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New York-based post-punk band, Interpol, today smashed an international music pirate ring Oink after a daring dawn raid.
Armed with little more than lateral haircuts and angular indie tunes, the band - pictured above outside Oink's offices before the raid - stopped the members-only music file sharing site from trading.
Similar raids on other music file sharing sites are expected from Interpol contemporaries.
The P.A.P - Post-punk Artists against Piracy - sydnicate, which includes bands like the Strokes, Bravery, Muse and Franz Ferdinand will be shutting down file sharing sites worldwide this week.
Named after the sound a pig makes, Oink is now closed pending an investigation by P.A.P.
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore, sensationally came out as gay today. Despite celebrations from London's gay community, however, Dumbledore was quick to distance himself from what he called the "mincing gay pride crowd."
Bovver boots
Speaking from his office in Hogwarts. "I'm not like those other gays - mincing about London's Old Compton Street in bottomless chaps and bovver boots, crowing about how many cock rings I have. They-re-so-clichéd," he lamented.
Attack of the clones
He went on: "I dress just like the other wizards here and know how to have a laugh with the lads. They don't feel threatened by me. I think I'm unique in that respect - so don't you dare compare me to those gay pride clones."
Revenge of the sith
However, according to a PCP source deep in Hogwarts, Dumbledore is not the only gay in the village. "Quite a few of the wizards are gay," said our source, "but they're all just like the other lads, except gay. They dress the same as us, hang out with us, drink the same stuff. There's not a stereotypical homosexual man among them. They're all pretty cool."
The phantom menace
The PCP challenged Dumbledore with this new information but he threatened to turn us into frogs.
The 'Golden Balls' of England's World Cup-losing rugby team has risen angel-like above the crude sturm and dram of the game once again. For against all the odds, during his team's defeat to new rugby world champs, South Africa, Johnny Wilinson left the pitch without a single bead of sweat, grass stain, muck patch, or scratch on him.
Such things are left to mere mortals - the other 29 players in each team.
Pictured left just after the final whistle of the rugby equivalent of a pitched battle, the pristine and unruffled England fly-half was photoshoot-ready, in sharp contrast to the vulgar opposition.
South Africa may have left the pitch world champs, but the sweetness of their victory was soured by their physical appearance. Unlike pretty boy Wilkinson, the Boks were a ghoulish patchwork of blood-spurting gashes, dark bruises and sweat-soaked matted hair. They were more warring primates than gentlemen rugby players.
To a man they smelled worse than a hostel of Glasgow tramps. And, where their once-pristine team kit wasn't splattered with their own blood, sweat and tears, it was stained almost beyond recognition with grass and muck. By winning such a prestigious match in such a disgraceful fashion, the Boks have brought shame on the delicate game of rugby. So thank Albion for Johnny and his one-man mission to bring the game out of the Dark Ages with his effortless - or even better, zero effort - grace. Some people argue that, with a kicking record as appaling as Johnny's, it's better to look like you've given it every last inch of energy to a match where fans paid the cost of a new car for a ticket. Those people are obviously neanderthals, whose vulgar protestations Johnny himself can breezily sweep aside; it wasn't his fault that he missed so many easy opportunities at goal, it was either the ball's, or an injury that he had the serene dignity to keep quiet about until some beastly journalist raised the ugly accusations.
