Hats off to Obama, shoes off for Bush

The Bugle, audio newspaper for a visual world.

Hello Buglers and welcome to issue 57 of The Bugle, the world's greatest and only audio newspaper for a visual world for the week, beginning Monday, the 22nd of December, 2008.

happy christmas from me andy zoltzmann in london and in new york city usa it's john oliver hello buglers hello andy happy christmas andy bad you

i'm just on a built and bridges john happy hanukkah and merry kwanza that is let's be inclusive Andy, obviously we know we usually start the bugle off with a little story about what we've been up to.

I yield the floor to you.

At the beginning this week, Andy.

Any interesting stories?

Well for once, John, I have a more exciting story than you, John, because this week, this week, on Monday, my wife and I gave birth to a baby boy in the bathroom with me as the midwife.

And I know what you're thinking, John.

Unbelievable.

You're thinking, Andy, you're not a qualified midwife.

And that's my initial thought there.

Well, what I would say to you, John, it's not a skill you can learn.

You've either got it or you haven't.

And no amount of qualification certificates and surgical gloves can prove otherwise.

So I am now a midwife.

You delivered your own son.

My son on the bathroom floor.

And it was, you know, it was fairly dramatic.

My wife was in labour giving it the usual, ah, ah, this seriously f ⁇ ing hurts in a genuinely primeval way.

Oh, almighty Lord, why do you f ⁇ ing hate women so much?

Yelks.

It was just a standard...

Yowks.

Yelks.

That's what women say in Labour, John.

It's a standard birth time procedure.

So I was thinking, yes, love, could you keep it down?

You're drowning out the commentary, and it's a key stage of an excellent test match.

Come on, England.

But this happy equilibrium of the sexes was disrupted, John, when my wife took some time out from mooing to say the words, it's coming out.

Not, Andy, we're in established labour now, so I think it's time to go to the hospital and have this deal sealed by trained professionals.

Come on, let's roll.

She said, it's coming out.

At this point, I got a little petrified.

I shouted down to my sister who was looking off from the tilde down and says, call an ambulance.

And I was thinking to myself, well, labour takes ages.

We're probably making a fuss about nothing.

At which point, and my wife says, I can feel its head.

And at this stage, I start thinking, we're going to have to drive really fast to get to the hospital in time.

You're still very much not taking responsibility for the situation at this point.

Trying to, you know, look for the positives.

You're thinking, I'd pay my taxes.

I'd love to get something back for those taxes.

How about using the facilities I paid for?

That's right.

I was thinking, you know, how busy Norwood High Street is like to be at 10am on a Monday morning.

When, and this kind of little reverie was rudely interrupted, when I see its finger head coming out,

so

I can see the top of my still about 98% unborn child's bonce.

And now I start to think to myself, I am completely out of my depth.

I'm about as out of my depth as possible to be without being an orangutan and a submarine.

But luckily, the woman on the other end of the 999 call kept things very simple.

And basically, John, if you're ever in this situation, the basic advice if you're delivering your own child is don't drop it.

Just hold its head.

Don't let it come out too fast.

And don't drop it.

I say try and sit down.

She says, ah!

There's a few more squeals of fundamental agony.

And then all of a sudden it's

squelch baby.

And coincidentally, Pop Squelch Baby was the title of an old 1960s TV program.

So nature and gravity combined, and I caught my child falling out of my wife.

Soft hands, nice clean take.

Got him.

It's a boy.

He seemed to be in good working order with all the classic signs of a human baby.

His nadgers were all in the right place.

Well

both both in the right place.

I thought we've done it.

We were overwhelmed by this rush of the purest, most intense ecstasy you can imagine.

John, it was definitely the highlight of my week.

No doubt about it.

And bear in mind, I watched the mighty Harlequins win a crucial European Rugby Cup match with a last second drop goal on Saturday after one one of the most dramatic and exciting conclusions to a game in rugby's history.

And also that one didn't make quite such a mess in my bathroom floor.

But still, I've got delivering my own child just above that.

It's one of those things that you just assume doesn't happen anymore, people

having to emergency deliver their own children, especially if you live in a major city.

And

Runsy was weakening quite close to a hospital.

I don't know quite how you managed to have to do that emergency procedure.

It was a short labour, John.

And last time we went to hospital, we got sent home for going in not in labour enough.

Yeah, okay.

