quantum leap

Hello my name is Quantum Leap and I have found myself trapped in the past suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that is not my own. Oh boy, I’ve dropped my secret files. They’ve gotten all mixed up. Which of these Quantum Leap episodes is the real one?

Season 4: Episode 9: Basketball Dog

Quantum Leap leaps into the body of a dog and must win his high school’s basketball game by slamdunking a three-pointer in the last minute. Things are complicated at half-time when Ziggy tells Quantum Leap that he cannot leap until he disrupts a divorce hearing taking place at the town courthouse, which is 15 miles away from the basketball court. Luckily for our hero, Quantum Leap uses a supersonic bark to knock the divorce papers out of a window and score the winning dunk at the same time. “I’ve had an idea for a film,” shouts a man who was spectating the basketball game. Quantum Leap laughs and says “That was the director of AirBud, Charles Martin Smith!”

Season 1: Episode 12: Ant Problem

Quantum Leap leaps into the body of an ant and must kickstart the American Civil Rights Movement by cheering up a disheartened Martin Luther King Junior, who is sad because his fear of ants is preventing him progressing in his career as an ant scientist. Things are further complicated by an evil bee who is out to get Quantum Leap. Over time however, Quantum Leap manages to use tiny grains of rice to gain the trust of Martin Luther King Jr, and uses a special ant pheromone trail to trace out and dictate the words to the “I Have a Dream” speech on the inside of a jam jar lid. A nearby baby sees all of this and goes on to produce the Dreamworks film Antz.

Season 3: Episode 5: The Boogieman

Quantum Leap leaps into the body of a second-rate horror novelist who lives in a haunted house and must prevent the murder of a nice lady. But when people around him begin to get murdered in mysterious circumstances, it’s up to Quantum Leap to figure out what’s going on! It turns out that the murderer is none other than Al, Quantum Leap’s hologram friend, who does an evil laugh and reveals himself to be the devil. Quantum Leap and the devil grab one another’s throats and spin around for ages while an evil piano plays scary music faster and faster until Quantum Leap wakes up back at the start of the episode. A young Stephen King sees all of this and has the idea for his first ever book.

If you answered mostly c, it’s very possible that you have seen The Boogieman, the episode of Quantum Leap in which Sam Beckett has a throttling match with the Devil while spinning around for ages to evil piano music

steve and joe’s body swap adventure

After “long-hugging”, body-swapping is the number one tool in the relationship counsellor’s arsenal. Just look how a simple body-swap adventure can resolve conflicts, build empathy, and end up with both parties teaming up for one last heist

I hate you Joe. I have no understanding of your life and you disgust me for having different priorities

I feel the same was about you. I see no way we can respect each other, let alone be friends.

OK so now we’ve sorted that out let’s take shelter from this thunderstorm under a sheet of corroguted metal

I hope we don’t get


Oh no we just did exactly that

Who said that?

You did! I mean I did!


Ew gross I’ve got spiders in my pockets

That is why I behave badly sometimes, because I am scared of the spiders in my pockets.

I see.

More to the point, Why have my balls been dragged back and fingered into my arsehole

That is why I sometimes do not treat you with respect, because I am fixated on the fear that birds want to peck my balls off through my paper trousers

I also see. I love you Joe

I love you too Steve

I think the only way to swap bodies back is to bust a nut into our reflections in a puddle.

Then what are we waiting for! I’m gonna bust your wonky nuts faster than you can say “heebie jeebies”

Steve busts a nut

Joe busts a nut

Oh no! the nuts must be bust at the same time. You have created a temporal body swap rift and turned into a dinosaur

C’est la vie, baby. Hop onto my stegs and let’s do one last heist

daddies, scabby

Are you a shit parent? By which we mean, are you an obviously great parent who has the occasional moment where you just stare at your child and think “FUCK YOU”? Then you’ll love Scabby Daddies, the Regular Features parenting podcast on the Regular Features Big Daddy network. Let’s GO!

Welcome to the brand new podcast on the Regular Features network, about…

… what colossal failures we are as fathers. This is Scabby Daddies, and we’re going to be taking

… a refreshingly honest look at the trials that fathers like

… us face every day, and how we sometimes don’t

… meet the basic requirements of decency and attentiveness that might,

… in a court of law,

… be considered to discharge our duty of care, and leave us wide open to accusations of

… death by criminal neglect.

So what’s you little tyke been playing this week? Fortnite I shouldn’t wonder!

