later that night.

Giggling ensues.

After the Editorial meeting, the writers get to work. On average, 98% of the daily content is scrapped, with only a lucky few writers making it onto the blog. The Hampstead Trash editorial team only allows pieces to be published that (1) do not offend the Head in any way, shape or form, (2) do not insinuate that there is a chance that every government is corrupt, (3) are poorly spellchecked, (4) are full of sweary-sweary-words that would upset little Timmy in Year 7, (5) include some form of motivational message next to a picture of a sunset (or something equally motivational) or a misquoted random article from the UNCRC.

The Trash’s proprietor, Sir Rupert Zaloom, enters the offices. He stops off at Jablome’s desk and demands the language of the articles be ‘fruiter’ and the writings ‘madder’. Jablome explains that 42% of the writing staff are already tripping balls on LSD perpetually after their last dispatches from behind the bikeshed. He says this is not good enough, and that we are losing readers to the stiff and fraught competition of the ETC. and the Buzz. He leaves in cloud of pink smoke leaving only a kestrel and a pineapple.

Special correspondent Julie La Sange is still stuck in the Ecuadorian Embassy.

Political correspondent and insider for the Trash, Cllr Hugh G. Rection, comes in for a meeting, and to drop off his latest story about a Tory councillor sticking their Johnson in something untoward. The pineapple now makes sense.

Phyllis Stine receives an anonymous tip-off that Abdi Corbyn has done something utterly outrageous and intolerable. After spilling molten pizza sauce on the phone, then taking a twenty-minute break at eleven, she gets to work filling the day’s Corbyn’s-outrageous-and-intolerable-acts slot.

Jablome and E. Rex Sean take a private room to interview Maximillian Oscar-Oolong, who denies Marcus Kengtun, for it is he, ever stirred up a saucy pina colada. He does allude to one poultry feast he had with one Lord Abdicroft, in which he says that there may have been a certain ‘pheasant’ experience. This explains the kestrel.

Special correspondent Julie LaSange is still stuck in the Ecuadorian Embassy.

Phyllis Stine returns from the councillors’ office with news of the Abdi Corbyn snafus for the day. They include proposing that cost-cutting measures should including taking away knives and forks from school dinners, student simply having to smash their faces into the boiling hot gruel, using Steven the school’s tut-tut pulling panda as a replacement for the school minibus, and that the Hampstead School compulsory red armbands may be ‘a bit offensive’.

Penn Name receives word (from someone else's answering machine) that the school have left the sexuality, as perceived by the teachers, of every student in the school on an excel file on the shared server. Racing to pursue, Penn Name adopts an alias and rushes into the school to acquire the document, ask some sources for a quote, and see who is a battyman.

Special correspondent Julie LaSange is still stuck in the Ecuadorian Embassy.

Penn Name rushes back into the offices to talk to the other about the story and get to writing it. However, as it is too close to 1:20, he stops for a 45-minute lunch break (as God intended).

The Editorial team now has the tough decision of choosing which of the stories to run with. As with any lightning-fast, serious news service, they decide to sit on the excel-gate story, even though the school has already reported it to the Hague, as well as the Abdi Corbyn story and the pineapple-ring article, and instead run with ’10 Ways to Suck Up to your Headteacher Involving Jelly’. Proud of their day’s work, they publish the article and go home early.

The writers, finding themselves behind the bikesheds, decide to unwind after a long, hard day (especially for a Hugh G. Rection) by experiencing some of the Ecology.

Special correspondent Julie LaSange is still stuck in the Ecuadorian Embassy.

DISCLAIMER: This is obviously a spoof. Nothing in it is true; we're too poor to have an office.

Monday, 8 February 2016

"Black shoe, black shoe, change your black shoe."

After an anonymous source wiretapped the Head's office, they rendered the transcript of one meeting to our correspondent Julie LaSange on the wall of the toilets in human faecal matter, and after correcting the grammar mistakes where the words had been scraped off by stray coins from the local money-uppers, sent the picture on the back of a cornflakes box to us.

[Transcript reads:]

Dust plumed up from the newly demolished school building, swamping the school estate the Head’s mansion occupies. Comrade Szmeletrotski coughed at this sudden splurge of fumes as he looked wistfully into the middle-distance, and took out a large packet of “Asbestos-be-Gone” before quickly swallowing it. It was obvious from how efficiently he did it, and how his face remained the same pasty white during the whole process, that he had practised swallowing a lot more. Wavey Don Abdi was shuffled into the room, and the Head greeted him with a suspiciously off-white smile:

Mr Szmelileaks: Which one are you, again? What are you here to discuss?

W4v3y-D0n-Abd1: Well bruv, I’ve been thinking, and I think being the School Council President and all that, shouldn’t I be giving the mandem what they want?

Mr Szmellymalechickenski: Well, sure young child; what do they want?

Abdi Amin: We want normal shoes, innit.

Mr Szmylordandsaviourkowski: Why would I do that chancellor Abdi? Plenty of other reasonable arguments have been made and still I have kept my stance on a point of principle (and stubbornness); why would I change now?

What’s more, how can you possibly be expected to learn when your crepes are fresher than the sell-by date on this 'new' packet of doughnuts that I acquired through completely legitimate means!