We'll split the difference next time.

We did overcompensate.

Also, importantly, Andy, you've got a son, and

I think we talked about this earlier on.

The Bugle has an heir.

That's right, all this will be his.

The heir to the Bugle Empire.

The boy.

Which is a bit of a relief, particularly for Miranda, because, as you know, Henry VIII, John, is my inspiration and role model in how I conduct my personal life.

So if it had been another daughter, I'm afraid it would have been Axe Time.

And Danny, I would have been a real shame.

shame.

I've become quite attached to Miranda over the years and executing her on Trump's up charges and Boleyn style.

Well, it would have been a logistical and legal quagmire, let's be honest, these days.

You just can't get away with it anymore.

Well, you've kept up your side of the succession line.

And now, all I need to do, Andy, is find someone who can physically and/or emotionally stand me.

And we can secure the generational future of the Bugle.

Well, I think you're right, John, because the Bugle Constitution, of course, is a mixture of British and American Constitution.

So I'm definitely part of the Bugle for life and will be succeeded in the podcast by my firstborn son, Sorry Matilda.

I know it's the 21st century, but rules are rules.

You knew it before you were born.

If you didn't approve, you shouldn't have come out.

Whereas, John, you're the American half of the Bugle, so you have to seek re-election every four years and can serve a maximum of two terms.

Also, you could be impeached.

So I'm here by divine ordinance.

You got here through money, contacts, and the gullibility of the public.

Which system is better, John?

You tell me.

This represents the greatest dream that anyone can grow up to be a member of the Bugle here, Andy.

Anyone.

It was a genuinely humbling, awe-inspiring moment, John, seeing a brand new person emerge onto the planet.

And I can heartily recommend it both to you and to all of our bugle listeners that you all attend the birth of my next child, Wembley Stadium, sometime in the 2010-2011 season.

So this week's Bugle is being fuelled, as you can hear, by celebratory champagne.

Here's to the boy.

The boy.

The boy.

Cheers, boy.

For those of you who entered the naming competition, I'm afraid you all lost.

And although we haven't fully confirmed this, provisionally entitled Horace.

Provisionally.

Yeah, come on.

Name the child.

Well, John, we've got to put it through the focus groups to make sure that it's going to be popular with the public, you know.

Okay, that's true.

So, as always, some sections of the bugle go straight in the bin.

This week, a childbirth section.

How to get the best medical care and make all the right preparations, get all the right painkillers and all the accessories you need for the perfect birth.

I'm afraid that is now in the bin along with Horace's Placenta.

And that's another thing I learned this week, John.

Placentas are massive.

Top story this week, viral mega smash.

Andy, sometimes it's impossible to know what will take the internet by storm.

Will it be a hamster on a piano eating a piece of popcorn?

Will it be a skateboarder suffering a spectacular nutshot from an unexpected piece of railing?

Perhaps a teenage boy dancing awkwardly yet overconfidently to a sexually explicit rap song.

Well, for this week only, Andy, it was none of those things.

It was in fact simply a 62-year-old man having a pair of shoes thrown at him.

It's always a shot.

Exactly.

But this wasn't any old man, Andy, and they weren't any old shoes.

This was President George W.

Bush being facially confronted at high velocity with the second most famous example of protest footwear in history after when Judas threw his flip-flops at Jesus.

Bush was on a surprise farewell trip to Iraq, the most spectacular since his surprise hello trip in 2003.

During a press conference, an Iraqi journalist stood up and threw his shoes at him shouting, this is a farewell kiss, you dog.

This is from the widows, the orphans and those who were killed in Iraq.

And it was probably not the Secret Service's finest hammer.

The man had time to take a shoe off, throw it at the president, bend down and take his other shoe off and throw that one at the president too before he was wrestled to the floor.

In fact, he'd probably have had time to get a third shoe off, were it not for the fact that he was tragically born with less than three feet.

But CNN were very anxious to tell people that in the Arab world, throwing shoes at someone is thought to be a very great insult.

Oh, no kidding, CNN.

I think that most people got that from the shoes flying through the air towards his head.

I don't think anyone imagined there was a possibility that this was in fact the highest form of compliment.

I don't know.

Thank you for our freedom, President Bush.

Please take my shoes.

And if you'd be so kind, please catch them with your face.

I have nothing but the greatest respect for you.

