Can you tell what it is yet?


This above linkage, dear world of shedders is a technological canvas with a piece of art encased that brings a tear to your eye and a song to your heart.  Find here a picture penned by the lovely Rolf-a-roo (aka Rooser) devoted to this very website.  I think it more than adequately captures the main themes of world of sheds, an artistic synopsis if you will.  I will, of course, be knocking one out over this picture just as soon as my arm is better following arm wrestling big Nige over who would be the first to shit in the burnt out tyre we found ’round the back of Paul Danan’s needy laboratory.  Big Nige won, but only because I was distracted by Paul Danan admiring and wanting to touch my six-pack.

I would like to invite, nay, entreat you delicate, shimmering, world of shedders to sketch me a picture that you this embodies world of shed.  There’s a prize for the best. 

As always, your servant

Dr. Angel


This bank holiday fun-day weekend I plan to…

  • classify my scabs in order of what continents they resemble.
  • knock one out
  • steal the thoughts of a procrastinator.  That’ll show ’em.
  • re-enact the war of the roses vs the discovery of penicillin.  Seargeant Barry Cryer from the Bill will star, as will Feargal Sharkey.
  • make the beast with two backs with Feargal Sharkey
  • I will ask Falco to rock me, Amadeus.
  • Shit in a bridgestone tyre
  • visit the temple of Asclepion, and tease the snake.
  • climb to level 42 and take some lessons in love.
  • write a song with too much detail in it, and send it to Craig David and see how he likes it:

I woke up at about 7.30

I was tired and put my alarm on snooze

still in a hypnogogic state, I return to my bed

It is white and purple, you know, pastel shit

then I went back to sleep and had largely REM sleep, thus not restorative sleep

not the kind of sleep you want, you know, you still feel nagged

then I probably got laid, as I’m so fucking fit

tra la la, I’m a huge gaylord.

What will you be getting up to this Bank holiday, world of shedders?

Craig was going to pish his pants if he didn’t get off the train soon. 

just a quick notette, dear W.O.S Enthusiasts

The perfume review has now, yes! NOW! been updated.  I spoil you.

Also, thanks for all your comments, they make me laugh into jam jars.  I am slowly working my way through replying to them all (and I will, for ’tis my policy), so keep checking in. 

Don’t forget you can e-mail any questions, suggestions, offers of marriage, recipes for spicy cous cous and essays on the Industrial Revolution at if you don’t want the prying eyes of strangers to be privy to your epistles.  You may not want people to see the love poems you pen me.

As always, your servant


Dr. Angel’s perfume reviews

Dear sweet smelling world of shed enthusiasts

While perusing the interweb for my regular brand of canoe porn and international gestures, I happened upon a blog about perfumes

This not only made me knock one out and rejoice, but it also made me think that, goddammit Jeremy Irons, I can do that too.  So please keep your eyes tuned and your buttocks firmly and sweatily clamped for my first perfume review which will be coming shortly, this very night! (But first I have to treat my boils and pustules and clean out Gus the lab rat’s cage.  If I don’t, he’ll give me the cold, mute, hostile back of rejection in bed tonight). YES! IT’S FUCKING TRUE! I know most of you haven’t smelt perfume before, apart from on your regular ‘ho’s matalan boob tube, but one day you might find it useful.  For those of you in Wigan, perfumes are the things that disguise the smell of dirty houses and chip pan fat.  You can buy them in Manchester shopping emporiums or get cheap copies on Costas’ market stall in Kos, just next to the fake Burberry towellettes.

This week’s perfume:  L’Eau du Rust

perfume house:  Le cadeaux de le doublevaycay

Subtle yet promiscuous, this perfume smells like it could have been shagging your fat mam and all her pox ridden sisters.  First, the distinctive opulence of binary fission mingles with the sparkling farcical strain of tuba monsters connected together by a  system of strings and pulleys, lifting the senses and tightening your sphincter.

Surprising and velvet soft, the heart of the fragrance unfurls to reveal an original blend of irregular objects and glue sniffers’ sputum.  Next an intoxicating bouquet of black bile, yellow bile, blood and phlegm balances the four humours and prevents a visit to the snake in the temple of Asclepion. 

