Once upon a time there was a little boy named John who lived in Chicago, Illinois. John’s father liked drinking lots and lots of beers and boshing him over the head. To make matters worse John had a poorly heart that meant he couldn’t play any sports and he quickly turned into a bit of a chunky fucker.
John got fed up with being boinked over the head by his dad so he went to live in Las Vegas where he began working in a mortuary. One day John started hugging one of the corpses and it made him feel funny in his head so he went back to live with his Mum and Dad.
Luckily for John he sorted his shit out and got married and became a big successful business man and sold lots and lots of fried chicken.
Everyone seemed to like John and even his own father said sorry for being mean to him and everything was nice and happy for a while.
John joined a club called the ‘Waterloo Jaycess’ which involved lots of drugs and cuddles with strangers. John was so good at drugs and fiddling about with other people’s winkles that he actually became vice president of the club. Sometimes when you get good at something it goes to your head and unfortunately John started kissing too many boys and even paid to get the shit kicked out of some of them.
John had done a naughty and the policemen made him go and sit in a prison for a bit so that he could calm down.
He was very helpful in prison and kept his room tidy and ate all of his vegetables so they let him out almost immediately which is mental.
When he came out he made new friends and got a new wife and started dressing up like a big, mad, clown so that no one would be scared of him.
John and his new wife fell out because he told her he preferred kissing boys and all of his neighbours got angry with him because his house started to stink.
People started going missing in the area and John began acting the giddy goat by growing a big, bushy, beard like a pissed up wizard and drinking lots of whisky.
When the policemen went to look inside John’s house they found about thirty lads buried under the floor and a few in the garden. Some of them had things put up their bottoms.
John admitted that he’d been a right handful for the last ten years and was very honest about all of his mad shenanigans and went on to spend his time in prison painting himself as ‘Pogo the Clown’.
The court decided it would be for the best if they put poison into John Wayne Gacy’s arms so that he died. 
When he was dead they cut his brain out and wanged it into a jar.
And that was the end of John.

“The dead won't bother you, it's the living you have to worry about.” 
- John Wayne Gacy


Once upon a time there was a man called David who made friends with Harvey, his next door neighbour’s dog.
David was a postman who lived in New York City and had spent some time being an army man. One of his friends in the army bought him a gun which he liked a lot.
When David had been a baby his Mum had decided that she didn’t want him anymore so she gave him to someone else. This made David very angry.
David had two best friends, Harvey (his next door neighbour’s dog) and Satan (the demon that lived inside his brain box). David told Harvey and Satan that he was cross about his Mum running away and leaving him on his own and asked them what they thought he should do about it. Harvey and Satan told David that it would be a good idea to run around New York for the next two years shooting people to death.
David liked girls with long dark hair best so he tried to shoot them the most. 
He would run around at night with his gun shooting people whilst they sat in their cars and he found it very funny that the policemen couldn’t catch him, even though they were all trying really, really hard. Sometimes David would leave the policemen funny little notes that said things like ‘I love to hunt, Prowling the streets for fair game, I am a monster, I’LL BE BACK’. 
David changed his name to the ‘Son Of Sam’ because he was bored of the name David and he thought it sounded more scary.
David got caught because someone saw the numberplate on his car and he had to go and sit inside a jail.
He admitted he’d been a bit of a handful but said that it wasn’t really his fault because Sam Carr’s dog had told him to do it and demanded the blood of young girls. The judge asked him if the dog had told him to jump off a cliff would he have done that? And he said “No, probably not”.
Everyone decided it would be for the best if he went to live inside a prison for six, 25 year sentences which is a very long time and he’ll be almost 200 years old when he gets out.

“A 'possessed' dog in the neighbourhood won't let me stop killing until he gets his fill of blood.” 
- David Berkowitz (The Son of Sam)