Maybe you were thinking, you know, if I can get the president to sign my shoes on eBay, they're going to go.

They're going to go big.

Well, it's interesting you say that because the make-of-shoes themselves have since become immensely popular in Iraq, with many shops completely selling out of their stock.

Was this in fact a very clever viral marketing campaign?

Because those shoes have had better media coverage than the latest Air Jordans.

Would it have been that surprising if after the footage of the president ducking out of the way of the shoes the screen had just gone blank but for a Nike swoosh and the words just do it?

Air protest, lightweight shoes which slip off quickly and easily for when you can feel yourself being watched by Secret Service agents.

Ergonomically designed to fly through the air, increasing your distance and velocity for markedly better results.

And complete with a patterned sole to leave a mark on your target's face.

I think John, I think we're being far too negative about this.

It's well known that people throw knickers at rock stars.

Clearly this guy's just a foot fetishist, but a bit of a thing for the president.

That's a nice way of looking at it, Andy.

Also, he says this is a farewell kiss, you dog.

And, you know, to be fair, he is a bad kisser whose shoe hurling technique has not proved a massive hit with the lasses in Baghdad's nightclubs.

I mean, it was a botched assassination attempt, essentially.

Just very badly planned from start to finish.

Very few people have ever been killed by thrown shoes.

But I think what was interesting about it was the outstanding technique in shoe avoidance that Bush showed.

He just swerved out the way of it.

It was like a high-class opening batsman avoiding a bouncer on the first morning of a test match.

It was like a young Michael Atherton.

And this to me suggested that this has happened before, John.

George W.

Bush has avoided shoes thrown at his head probably throughout his life.

He looked like it had happened all the time.

He just kind of grinned at the guy and said, well, another shoe.

Well, that's another one for the catalogue.

Well, here's, in fact, a list of all the people who could have thrown a shoe at George W.

Bush.

Actually, we're going to have to cut that out.

We don't have time.

I want to be back in home for the boy's first birthday.

But the point stands.

Andy, why have people decided to enjoy this footage so much?

Well, I think everyone has accepted that this may be as close as we're going to get to accountability for what President Bush has done to the world over the last eight years.

Two shoes being thrown at his head and missing.

That's all we're getting.

No trials, no admissions of guilt.

But to be honest, I also think it's probably more than we dared actually hope for.

That's the only way to explain how many times it's been repeatedly shown on the news, even in slow motion.

They've been showing it in slow motion, like morality porn.

Everyone's sitting at home watching going, oh yeah, oh, throw the other shoe, that's it.

Oh yeah.

Oh look at his face.

He doesn't like it, does he?

Oh, he's been a bad, bad man.

There have been marches in support of the now jailed and probably badly beaten, partially known journalist and world-famous shoe chucker all across the Middle East.

And one man marched with a shoe on top of a stick that he was waving in the air like a slip-on crucifix.

And even a Libyan charity group called Wa Atisimau has awarded Munaza al-Sahidi an award for courage, saying, What he did represents a victory for human rights across the world.

Whoa, steady on.

He threw a shoe at a man.

That's it.

This is not Gandhi.

This is not a lifetime's dedication to human rights.

This is momentary frustration slipping over into footwear violence.

Let's not commission the statue of him just yet.

Well you say that John, but how long did it take Gandhi to get famous?

You know, 30 years of dignified, peaceful protests.

This guy, all over the world.

With one simple action.

This is the future of protest, John.

It's a great day for democracy because it proves that the the best way of making your political point is not by running for office, devoting yourself to a party and striving to do your bit either to improve or worse on things for the common people as you see fit, or by committing a life's work to social projects and activism, is to throw a shoe at a president.

You make your point.

You do it in an entertaining, accessible way that the world's media can get an angle on.

I mean, when a million people took the streets in London before the Iraq War, there were protests all around the world.

And that is as nothing to a carefully flanged piece of footwear, John.

I mean, you can imagine people sitting at home saying, hey, hey, did you see that really moving display of communal dissatisfaction with placards chanting and the kind of social expression that democracy should cherish to its stupid vested belly?

No, I just saw some nutters on telly being charged by riot police for flicking a V-sign at a horse.

Okay, but did you see the guy chuck his shoes at George W.

Bush?

Yeah, best TV in history.

That is politics.

He faces anything between two and 20 years in prison.