I took his Fortnite off him, and cable tied his wrists together. Then I made him put his chin in his palms and say “I’m a stupid boy”

My toddler was looking at me funny so I dropkicked the nonce

My nine-year-old was watching a PEGI 12 stream on YouTube so I grabbed him by the upper arm and said “oh, you like grown up stuff do you”? And I made him watch that video where a bloke puts a glass jar up his arse and it shatters up there, and he pulls shards out of himself while blood drips onto the floor.

I’m thinking of having a third kid, you know, for the human caterpillar

I’ve got a confession Joe

Lay it on me Steve

I don’t have kids, I just spend a lot of time imagining myself as a bad parent so limit the feeling of regret that I’m my mid-40s, my family is dwindling, and soon it’ll just be me

It’s OK Log – I mean Steve. This is the last generation of humans.

STEVE [touched]
That’s really kind Joe, that really helps

Next week on Scabby Daddies, I’m going to give my kids laxatives, lock the toilet,  and scream at them when they shit themselves

And I’ll be staging a mock suicide for my nine-year-old to walk in on

sex, non-human

Do you like custard? Of course you do. That’s because it’s got eggs in it, and eggs are for sex. It also contains vanilla, which is the kind of sex you have if you can’t stop imagining your mum walking in, and don’t want to upset her too much. Not forgetting milk and cream, which are sexy per se, and sugar, which is what you call a lady to let her know you want to climb inside her blouse and get handsy with her torso. Is it any wonder that we call human jism “nature’s custard”, and feed our children a nourishing blend of custard and jelly, which in this context, means a lovely big arse.

But how do people who aren’t humans “have it off” with their “bum chums”? I will tell you


Polar Bear sex only begins after Polar Bear marriage, but they are literally “poles apart” from the faithful Penguin. Polar Bears only ever fuck around outside of wedlock like their dicks and fannies are on fire, and everyone else’s ass, mouth, fanny and hand is a lovely bucket of water. But because they don’t really like talking about it, Polar Bears invented the don’t ask, don’t tell open relationship.

A typical session begins for the female while the husband is out on a glacier looking for sweet babes to spend his ice dollars on. During this absence, the wife will poke her entire hairy arse out of the bedroom window and shart – or shit fart – pheromones out until a passing male catches a full faceful of her hormone-dreadlocked derriere. This will cause him to begin slobbering and he will say “o boy o boy I can smell a lady’s big ass in a window”

The male Polar Bear presses his snout and dick into one of the many municipal pots of Lynx Africa and shouts “CCOOOOMINNGG”, which will cause the female to run around the bedroom flipping all her wedding photos face down. When her suitor finally lands with a colossal smash through the bedroom wall, he will have fully taken leave of his senses, and will generally begin to initiate sex on several items of furniture, while the female drums her fingers and rolls her eyes at the video camera she has set up, to facilitate a nice frig later on.

Eventually the baser instincts kick in, and the male’s penis finds its way to within inches of the female’s bean, which by this point is sizzling like a Chinese skillet. This is when her husband will burst in, drunk on fermented ice cubes, with his own catch of the night: a second female who is usually the wife of the first male.

After a period of negotiation and discussion, the two couples will reassess their relationships, and establish a loving four-way relationship, and churn our pups in an environment that is so overwhelmingly sex positive that they’ll say something weird at school and their teachers will report them all to social services. Polar Bears – the world isn’t ready for your pioneering relationships.


When the really dry and lifeless male planet is ready to mate, it will jettison a plume of sand from its mantle. This serves a dual purpose: both as a gloomy “come hither” to any melancholic female planets in the quadrant, and is also how the planet steer itself from the orbit of its hostile scorching sun and behind its own moon. Once out of the direct impact of the deadly UV, the planet will begin to spin faster and faster until it starts to sing a low, mournful melody.

It sings in taciturn tones of the absence of lizards skipping over its dunes. It sings a dismal ditty that no life can be supported in its toxic atmosphere, apart from the odd tardigrade or some other extremophile bullshit that doesn’t count. It sings sadly that a tit or a nice big dick has never scampered across its surface, and how it longs to play host to something as mundane to other planets as a Centre Parcs, only a very special Centre Parcs, where the activities come as standard instead of costing you extra.

This morose song will attract a female barren planet, who will say something companiably downbeat, like “I know how you feel, love”.