Once upon a time there was a boy called Edward who lived in La Crosse, Wisconsin with his Mum and Dad and his brother Henry . They all lived together on a farm. 
Ed’s Mum was a silly old sausage and used to spend all day shouting about Jesus and reading Ed and Henry bedtime stories from the Bible. Her favourite parts were the bits with all the death and murder and the devil and that. She was always shouting about how God was in a mood with everyone on Earth.
Thanks to his Mum’s incessant gibberish, Ed’s brainbox started to go all squishy and his teachers and classmates would notice that he’d just sit on his own laughing to himself about whatever popped into his head. He’d sit at the back of the classroom and picture himself with a chicken’s legs and howl to himself with laughter. Eventually all the other boys and girls stopped inviting him to their birthday parties.
One day Ed’s dad drank so much beer that his heart burst like an egg in a microwave and he died, which made Ed sad.
When Ed grew up he was such a good boy that when he killed his own brother with a mallet and set the entire town on fire no one even thought it was him.
Ed and his Mum were now the only ones left in their family so they became best friends and Ed looked after her when she became poorly as well as looking after all the goats and chickens on the farm because he was Mummy’s little soldier. Unfortunately one day she had a stroke and died because God was sick of her acting like a cunt.
Ed was gutted. He decided to board up his Mum’s room and keep all of her dresses looking nice and pretty while he lived in the kitchen like a pig and read books about Nazis and cannibals like a right proper nutcase.
One day a lady from the local hardware store went missing and the police thought they better go and see what Ed was up to because he’d been acting so silly.
When they had a look round they discovered that Ed had been a busy little beaver. He’d been making lots of arts and crafts but he must have run out of paint and papier mache because all of the things Ed had been building were made out of people. The police found a rubbish bin made out of skulls, a chair covered in human skin and he’d even stretched a lampshade out of someone’s face. He’d been having a whale of a time. He’d made a corset out of a female torso, leggings out of a woman’s legs and he’d even stitched loads of nipples onto a belt. When the police found a box full of vaginas and a necklace made of cocks Ed knew he was going to get in big trouble.
Ed tried to explain in court that all he’d been trying to do was build a “woman suit” so that he could dress up like his dead mother and he’d done that by digging up graves and killing a few people. He reckoned that if it’s a crime to murder people, dig up the corpses of the recently deceased and wear their faces like masks and turn their skeletons into household objects then he supposed he must have been guilty. The court decided that doing all that stuff is indeed a crime and he was certainly considered guilty. He explained that he hadn’t even had sex with any of the bodies because “they smelled too bad” but even that wasn’t enough for the judge to let him go so he spent the rest of his life living happily ever after in the Central State Hospital For The Criminally insane until he died in 1984.
And that was the story of Ed.

- Ed Gein


Once upon a time there was a doctor called Harold.

Harold’s Mum thought he was the bee’s knees and when she became poorly Harold looked after her until she died. 

Harold went off to learn how to become a proper doctor and honour his late Mum. He’d become a General Practitioner and make his Mother proud as she looked down at him from heaven. Unfortunately, within a couple of weeks, Harold got addicted to prescription pain killers and lost his job when everyone noticed that he was smacked off his tits.

Luckily for Harold, in England, stealing drugs and forging medical information is more of a slap on the wrist sort of thing and before long Harold had his stethoscope back on. This time in a medical Centre in Hyde.
Harold must have been very good at his job because he stayed there for about 20 years and the only bad thing he did was to murder more people than almost anyone else in the history of mankind.
No one in the field of medicine had any idea that Harold was up to no good, but luckily the lad that did the bins noticed that almost every single person who went into Harold’s office would often spend the rest of their life being cremated.
One of Harold’s colleagues thought it was strange that he had started referring to his patients as ‘victims’, she also noticed that they all died in the same upright, seated position so she called the fuzz.
Harold carried on killing elderly women on an almost daily basis until he finally cocked it up. He forged a will and pretended that an old lady had left him her house. The old lady’s daughter realised that this was probably bullshit when she took about two seconds to think about it.
After this, it all started to go tits up for Harold. His home was raided, jewellery and typewriters were found and bodies were exhumed. 
Harold had to go to court and the jury thought that killing over 250 old ladies was just about the bloody limit. The judge found himself agreeing with the jury so hard that she said Harold would have to go and live inside Durham Prison for about 1000 years even though nobody even thought he’d probably live that long.
Harold tried living in the prison for a couple of years but realised that he couldn’t be arsed staying there for another 998 years, also some of the other prisoners were calling him names and poking fun out of his beard so he hung himself to death with his bedsheets.
He spent the next 10 years frozen in a Sheffield morgue, perhaps in case anyone wanted to reanimate his corpse and let him carry on with his rounds. In 2014 they decided that bringing Harold back to life would be a terrible idea so they burned him up and lobbed his ashes in the bins.
And that was the story of Harold.

- Dr Harold Shipman

Once upon a time there was a little girl called Elizabeth. 
Elizabeth grew up in a big castle in The Kingdom of Hungary, and, being from a noble family, was given everything she could ever dream of. She had Jewels and horses and the grandest clothes in the land made from the finest lace and silks. She had such lovely things that it must have made growing up in the arse end of nowhere near Transylvania, during the 16th Century, borderline tolerable. Elizabeth was so showered with good fortune that she was even lucky enough to have her very own baby before the age of 13, which might have actually been where the problem started come to think about it.