Finally, warmed by the skin, the last notes of the fragrance reveal it’s lingering egg nog milky accord.  The smell of sawdust on vomit and the open field system merge with knights in white satin to create the feeling you get after a welcome bum intrusion.

A defitnite shag inducer!

World of Shed enthusiasts, please feel free to add your cologne/perfume reviews below so we can all learn from your pearls of knowledge bestowed on our undeserving, porcine heads.

This weekend I have been…

  • …traversing the canyon in Gordon Ramsay’s  chin
  • Taking sprouts off the agenda
  • making the following equation quadratic

internet chatrooms+a/s/l please+female username=advances from potential sex pests+intentions of unwarranted cybersex from man in india

  • eating blue copper sulphate crystals from Paul Danan’s needy laboratory (caam on babe, i love hugs, i’m a really huggy person.  I fackin’ love your tits babe)
  • knocking one out
  • changing my name by deed poll to ‘Maclchisodek of Old’

What have you been doing this weekend?  You probably went to Wigan.

Dr. Angel’s money saving tipettes

Dear pungent World of Sheds enthusiats (all two of you).

Here at the world of sheds, we’re committed to saving you money.  We want you to have a few groats in your back pocket so you can go out into town on a Friday night and buy your embassy kingsize and your large bottle of ‘Ice Dragon’ at Bargain Booze.  We are true philanthropists.  We don’t want you selling your Elizabeth Duke sovreigns and ‘Worlds Greatest Nan’ trinkets down at Cash Converters. That’s why we are bringing you the best money saving tipettes that will lead you to your preferred future (which is probably down the park throwing boomarings and dog shit on a stick at each other).

Don’t flush your toilet and spend money on costly water bills.  Instead collect your yellow water in your portable urinal (with feminine adaptor) and serve as a refreshing evening beveridge chilled with a slice of lemon.  Your guests will just keep coming back for more and you’ll save money not buying your favourite Netto weak lemon drink.

Nights out on the town proving costly?  Don’t go out.

Kid’s packed lunches an ever increasing expense?  Don’t feed them or let them wash, soon enough social services will take them away and you’ll have a disposable income to buy as many sausage rolls and pasties as your heart desires.  Now the kid’s room is free, think about getting a lodger as an extra source of income.

Only drink coffee and tea at work.  Try and save all your defecating between working hours to save on costly and expensive toilet roll.

Call Admiral Direct

your poppers habit getting out of hand?  Let’s face it, it probably is, given that poppers is most people’s recreational drug o’ choice.Try nail varnish remover or tippex for that sickly, head banging feeling.  Alternatively, go to a gay club and breathe it in all you want. 

Children always growing out of their shoes?  Bind their feet to prevent having to buy a new pair every 6 months.  When the soles wear out, simply nail on cut up bits of tyres to the bottom.  Their shoes will be the envy of all thier pals.

Can’t afford that conservatory you’ve had your eye on?  Well then don’t buy it, you stupid fuck.

Always be last in a round of drinks.  Hopefully your friends will be so hammered by the end of the night you won’t have to put your hand in your pocket!

Forgot to buy your girlfriend a valentine’s gift?  She’ll just adore a make up brush holder made from a cardboard toilet roll insert with cut out pictures of Dave Lee Travis and a vial of his own bile decorating the outside.

Not got enough money to get your lovely acrylic nails done?  Fear not!  Simply write ‘chav’ on your hands.  This will replace the need for such nails and reaffirm your status without the need for such expense.

Can’t buy a designer bag?  Simple steal a copy of a glossy magazine from your local doctor’s waiting room and cut out all the logos and attach them to bags you already own.

Ladies, is your biological clock ticking?  Thinking of how costly children are?  Simply remove the batteries in your biological clock and put them in MB Games’ finest contribution ‘Operation’.  Ten fold more fun  and less scrawling in crayon on the walls.

Buy all electrical good and trinkets and baubles from your local Cash Converters (yours is probably Wigan) and profit from the misfortune of others.

What are your top tips World of Shed enthusiasts?



Angel’s flagship store ‘Simply Poppers’ opens in the Skelmersdale concourse.