Frequent-McDonald's-Disabled-Bathroom-Goer-and-Keen-Amateur-Camera-Man-Abdi: But decapitated Head, our crepes don’t inhibit our learning in any way, they don’t infringe on how similar we look already, and uniform is already quite antiquated and inconvenient-

Mr Szupremeleaderkowski: Hey there young person-of-colour youth! Who taught you those big words? Do I really have to buy even more of these? Listen! I don't think you’re listening! You see this thing on my wrist? It’s worth more than you, your education and your family - I mean - we are unable to consider your considerations at this time due to our current workload.

At this he pointed to a large pile of motivational posters with less-than-vague sexual references on them, shaking his head as he did so. The late bell rang in the distance, and the collective sound of a thousand children moaning suddenly rang through the school and the mansion.

Comrade Abdinski IV: But sir! What about all those badges you got on the bottom of your letters? Aren't you supposed to be listening to us?

Mr Szmellimrunningoutofpunski: What? Oh no, we got those in exchange for mild sexual favours. Haven’t you seen that poster saying “Release your potential”? God! Sometimes I don’t know why I bought so many of those goddamn banners! It’s almost like they have no use whatsoever. Listen, we’re a politically correct school, so we can only use black shoes.

After this the Head shoved him out of the room and he was left alone. It was 8.36 now, and as the throng of students entered the gates, the Head, arms around back like that 50 shades poster he saw once, let out a wry smile. He picked up the book he was reading, 1984, and skipped to the poster descriptions, taking notes. Book in hand, he went off down the corridor, still thick with certain outdated, poisonous chemicals, to find some classroom to peer in for six seconds.

DISCLAIMER: This is obviously a spoof. All that was said in the article above is fictitious. Anyone who believes otherwise is just a bit simple.

Friday, 5 February 2016

Op-Ed #4

Sir Lynton Stills-and-Nash, political campaign manager, writes:

With the IEU Caucus having taken place with our friends across the pond in the United States of Ameriquad, we can once again see how divided the political race can be. Whilst team Democracy (who took their aspirational name from the team on last year's The Apprentice Syria) were split between Ms Hillary Cards and Doc from Back to the Future, the Old Republic voters put Tom Cruz on top, with DoNaldé Trump, Emperor Palpatine and Lord Vader following five-or-so points behind.

Of course, when I was running the Boccaccio DéCameron campaign last year, we knew weeks ahead of the vote that we had won, much like most of the School Council elections, but my friend and campaigner David Driveshaft will most probably watching this election very closely; being the campaign manager for Barbarack Osama and 
Ded Millipede, he probably doesn’t want his side to lose twice in as many years.

Arguably, the United States of Ameriquad are far more diverse than over here, with a fledgling and complex society, so it fits that the political spectrum is as varied. We are only in the primaries (the successful candidates have yet to graduate to secondary) and already we have seen fierce debate about a range of things. Gun control is the ugly cousin of any campaign, with the head of the Norfweezie Rifle Association (NRA) this week saying that “Man tryna take away ma gat so man can’t protect himself, innit! I be like ‘na cuz, what if some hood cum pull a shank? Manz gonna have to go Indiana Jones on this fool’. Wha’ man gonna do wid no strap?” Instantly sparking outrage, Doc said he would travel back to 1923 to stop Charlton Heston, whilst Hillary Cards came out and said that “as president [she] would never ban guns”, presumably as when they shoot each other there are fewer Republican voters to contend with.

Then came DoNaldé Trump, the man made entirely of melted-down Trolls, who announced that if he were president he would “ban all Muslims from entering the United States of Ameriquad” until he “can work out what the hell is going on [with his hair]”. This swiftly prompted mass outrage amongst the Muslim community, as well as anyone with a functioning brain, with Abdi Corbyn rushing to state that “You know, I once met a Muslim, and he was a jolly good chap. What Mr Trump has said was very unfair on Muslims like the one I met. You know, the nice, non-exploding ones”.

I don’t pretend to have half a clue who may win the presidential race this November (apart from all this polling data I’ve just been given), but all I know is that it, like a Muppet Show for adults, will be wholly entertaining, as well as full of funny-looking characters with faces that aren’t their own looking like they’ve just had someone’s hand shoved up their jacksy.

DISCLAIMER: This is a spoof written from the point of view of a fictitious character, so the views expressed in the article are not the views of the blog.

Thursday, 4 February 2016

Silence Will Fall

The Trash has learned that form tutors were contacted last week, being asked to give suggestions as to how to make the library a quieter place, because, of course, people make noise. As such, we tasked Julie LaSange with discovering some of the ideas made for giving silence to the library:
  • Ban all pupils from entering the library at all times.
  • Actually, nobody is allowed to enter the library, ever.
  • In fact, lock the doors.
  • Soundproof the walls.
  • Hermetically seal the room.
  • Then suck out all the air so the room is one big vacuum.
  • Fit the librarians with space suits so they can, you know, breath.
  • Invent a device that neutralises the effect of gravity, so nothing can ever be dropped on the floor.
  • Staple all the books to the shelves so they don’t float away.
  • Send email notification that this will be the case from now to eternity.
  • Er…
  • That’s it.
In the Library no one can hear you scream.

DISCLAIMER: This is obviously a spoof, the real suggestions were far less rational.