And his defense team have said they'll be basing their case on the fact that the United States is occupying Iraq and resistance is therefore legitimate by all means including shoes.

Well,

good luck with that.

The old shoe defence.

If I had a dollar for every time someone had used that defence I would not have any dollars but I would be about to get one.

But he's facing up to apparently a 15-year sentence for the crime of aggression against a president.

It's almost like the laws of this country John have been framed by people who were a bit worried about a president being unpopular there.

As a journalist Andy, he knew the power of what he was doing.

He knows that the pen is mightier than the sword, but he also knows that the shoe is mightier than the pen.

I mean, I'm not saying George W.

Bush will only be remembered for having shoes thrown at his head, but he will be remembered for having shoes thrown at his head and also for the actions that led to shoes being thrown at his head.

I'm sure shoes are thrown at other presidents' heads.

It's just they were probably by accident.

Bush has given some quite interesting interviews, obviously concerned about how history will judge him, and history will probably be putting on his black cap and calling him a.

But

he said this in an interview with Fox News.

He said, What matters to me is that I didn't compromise my soul to be a popular guy.

Which is lucky, John, because if he had compromised his soul to be a popular guy, he would be spending quite a lot of time now looking for the receipt and reading the small print on the warranty, because that deal has not worked.

But what has he compromised his soul for, John?

Because he clearly has compromised it.

I mean, it has been for money, women, eternal life, to get on telly, or you know, to look cool.

I mean, I've compromised my soul.

I sold it to the devil in exchange for a really good Carbonara recipe.

And frankly, I think it was worth it.

You make a good Carbonara, Andy.

You make a very good Carbonara.

Yeah, well, I hope you enjoy it because I'm going to suffer for that.

Yeah, that's why I enjoy it.

Have you compromised your soul, John?

I mean, let's leave your film career out of this, but anything else.

Get the sequel.

I think you've answered your own question.

Both me and Colbert would be first to put our hands up there.

I still haven't seen it.

I'm waiting for you to give me a signed copy for Christmas.

Done and done.

In other Iraq news, Britain is pulling out of Iraq next summer on the 31st of July.

Someone wants to get home in time for the key points of the ashes, John.

That's right.

All adventures, good and bad, come to an end, Andy.

The goonies eventually found their way home from an underground treasure trove, and the British Army will now now soon come back after six years in an overground Iraqi hell scan.

Gun Brown has announced that all 4,100 troops will begin a, quote, rapid withdrawal in June.

There's got to be a better way of saying that.

Now, obviously, it's great news that they'll all be soon safe and home and they've got everyone's gratitude for their service, but it is now going to be time for an inquiry, just into the few little things, such as whether they should have been sent there at all, whether if we did have to send them there, we should have looked into sending them with equipment that wasn't cartoonishly bad, and whether we should look into treating them less like animals when they come home hurt.

And I'm sure the findings to this inquiry are going to be: oh, you know, that's probably fine.

You can overthink these things.

Don't let it get you down.

That is basically how all government inquiries end up.

Yeah.

It'll be entitled, Oh, Look at Chaffinch.

Chaney news now, and when the world waves goodbye to George W.

Bush Bush on January the 20th with a wave that will probably be missing three fingers and a thumb,

it will also be bidding a relieved farewell to Vice President Richard Cheney or Dick as he and many many others call him after both his high school abbreviation and his repeated actions.

Now

he doesn't seem as concerned with his legacy as Bush lastly as he clearly couldn't give a shit about what people think about him.

He'd love to but he literally can't as that would be to engage in a human emotion which he isn't physically capable of.

Instead, he's taken to delivering some uncharacteristically frank revelation about his last eight years of playing with the biggest and loudest toy box on the planet.

And in an interview with ABC News, he said that he personally approved the CIA's waterboarding of detainees at Guantanamo Bay.

And he said it completely unapologetically, despite a recent damning Senate Armed Services Committee report on the treatment of detainees in US custody.

Again, let's remember, Andy, this is not his fault.

Remorse is a human emotion.

He thought he felt it once, once, but it turned out he was just hungry.

The strange thing about all this is that he's essentially indicted himself and is forcing Bush to preemptively pardon him.

It is a dick move in every sense of the phrase.

He's also essentially taking credit for torture.

I'm sure he'd like waterboarding to be named after him.

Oh God, I chainied this guy for eight strike hours.