Here at Angel Industries, we are committed to a holistic approach to wellbeing.  We’ve never been averse to suggesting a person get their aura dry cleaned after a tramp’s pissed on it, or asking sickly types to sniff a cauldron of duraglit.  That’s why we think people’s bum-fun pleasure is crucial to their overall sense of wellness.  This incredible high brow and intimidating philosophy  has led to the opening of our flagship store ‘Simply Poppers’ in Britain’s greatest new town, Skem, home of the highest teenage pregnancy rate in Europe, and centre of pram pushing and smoking fags. 

‘Simply Poppers’ aims to bring you cutting edge design in terms of bum-play.  Choose from out extensive range of lubes including Chris Moyles’ favourite: ‘Slippery Ham Shank’ or  ‘le fluide de knocking un out’ by the hugely sucessful French Company ‘L’amour de derrierre de Gerard Depadieu’.  Also find on our well stocked shelves rows and rows of things you can stick up your arse in the comfort of your own home.  Our helpful sales staff won’t hesitate to look up from their copy of ‘Bella’ or ‘Honcho’ whilst smoking their Regal Kingsize if you ask them for help.  Tthey have been given extensive training on having a laissez faire attitude and being indolent in the main.  Here at Angel industries we pay minimum wage to ensure YOU feel slightly dirty and perverted!

To be continued…

Cosmo reveals what your boyfriend REALLY thinks of your body!

He thinks your arse looks like porridge made from concrete, sawdust and nails, thinks you’ve got a gunt and worries you’ll end up like your fat mam.

In the magazine article he said "I love Jane’s bum.  It’s really curvy and voluptous and i love to get my hands on it.  I like the way Jane eats what she likes.  I hate those ultra skinny girls who are always on a diet.  They’re so boring! "  Jeremy, 29, Graphic designer.

Is this what he really thinks Jane.  Hmmm? Jane, love, he knew you were going to read the article.  There’s a huge picture of you in it, for the love of Jeremy Irons.  He also wants to have sex again before he dies, lest he be confined to an intimate relationship betwixt himself and his wank sock. 

I suppose I should ask you, dear Shed Enthusiasts a question, as is my custom:

What do you think of your patner’s body, and would you ever tell them?


What’s your wank sock like? Ladies, you may like to answer by describing your wank feminine towlette or portable urinal with feminine adaptor.


Dr. Angel


Stefan Dennis round at Angel’s gaff shocka!

It was a beautiful stagnant morning. I looked out of my window to see the
postman shitting in a burnt out tyre just outside my door. He gave me the
v’s when he caught me looking and this experience really set me up for the
day. I knew I was bulletproof and nothing could soil my sunny disposition.

I reached into the value bin bags ,where I keep all my best clothes, for my
favourite tracksuit and striped t-shirt ensemble that enhanced my gunt to
perfection. Acres if gunt goodness protruded below my waistand. I admired
my reflection and fought the urge to knock one out, shedders, that’s how hot
I was. I reached for my faux leatherette bomber jacket and pulled my hair
into a scalp crucifying ponytail. I was just about to leave the house to
have a look at the burnt out tyre that the postie had crapped in, when
Stefan Dennis starts walking down my estate. He was all neckerchieved up
and his slashed jeans showed an abundance of hairy leg. He says "G’day" to
me and I pretended to pick the scabs off my knuckles. He persists, the mealy
mouthed fool that he is. "I said G’day" he ventured. "Oh I hear you" I
obstreporously replied " but I thought I told you you’re not allowed to come
near me as decreed by the papal bull issued in 1704. You tried to invade
France remember? You admired their national preponderance of wearing
neckerchiefs and their backpack wearing sensibilties. You wanted to
sexually posess them as a nation, you sick fuck". "Yes" Dennis blurted
excitedly, "but I heard that there’s a great burnt out tyre to shit in
outside your gaff and I couldn’t fight the urge any longer". His eyes were
writhing in his head and I noticed a distinct v shaped sweat stain on his
t-shirt. Depsite the terrible atrocities Dennis had commited in France,
such as installing discrete tombolas in every home and making the French
sing "Don’t it make you feel good" every time they washed their hands (even
after a wee!) there was no denying that preventing Dennis from seeing the
burnt out tyre was barbaric and a punishment far weightier than his French

"There it is" I sighed, pointing at the burnt out tyre fatalisitically. "Knock yourself out"

I turned away as Dennis lowered his trousers. I let him have his moment.