Elizabeth eventually got married to a man with a very long name at the ripe old age of 15 and they moved in together into one of his castles on the Slovakian border. As soon as they got there he buggered off to college and then to war leaving Elizabeth kicking about the castle in her jogging bottoms and flicking through Snapchat while watching Ru Paul’s Drag Race. It was boring the tits off her.

Eventually her husband came back from what was called ‘The Long War’ but he’d picked up some strange disease that had made his legs go all fat and then he died.
Elizabeth had just about had it up to here with this bullshit.  
After chatting with one of her scullery maids she decided she would try and get into the Guinness Book of World Records. She tried juggling pigs and then she tried smashing eggs into her own head but nothing seemed to stick. She needed to do something that would carry her legend far across the lands for years to come. She decided she would become the most prolific and mental serial killer that anyone had ever seen and call Norris McWhirter post-haste. 

Elizabeth began luring young girls to the castle by telling them she’d give them a job. That job, as it turned out, was to be beaten, burned and eaten alive. Elizabeth would use hot tongs to burn the girls and then freeze them. Occasionally she’d cover them in honey and flesh eating ants and there was even talk of needles. It was a party in the castle, and no one wanted to be invited. 
Some say she bathed in the blood of her victims in an attempt retain eternal youth, but even if she did, that stuff about the ants is worse, isn’t it?
Eventually the police turned up and caught her red handed, quite literally. They found girls dead, dying and locked up in the castle, so they placed her under house arrest, which seems extremely bloody lenient as far as I’m concerned. 
During her trial they worked out that she might have killed about 650 people which is so naughty that it’s quite hard to put into words. When you consider that you shouldn’t even murder one person, murdering 650 really does take the biscuit.
The King said he wanted her dead but she had a pretty good legal team and they managed to get her bricked up in a tiny room in a castle which is a small victory of sorts.
After 4 solitary years in her windowless cell she said her hands felt cold and then she died.
And that was the story of Elizabeth.

- Countess Elizabeth Bathory de Ecsed

Illustrated by Nick Reyniers
Written By Matt T Haydock






  • Dig up grandad





  • Break into an old people's home and whisper loads of mental shit to all of the senile residents when the nurses aren't looking






Police are investigating ex-England goalkeeper, David Seaman after a confusing performance at a live Q&A session which took place in a small theatre near his home town of Rotherham. 

‘An Evening with David Seaman’ was due to be an informal and lighthearted event where fans of the football star would be able to meet their hero, listen to anecdotes about his 23 year long career and ask him questions, but after a series of unprompted denials that he’d ever killed anyone, alarm bells started to ring  and the South Yorkshire Police force were informed.
“Me and the wife got tickets because we’re both massive Arsenal fans” said audience member Rilkie Balbatross. “It was a great evening until right at the end when we started asking questions” he continued. “I asked David a question about his first game for England in 1988 and he answered by saying that he’d never murdered anyone with a hammer and buried them in the woods on the outskirts of Chesterfield” said Balbatross. “Everyone just went silent and looked confused until the compere laughed awkwardly and moved on to another question” he continued.

The microphone was handed to audience member Ian Pin who asked a question about the camaraderie of the camp during England’s Euro 96 campaign but the same thing happened again when the football legend professed that he was Innocent of any violent crimes and definitely didn't have blood on his gloves. “It was really weird” said Pin. “I’d asked him something about Euro 96 and he just started talking about how he’d never gone on a killing spree and disposed of the bodies in the Humber Estuary off the back of his mate Gavin’s boat. I never said he had” continued Pin.

An uncomfortable atmosphere filled the small Civic Theatre as people started to leave. The questions about Seaman’s career continued as he batted them away with specific denials relating to bloodshed and homicide that he claimed were in no way linked to him.
Audience member Yarnold Pentecost said “it was getting really awkward so I tried to lighten the mood by asking a question about whether David had any regrets about rocking his famous tash and ponytail combo for so much of his career and he answered by claiming that in 1998 he hadn’t sealed the doors to a house in Doncaster and set it on fire”.
“He just started looking at his feet and mumbling that if he had done any of that stuff then he’d be in prison now and he didn’t know why everyone kept bringing it up” continued Pentecost. 

After about 45 minutes two officers arrived and removed the second most capped goalkeeper after Peter Shilton and took him away in handcuffs.
“It was a weird end to the evening. He’s obviously guilty as sin” said Mr Pentecost. “And we didn’t even get a refund” he continued. “That’s the last time I get tickets for the theatre” he joked.
At present Seaman remains in custody and the investigation continues.