Finally got him talking.

My arm hurts.

Well, do you think we're going to miss Cheney when he's gone, John?

No.

Because I'm trying to be more positive about this.

You know, I've seen really the the meaning of life this week.

I've got a more positive outlook on the world.

And I think I'm trying to be more positive about Cheney.

I mean, I think apart from his approval of torture, his repellent politics, the total overwhelming lack of anything even slightly resembling morality, maybe there's a nice guy trying to get out, John.

You know what?

I think maybe Dick Cheney's just been a kind, loving humanitarian trapped inside the body, mind, and soul of a total shitbag.

Or perhaps, or maybe, you know, maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe he's just a shitbag trapped inside an even bigger bag of shit.

And he was recently recently voted Time magazine's man you'd most like to headbutt, as well as the person you'd least like to give a life jacket to on a sinking ship by Surviving Naval Disasters Monthly magazine.

He was asked if he had any regrets and he said these words, oh, not a lot at this stage.

I think I'll have a chance to reflect on that after I get out of here and see whether or not anything immediately comes to mind.

Anyway, he carries on.

I think, quotes, given the circumstances we've had to deal with, we've done pretty well.

The circumstances we've had to deal with, of course, being the circumstances, they have dealt.

This is kind of like a guy who's crashed his car into a tree after pointing the car at the tree, saying, I'm going to crash this car into it, cutting the brake cables, jamming his own eyes out with a broach pin, and putting a blindfold on, then sitting in the car with his foot on the accelerator.

In the circumstances, I guess he did do quite well to get as far as the tree.

You know, he's acting like he's heroic here, but a firefighter can only be a hero if he didn't start the fire.

No one likes an arsonist fireman.

Nazi dictator on cakes news now.

And, well, John, as the great Johnny Cash himself said, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.

But arguably, it's even harder in the post-1945 world for a boy named Adolf.

And even harder than that, if he's not just called Adolf, but Adolf Hitler.

And this is what happened.

A young three-year-old boy called Adolf Hitler Campbell.

He was refused a birthday cake with his name on it by a shop.

And eventually Walmart stepped into the breach and wrote his full name, Adolf Hitler Campbell.

Oh, good for Walmart.

Doing the right thing yet again.

Well, perhaps that's the kind of ruthless business attitude that you need if you want to make the world a cheaper, slightly shitter place.

Or perhaps they were just working up to the launch of their new shop slogan, Walmart, yeah, Walmart.

That's right.

This supermarket in New Jersey is the third time in three years that they have refused to ice the boy's name on the cake, and the boy's parents are up in arms.

Deborah Campbell, who is up in one arm,

Raised straight at approximately a 45 degree angle.

Deborah Campbell, the boy's mother, says shop right can't even make a cake for a three-year-old.

That's sad.

But of course, the reason is the boy's name, which is Adolf Hitler Campbell.

It's not just that, it's the fact that they'd asked for a swastika to be iced into the cake as well.

It's an ancient symbol, John.

You don't see many iced swastikas, Andy, or certainly a lot less than you're used to.

They're probably just trying to reclaim both the name and the symbol.

The boy's father, Heath Campbell, is disgusted that they would deny a little boy his name on a birthday cake.

But I think he's missing here what people are upset about, and that is that he named his boy Adolf Hitler.

That's a tough name to carry around as he gets older, Andy.

The cake is going to be the tip of the iceberg for that child.

Try travelling on a Hitler passport.

Your bags are going to get searched.

Try making a reservation at a restaurant under Adolf.

You are going to struggle.

Try registering for online dating.

You're not going to get many requests for dates.

And if you do, they probably aren't going to be coming from the kind of people you want to go out with.

Heath Campbell said he named his son after Adolf Hitler because he liked the name ouch and because no one else in the world would have that name.

But that again is for fairly good reason, Andy.

It only means one thing.

Oh, nice to meet you.

My name is Adolf Hitler Campbell.

Oh, what a fascinating name.

Is that after Hitler?

Yes, yes, Adolf Hitler, the Führer.

Well, okay, but let's just for a moment, Andy, let's give this man the benefit of the considerable doubt.

Maybe he isn't a racist.

Maybe he does just like the name.

Let's just check the names of his other two children before we call him a racist.

Well, he has a two-year-old called Jocelyn Lynn Arianation Campbell.

