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

Welcome, ladies and gentlethings, to the third issue of the most magnificent periodical since the Daily Carp brought out a readers' wives edition. We trust the wait has not been too painful, unlike my stay in a South London hospital last Tuesday. Sixteen hours in A&E just to have a fucking courgette removed from my arse. And then they had the nerve to ask me how it got there! "Because your fucking doctors told me to put it there!" I screamed, as I set about the triage nurse with my fists and feet.

Anyway, enough of my misadventures with ratatouille. On with the correspondence. Remember, if you too wish to drop us a line, do so by sending a polite letter to I'll probably reply. I'm on sick leave at the moment and my days are spent massaging my anus with various vegetables. I think I'm getting shingles as well...

NB: My assistants have also informed me that apparently I am now on Twitter, whatever the fuck that is, and can be found here. This worries me.

Young Jonny Bates from Kilburn isn't even old enough to have had chickenpox, let alone shingles...

"Dear General Gash,

I am a big fan of your comic. I have been reading it since the first issue. When I grow up I'd like to make a comic just like it. I don't know if I want to write them or draw them or maybe do both as I am good at both. What tips can you give me for when I am older?


Well, young Jonny, first things first; you show excellent taste in making this your comic of choice. The Beano has never been the same since Teacher was accused of watching Cuthbert Cringeworthy getting changed, and the Dandy has lost a lot of its charm since Desperate Dan started aiming at the 18-30 crowd.

Still, despite your fine taste, I must warn you; give up this fool's quest to become a comic creator. Our own pencil monkey, Alexander Smith, is widely known to be an idiot and brings eternal shame on his family. No, do something useful with your life. Do something that makes money. This fucking economy doesn't run itself and the last thing we need are any more fucking art-school types.

Honestly, youngsters today. They think the world owes them not just a living, but some measure of peace and happiness as well. Dickheads. Fortunately our next writer, Paula Flaps from Ruislip, shows a little more maturity...

"To whom it may concern,

I recieved a flyer advertising this strange website in my local church whilst attending a meeting of the local Women's Institute. After inquiring with the Vicar I took the leaflet home and accessed the website on my computer.

Can I just say how much I am enjoying the ongoing comic strip "Rude Bwoy"? I've shown it to all the ladies and they agree that it is quite, quite marvellous. They've asked me to tell you that that lovely man Brompton Rhodes is welcome to come to one of our meetings any time. In fact we're having a nude swimathon next Wednesday and Marsha here thinks that young Mr Rhodes shows quite a lot of promise. Be sure to let him know!

Yours, sweltering",

I'll be sure to let him know, though naturally we here in the Government are unable to take responsibility for any problems or complaints relating to Mr Rhodes or his behaviour. Thank God, because he's a disgusting man.

Oh, what's this? Another fucking cunt...

"Dear fascist pig,

How much longer must we endure this mockery of government? The Livingstone administration is making us look like fucking Italy. Isn't it time we had a real choice of who leads us? I don't mean these feeble, puppet opponents that are put up only to be shot down. I mean a real, competent opposition that can take us out of the police-state mire that we're in?

Free and fair elections today!"

Fuck me, alright Robert Lindsay, alright. You want free and fair, do you? Well how about we start with your trial, which has already been carried out in your absence. You were found guilty, by the way, and should already be in prison. Never let it be said that the system isn't fair!

What's this? More fucking whingeing from A C Maybe in bloody Wigan...

"Dear General Gash,

It saddens me to once again see the media being so London-centric. Why couldn't this comic be set somewhere else? Here in the north? The countryside? There is a world outside of the M25 you know.


Yes, I'm reliably informed there is a world outside of the M25. And it's so disgusting and atavistic that whatever horrors I find here inside the City are minor compared to those that lurk outside.

At least, that's what we tell our citizens.

Because its true!

Hah. Time for one more, from Gavin Boys in Sheen...

"Dear General Gash,

Are you, or are you not, a massive poof?"

I'm not sure. Why don't you tell me after I've finished raping you with the splintered end of a mop handle?

That's it for this issue, folks. Remember, stay safe when walking those dark streets. We've had to cut police numbers again...