Popstar Emma Bunton shocked fans yesterday when she announced that she’s worried that she might be transforming into a ballistic, Typhoon class, Soviet submarine.
The singer, formerly known as Baby Spice (43) relvealed the news by posting an emotional live video on her Facebook page claiming that she first noticed the transformation begin whilst on her reunion tour with the Spice Girls earlier this year.

“I realised something wasn’t right when I was backstage at the Etihad Stadium in Manchester getting changed into a new frock halfway through a show with the girls” said Bunton through a veil of tears.

“My tights snagged on something near the back of my leg and when I asked Geri Halliwell to check it out she said it looked like I was growing some sort of rudder” continued Bunton. 
“I didn’t think that much of it at the time because the show had to go on…and also I was earning onwards and upwards of 3 million quid a night to perform our terrible songs to a bunch of sad middle-aged women who now all work in HR”

The petite blonde mother of two went on to explain that by the end of the tour she’d developed a large propeller, a naval bridge and several turbine chambers designed to cool down a nuclear reactor. “It was becoming harder and harder to sqeeze into my stage gear” sobbed Bunton on the video, which has now been viewed over 12 million times on the social networking platform. “I thought it might just be stress” continued Bunton, “but even after I got home it just seemed to keep getting worse”

Bunton went on to describe how just in the last month she’s grown a radio control room, sonar device and even a small periscope. “I didn’t even know submarines still had periscopes” continued the blubbing Spice Girl as she choked back tears.
It was only when she realised that her skin was turning into a steel-titanium alloy like the pressure hull of a military grade submersibal that Bunton decided that enough was enough and made the step to phone her friend Jamie Theakston who came over to take a look.
“When Jamie came over and pointed out that I was now 175 metres in length and armed with over one hundred BGM-109 Tomahawk cruise missiles I knew that I had to go to the doctors”

 The singer, who released her first solo single in 12 years at the start of 2019, went on to say “it’s the sort of thing you hear about but just never think will happen to you”
Unfortunately doctors have been left scratching their heads after trying Bunton on a course of steroids and antibiotics and have now told the Spice Girl that she might actually find that she’s happier in the open waters off the coast of the British Isles rather than being cooped up in her luxurious house in Chipping Barnet.
When asked what her biggest fear for the future is, Bunton said that it would be seeing Jeremy Corbyn winning an election and ending up in Number 10. “I’ve always liked him as a politician and think he’s a decent man but just now I’m terrified that he’ll become Prime Minister and then scrap 'Trident' which would mean I’ll be decommissioned and laid up in Her Majesty’s Naval Base in Devonport with a fleet of other dreadnoughts waiting to be safely melted down for scrap over the next 50 years”
Bunton concluded the video by saying “I guess I just didn’t see it ending like this for me, you just never know what’s around the corner” before providing a link to a crowd funding website where she hopes to be able to raise enough money to source a cure for the delibitating condition.









 According to a recent poll, a terrifying 39% of the British electorate believe that a house can be haunted and a chilling 35% of the UK - who are all legally allowed to vote in UK elections - believe in ghosts, whilst a frightening 9% of people - who are trusted to have their say in a referendum - even go as far as to claim that they’ve communicated with the dead. 
We ask 5 celebrities about their paranormal encounters with the hope of finding out, once and for all, whether ghosts are real or not which they’re not because they’re obviously not.

1 - ANDY FORDHAM (Darts Player)
“I’m absolutely convinced that ghosts exist as I’ve personally been followed by some sort of malevolent poltergeist since I was about 30 (stone). Wherever I go in my house I hear the eerie sound of squeaking floorboards and often, after dinner, my wife will tell me that she can smell an acrid aroma reminiscent of sulphur, as though our house were built upon some kind of hell-mouth to the underworld. It gets weirder than that as well because wherever I live the bulbs inside my fridge burn out in no time at all leaving electricians baffled and giving me no other option than to assume that my kitchen is possessed by Zuul, The Gatekeeper of Gozer, who made his most famous appearance in the original Ghostbusters film. Me and the Mrs have tried moving house but the same thing happens wherever we go. Very spooky.”