Oh,

and an eight-month-old called Hans Lynn Hindler.

Jeannie Campbell, after Himmler.

Yes, he's a racist.

He's a racist, Andy.

Bad father.

Bad, bad father.

It is hard to think of a name that's going to cause your child more difficulties at school, or even as

a sports star.

Tough name as a sports star.

And Adole serves war to the backhand.

Campbell returns.

It clips the netcord.

It's good.

And Adolf Hitler Campbell is Wimbledon champion.

What a shame.

Following on from Iddy Arminia Hansen and Paul Pot McGonagall's winning the mixed doubles, this has been a bad Wimbledon.

And now before our special Bugle Christmas feature section, a very special Christmas message from a big Bugle fan.

Well, hi, Andy and John.

It's good to have an opportunity to say farewell.

And yeah, happy Easter, folks.

And it's going to be a change for me.

I believe it'll be the end of an error.

I happen to believe it's been a great error, one of the greatest errors in the history of the presidency.

But, you know, we move on and we all feel a credit crunch.

And

as you know, the White House will shortly be repossessed.

And I'm moving on, and I hope to go to better things.

Matter of fact, I thought of opening up a shoe shop.

It's going very well.

A lot of contributions.

So keep them coming in.

This is a parting kiss, you dog, from all bugle listeners.

Out.

Thanks, Sandy.

I appreciate it.

Was that a size 10?

Yeah, can I have it back?

I've got to walk home.

Bugle feature section now and Christmas.

Well, it's that time of year again, John.

Gigantic flashing Santa Clauses are starting to flash gigantically on the sides of people's houses the world over.

It's the time of year we can forget about the credit crunch and war, personal and family problems, and the crushing inevitability of suffering and death.

And think instead about how best to make our houses look disgusting for the next few weeks.

So, in this section, we'll be asking, what does Christmas really mean today?

Is Christmas starting to lose touch with its commercial soul?

Because Christmas, John, should be a little bit about giving and a lot about receiving.

I mean, I ask you this: would anyone have taken the trouble to follow Jesus' career if three big cheaters hadn't pitched a battle of the blue at his birth with some flash gear?

You tell me.

Well, in fact, I'll tell you, no.

So, later in the section, we'll give you tips on what face to pull to express a mixture of gratitude and disapproval at an obviously last-minute present.

And also, the etiquette of proclaiming atheist rhetoric over a small portable PA system during midnight mass.

And also, we delve into history to find out exactly what happened to the other parents in Mary and Joseph's antenatal class.

So, where else to start, John, in a Christmas special than with the hip presents to give this year?

I mean, the funkiest presents that you've done.

What have you got lined up for your family?

Oh, sorry, I'm still reeling from your casual uses of the term hip and funky there, Andy.

I've been on a course.

Right, well done.

Well done.

If it's a two-week residential course, we'll be able to try and say the word funky authentically.

Well, I'm not going to tell you what I've got lined up for my family, Andy, because my family might listen to this.

All right, okay.

We could lie.

Well, I can give you a suggestion for what to give to your family, John.

Uh, and it's uh from the new range of ethical presents, they're all the rage these days, you know, uh, going on the internet, paying a man to tell you he's gonna give someone a goat, or even tell you that they're gonna plumb in a toilet in a thicket in Guatemala, or uh, post a chicken to Tanzania.

But if those don't appeal to you, then there are some alternatives that are really selling well this year.

In fact, for um, 30 pounds, uh, or around 45 dollars, or for our European listeners, three euros 40.

What has happened to our glorious currencies?

Queen Victoria would be shitting in her grove.

Anyway, this is something to give to your more ethically aware, globally conscious friends and loved ones.

A £30 contribution to a hit on a despot.

With takeoutatyrant.com, you can choose whether your money is spent on recruiting and training the assassin on the deadly bullet itself or for the less active ethicalist, general admin for your chosen guerrilla group.

Once your money has been spent, sit back and wait for the news to break and democracy to win out indirectly.

Watching the news has never been so exciting.

Which of the world's five most tyrannical leaders and human rights violators will be on the receiving end of your generosity?

One of the literal big guns, or one of the world's more obscure dictators who subjugates his people in a more discreet corner of the world?

Will take out a tyrant's Pentagon-trained operatives hit the target first time?

Will it bring chaos, then peace, or just chaos, and then more chaos?

