General Gash's Bulging Sack
Past Letters: Issue #1| Issue #2 | Issue #3 | Issue #4 | Issue #5 | Issue #6 | Issue #7

Greetings, turds. It is I, General Gash, chimp-extraordinaire, and Supreme Commander of the military forces of Greater London.

Apparently those pricks over at City Hall think I have nothing better to do than answer letters written by the likes of you. Idiots! Don't those skidmarks realise I have Mad Mullahs to catch? Pregnant Zimbabweans to deport? Helpless Brazillians to chase down in the street and pump full of bullets?

Purely for recreation, of course.

Anyway, if you too fancy pissing up my day then send all correspondence to There's no guarantee of a reply, since I'm currently undergoing Reichian therapy to overcome my hopless crack addiction and I need at least two hours of perineal massaging a day.*

* Potential Interns should also send CVs and written applications to the above address.

Young Benjamin Sutcliffe from Chelsea has written in with this little teaser...

"Dear General Gash,

I was wondering about the science behind talking animals such as yourself. Surely, from an evolutionary perspective, if animals were ever going to learn to talk they would have learnt to do so long ago?

Yours, confused."

Well, Benjamin, aren't we the little scientist? It's a shame we had to turn the Natural History Museum into a hostel for sentient orang-u-tans fleeing Borneo. You would have loved it.

Anyway, to your question; it's quite simple, you see...

Long ago, mankind decided it would quite like to have sex with animals. Animals, being dumb and pliant, were the perfect warm sex toy. So we evolved the ability to speak in order to tell you weird fuckers to piss off and stop raping us.

One James Blunt (a pseudonym, surely?) has written in with this gem of an observation...

"Dear General Gash,

Why is is that an ape of your obvious talents is still forced to work beneath an odious, venal toad like Livingstone? Isn't it time it was put to us, the public to decide? And if that's too much for his Newtness, then isn't it time someone took real action? Know what I mean?


Ho, ho! Quite the lickspittle, aren't we, James? If indeed that is your real name. Rest assured, my loyalty to the 'Mayor' is without question and a consignment of armed officers have already been scrambled to your location. Shalom.

I suppose I should point out to the public that the Cybercrime division of the Metropolitan Police is now staffed by actual cyborgs. Don't fuck with them, please, or you'll end up looking like David Gilmour's kid. Yeah, that many pieces.

Of course, our next writer, Charles Streeting from Balham, has no need of such warnings, I'm sure...


In answer to a previous letter you raised the subject of the orang-u-tan, formerly of Borneo. It reminds me of serving in Borneo back in my army days; I recall at the time a particularly rambunctious Sergeant Major of my acquaintance telling me, 'Charlie boy, when the going gets rough and it's a choice between a slitty-eyed yellow man, or a furry old orang-u-tan, I'm riding the ape all the way.' Of course, in those days it was customary to never go for more than two days without an ejaculation of some sort, which was something we found out to our cost a few years down the line when stationed in Burma..." (continues)

For fuck's sake, old man. Haven't we cut off your heating yet?

Now, what's this? Oh, it's only little Ben Sutcliffe again isn't it? How wonderful!

"Dear General Gash,

In reply to your snide and unscientific answer I feel I should explain that I am an environmental scientist, and I opposed both the closing of the Natural History Museum and the destruction of the orang-u-tan's natural habitats. The decimation of our cultural and educational heritage in London, coupled with the wholesale destruction of the environment elsewhere in the world must be brought to an end. Those interested can read more at

Yours furiously."

Hah, you green types, you're happy to save the Earth alright, as long as it's not in your back garden, am I right? You're no better than anyone else. I suppose you opposed the turbine farm in Barnes and the industrial slaughterhouse in Wandsworth as well, didn't you? Typical.

For your information those orang-u-tans didn't come here because their habitat was destroyed. They came here because why the fuck would you live in a forest when you can live in a house? And get curry and beers delivered at two in the morning instead of having to climb trees for fucking bananas. Tell you what, Ben, you fuck off and live in Borneo. I'm sure you'll love getting back to nature as a fifty-foot-long tapeworm takes up residence in your piss-pipe. You fucking prick.

Time for one more; this bon mot comes from Gary Spanks in Elephant and Castle...

"Dear General Gash,

How come you're so fat?"

Because every time I fuck your mother she sticks her fingers so far up my arse it pushes last night's dinner right back up there.

That's all I've got time for this week folks. Remember, keep it clean. We're watching!


No, seriously.