 2 - DANNY DYER (Actor and geezer)
“I’ve been getting proper mugged off by a pillar and post every since I found out that I’m related to that slag Edward III and now that that spooky fucking melt has figured out that me and the Mrs have got a bit of bunce he’s been doing my swede in every night, floating around the place and giving it the big, I am. Everyone says I’ve gone completely radio  rental but I’ve seen the creepy little mug with my own mince pies. I wish I’d never gone on ‘Who Do You Think You Are’ because now I’m wasting my time bowling into the local church and trying to get the local rev to come over and stripe up the creepy little plum with holy water until he does one”

 3 - PETER SISSONS (Newsreader)
“Well I believe in ghosts because when I was a little boy me and my friend Kevin cycled up the road to the old abandoned psychiatric hospital in our village so that we could break in and give ourselves the willies. Whilst we were in there we met the ghost of Brian Belo, star of Big Brother season 8. It was terrifying but the whole thing’s made even more spooky when you consider that Brian Belo wasn’t even born until 35 years later and didn’t even appear on British Television until 2007 so how did I even know who he was? The entire thing sends a shiver down my spine and now my wife makes me speak to a special doctor about all of this”

4 - RACHEL RILEY (Presenter)
“Everyone who works on Countdown knows that ghosts exist because the studio’s been haunted by the ghost of Richard Whitely for the last 10 years. Quite often during filming he’ll put up sinister messages using the magnetic letters or scrawl satanic runes onto the whiteboard during the numbers round which makes editing the show 10 times harder than it needs to be. It’s not all harmless fun though. Nobody likes to be the last one to leave the studio because there’s always things flying around and bursting into flames. On more than one occasion production staff and contestants have ended up getting killed. I never knew Richard when he was alive but I can’t say I’m a fan”

5 - DAVID ATTENBOROUGH (Naturalist and Presenter)
“I’ve always wondered whether albino animals are actually ghosts. I’m told by zoologists and biologists that they categorically aren’t and it’s simply something to do with skin pigmentation but I’m still not sure, they certainly look a bit like ghosts to me”

Anyone who’s watched the news recently will already know that it won’t be long now until the UK is nothing more than a baron dystopian wasteland controlled entirely by gangs on dirt bikes with human skulls for helmets. Many of us are now expected to die in a nude knife fight over the last bottle of water in our village as the cruel sun beats down on our weather-beaten bodies! But will it be all that bad? We ask 5 celebs how they’d survive …

KIRSTY ALLSOPP (Television Presenter)
As soon as it all started going a bit ‘Mad Max’ I think I’d get in my Range Rover and drive up to Scotland and find a really remote cottage in the middle of nowhere so that I’d be as far away from danger as possible. Then I’d bust my way in and kill whoever lived there and bolt the doors shut behind me and wait for it all to blow over.

GEROGE MONBIOT (Writer and activist)
After spending my entire life campaigning and writing about environmentalism and climate change it would be a sad day indeed to wake up in a post-apocalyptic dust bowl having realised that it’s now too late. However, I’ve always said if you can’t beat them, join them. With that in mind, as soon as society begins to collapse and scavenging tribes of bandits take control over the wastelands of this once great country, I’ll be the first to tattoo my own face and join a motley crew of hooligans on quad bikes who’ll tour the arid landscape murdering and killing everyone and anything that stands in our way.

BORIS JOHNSON (Prime Minister)
As somebody who’s actively encouraging this country to descend into a terrifying no-mans-land, I’ll be fine because as PM I’ll have access to a secret bunker that’s hidden under a hillside in Kent. Once there I’ll be able to see out my days eating delicious tinned produce from Fortnum and Mason whilst I crack on with my hobby of painting buses on the side of milk crates. Sadly I won’t be able to bring my children with me as there’s only room down there for fifty people, so I’ll just take a couple of girlfriends who won’t be able to escape out of either of the 25-ton blast doors constructed from steel and reinforced concrete.

BEAR GRHYLLS  (Survival Expert)
I reckon I’d probably quite enjoy it if everything went tits up because then I could finally employ some of my survival tactics, such as drinking my own piss, without feeling like I’m completely wasting my life. I might encourage my wife and children to embark on a life-threatening swim across the ocean to one of the more remote Channel Islands where I could keep them warm and dry by covering them in my own excrement. We could eat insects and sheep’s eyes and drink my piss and I reckon we’d have the time of our lives.

DEBORAH MEADEN (Sour-faced businesswoman and TV dragon)

As an entrepreneur I’d be on the look out for how to make a quick buck from the inevitable downfall of Great Britain. Whether it’s food, ammunition or gigantic rusty thunder-domes used for gladiatorial motorbike jousting tournaments, I’d stockpile as much as I could and savagely undercut anyone like Peter Jones who had the same idea. I’d spend my days atop a rusty throne inside a fortified cave patrolled by barbaric cyberpunks just like I do now and life wouldn’t seem that much different.