This is the present that keeps on giving, John, before leaving a devastating power vacuum leading to further instability and economic collapse.

It will be a great thing to receive when it opened up and say, oh, a hit on the garbage.

How did you know?

Well, remember we were walking past that shop window and you mentioned how much you like him, Dev.

You remembered.

Or alternatively, for the global warming skeptic in your life, a £30 contribution to Ching ChingChainsaw.tv will buy two chainsaws for a remote Colombian village to chop down precious rainforest and replace it with lucrative coca plants.

And also for the truly committed Christian man, give the Jesus-loving woman in your life the full authentic Christmas experience with the Bugles Christchild 2009 package.

This includes authenticated fully operational sperms in an Archbishop-blessed test tube, plus syringe for non-noticeable divine-style application, a 20-minute visit from a fully trained actor dressed as an angel to break the happy news to your lady, and a reservation on a working farm bed and breakfast for a medically unassisted birth.

Get closer to your God with the total lack of modern-day pain relief.

Includes postnatal visits from three local celebrities bringing signed photos and memorabilia.

Your Christmas emails now, and this one appropriately comes from Chris Eve from Tokyo writes.

Dear Andy and John, I'm puzzled by the Bernard Madoff affair.

He's been accused of fraud to the tune of $50 billion.

Brackett's more of a symphony than a tune in my songbook.

Good point.

And yet he's been released on bail of only $10 million.

My question is this: if you accosted a robber who'd just stolen $500 out of your wallet,

I'm assuming this is addressed to you rather than me, John.

Absolutely.

Given that that amount is in the wallet and that currency.

Would you accept a promise from the robber not to run away if he gave you a bond of 10 cents?

Brackett's hint.

He still has $499.90 of your money.

I would appreciate hearing your views on this matter in a future issue of the bugle.

Chris, you can hear it in this issue of the bugle.

And, well, I would accept that.

You know, I think, you know, you've got to forgive and forget.

We have an email here from Daniel Coley, who says, Dear buglers, recently I decided to find a monumental undertaking to take up.

Sadly, I couldn't find one, so I began a marathon bugle session.

I downloaded every episode of the bugle onto my iPod and started listening to them at every free moment.

This has led to me breaking into uncontrollable laughter during class and receiving awkward glares that appeared to question my sanity.

At this time of this email, I was five days and 29 episodes into this hellish venture.

Hellish venture?

Well, no, he's probably right.

I fear my sanity is escaping me.

And in addition, I'm launching a pre-emptive Hotties from History 09 nomination for none other than Jesus Christ.

What a fitting time to do it, Andy, at this seasonal time of year.

He goes on to say, that's right, I had the sacrilegious balls to do it.

This hottie was the only successful Jewish model ever.

Good point.

What?

Oh, come on.

He left them on.

He left them on.

I know he was technically Italian, but he could have been Jewish, surely.

No, no, his surname was Morgan Stern.

Rumours are that he's preparing for a comeback tour involving none other than the Antichrist, his former partner, before they had a falling out over the fate of humanity.

And if you don't pick him, you may burn in hell, with me for nominating him.

Well, thanks very much for that guaranteed damnation, Daniel.

Well, of course, that does remind us, John, of what the greatest Christmas presents that you can give to anyone is, and that is the bugle.

You know, in these credit crunch times, you know, a free podcast, you can even wrap it up in some audio audio wrapping paper.

In fact, we'll give you some audio wrapping paper now.

There it is, wrap it up and play it to your loved ones.

That is probably the second greatest Christmas present you can get this year.

The first, of course, being Bugle Book of the Year, my book.

No, the first is a bike.

Yours is third.

Ah, come on.

It's still on the podium.

Still on the podium, but these charts are always fixed.

This email comes from Will in Brighton on the subject's episode 11 sport forecast.

He He writes, Gentlemen, having been appalled to the point of bankruptcy due to having a flutter at William Hill every week on the strength of your end of show forecasts.

Uh-oh.

Sorry, we do our best.

It's just those gentlemen in Malaysia who are awfully persuasive.

He continues, it appears that a member of the sporting community has taken it upon himself to salvage both of your reputations.

Just as the year is winding to a close, upsets a man who, after obviously listening to episode 11 of the bugle, clearly decided to take it upon himself to prove your predictions.

Absolutely bang on the nose, or rather, bang up the nose.

Former England England cricketer Chris Lewis, in an extraordinary case of self-martyrdom, has rescued your forecasting reputations by purposely getting caught with £200,000 worth of cocaine, allegedly.

Let's chuck that one in and rocking the world of cricket to its very core, just as predicted in episode 11 by John in January.

Yes, I propose that a portion of this weekend's episode's fees go to Chris Lewis's bail.

I am a Class A narcotics Nostradama, Sandy.

So I suggest that our fees go to help Chris Lewis's bail.

Ironically, of course, here's a cricketing joke.

The bales that he so seldom succeeded in knocking off the stumps whilst bowling for England.

Apart from when he bowled Tendleke at Lords in 96, and that was a good ball.

I think the reason Tendleke was so surprised was because it had come out of Chris Lewis's hand.

And our American listeners can now tune in again.

And learn to love the world's greatest sport.

So thanks very much for your, as ever, excellent emails.

Do keep them flooding in over the festive periods.

That That was nice and non-denominational.

Yes, it was.

That's better.

Let's be inclusive, Andy.

Whatever you get off on.

Do keep them flooding in.

Oh, be nice.

Be nice, Andy.

Thebugle at timesonline.co.uk.

And also, now I know we've been promising this for several weeks now, but we will kick off a new year with the launch of the 2009 Hotties from History calendar.

It's something we can all plan our 2009 around.

Or if you're looking for another cheap gift for your family this economically strained Christmas just sit your family around the blazing Christmas tree and say sorry it's the credit crunch you don't have any actual presents apart from this one 26 days left of the bush era best Christmas ever bundle

someone put out the fire

sport now and well what a year for sport It's been, Andy.

I mean, it's...

Every year's a good year for sport.

I don't know who your sportsman of the year is.

There's so many to choose from.

Of course, Michael Phelps, absolutely historic.

Olympics for him.

I'm joking, of course.

Plaxico Beres, sportsman of this and every other year in the past.

He has rewritten the rules of sport.

He's entertained in a way that others could only dream of.

He shot himself in the leg, Andy.

The only way he could have been trumped is if Michael Phelps had shot himself in the leg in a swimming pool.

He shot himself in the fin

with a harpoon.

That would have been the only way.

Phelps shooting himself with a harpoon, but he didn't do it.

Plaxico did.

Or someone else shooting Phelps with a harpoon.

Peter van der Hoogenbaunt.

He's the kind of guy that would do it.

What about your sports lady of the year, John?

Plaxico Beresse in a dress.

My sports person of the year would have to be Manfred Scropplejoust, who's the first man ever to swallow a whole tennis umpire's chair.

in protest at a rogue line call at the Rome Masters.

That's what clay courts can do to you.

They can drive a man insane.

The point is, it was a great year for sport.

Yeah, it was a great year for sport.

as both borese and scropple joust can testify

just time for the final bugle forecasts of 2008 uh john and uh the forecast this week is the same as it has been for the last two weeks by this time next week will i have had another baby

uh

well i mean obviously medically you'd say no but you know you've already surprised the world by delivering your own child so i mean you're probably capable of anything yeah oh no i've just got the confidence now I reckon I could just go up to a woman, lay my hands on her shoulders, crouch down, and catch something.

That's got a power midwives like me have, John.

So, that's it from the bugle for 2008.

We're off over Christmas.

A stroke.

Hanukkah,

or not non-religious-based celebration, but still a great time to be with your loved ones.

For our Australians, Australian listeners, the Boxing Day test match.

We're off over that period.

We'll be back in 2009.

John, do you think it's going to be a good year 2009?

Yeah, let's see.

Spoiler alert on that one.

Spoiler alert.

Well, we'll find out soon enough.

We'll be back with the first bugle of the new year on Monday, the 5th of January.

Goodbye, buglers.

Have a great holiday and happy new year.

Say it like you mean it.

Say it like you mean it.

What are you talking about?

I do mean it.

Cheerio!

Bye-bye.

And thanks to George W.

Bush and Mr.

Rory Rory Brenda

for pretending to be him.

Hi, buglers, it's producer Chris here.

I just wanted to very quickly tell you about my new podcast, Mildly Informed, which is in podcast feeds and YouTube right now.

Quite simply, it's a show where me and my friend Richie review literally anything.

So please come join us wherever you get your podcasts right now.