What follows is the most vast act of coitus imaginable. A fine, dusty dune slips without lubrication or joy through a gravelly valley. The gravity of the larger male attracts some of the female’s own poisonous atmosphere, leaving him larger but no more satisfied, and leaving her a sense of being cheated, even though she entered this encounter knowing full well how physics works.

A more vibrant planet would use a volcanic eruption as a sign of orgasm. But these husks have to make do with a sandy, impotent frot, before jettisoning one last sandy goodbye guff and returning to their respective lonely orbits. Where, the male planet admits to himself, that he was probably being silly about Centre Parcs. I mean, charging extra for the activities is how they keep the basic prices down, and why should people who just want to use the pool subsidise the dickheads who want to fuck around in the forest with a bow and arrow.

“People. I’m better off without them!”, the planet thinks to itself, before losing the will to spin on its axis.


First of all you need to go back in time and have sex with your mum then wait nine months and deliver yourself. Then you need to act like your own dad, only making every opposite decision your dad made with you, enjoying the thrill as you feel your personality change as you mess around with your own history. Hugging you in the past makes now you feel happier. Screaming at your child self, on the other hand, makes adult you angrier and feel less emotionally well-adjusted.

This is obviously paradox ripples and not how interacting with any child makes any parent feel, shut up.

When you’ve been doing this cycle for a billion years, you realise that the only way to break the chain is to find your original dad, who you knocked out of the loop the first time you went back in time. So find him and rim the fuck out of your dad’s hairy asshole until you both die without children, and you cease to exist.

But if you don’t exist – how come you can still taste your dad’s sweet hairy ass?

Learn more! Episode 335

Fist World Problems

Hi, I’m Buck Pawchucker.

I’m the Mayor of Fistworld, the town where a punch in the face is as good as a kiss on the cheek, and a broken nose can mend a broken heart. Yessir, here in Fistworld, men – how you say – be punching each other, to the exclusion of every other activity. You could say that toxic masculinity has been distilled into a thick grey fisting sludge that we keep in a bucket and use as… well, to be perfectly frank, we use it as a fisting sludge.

But I do have to tell you, this job comes with a bunch of problems – problems that I would, with your indulgence,  be glad to share with you boys. The first one addresses an issue that may already have occurred in your dirty little minds, if I may say so, and I do say so,  if I may say so myself.

1. Fisting means “to punch”, no matter what you’ve heard

In 1993, a comedian by the name of Julian Clary went onto the television and said that he’d been fisting a conservative member of cabinet, Norman Lamont. Here in Fistworld, which to be honest is more of a hamlet in Essex than an actual “world”, we cheered so hard the barn owls left town, never to return. Thing is, we believe that all political problems are best solved with a good old-fashioned jab to the kisser, the old one-two. And we were finally glad that knuckle-centric politics was finally becoming respectable.

It was only after we’d erected a statue of Julian Clary, and his now deceased pet, Fanny The Wonder Dog, that we learned that Fistworld’s town square was now dominated by a twelve foot animatronic homosexual who was referring to an unheard of practice whereby a man punches another man extremely slowly in the a-pie. Not in anger, but with a form of love unknown to us.

Somewhere inside the assembled Fistworlders, as we watched Clary’s fist deliver an uppercut to an imaginary asshole in the sky, we realised that a mistake had been made. But admitting you were wrong is against the law in Fistworld, and punishable with a big punch. So we doubled down and agreed that two men fucking was actually fine,  so long as the dude being the chick limits himself to neutral gasping and refrains from moans of delight as the your chests meet and you swap spit. Additionally the orgasms must be a full minute apart.

I’m getting sidetracked, here. All that stuff happens after The Duskfist Curfew. During the daylight hours, before the tourists and bussed to a Travelodge in Braintree, the word fisting here just means to punch, OK? That’s what I’m saying. Don’t make it dirty with your filthy outsider ways.

To avoid confusion, here’s a few phrases you’ll hear a lot in Fistworld

“I want my fist deep inside you”

I want to punch you so hard in the gut that my fist penetrates your belly button and stirs up your guts like a cauldron of offal

“You better not clench or your hole is gonna get ripped”

Do not to clench your fist, or I will punch your entire, or “whole”, body, will become ripped, or “muscular” from being punched

“I’m going to open my fist in your ass like a filthy flower”

This sentence and its explanation has been outlawed. If you hear someone saying this please deliver summary justice with a fist to the eye socket.

2: When Your Only Tool Is A Fist, Every Problem Looks Like A Face

People have been complaining that the Fistworld bin men do not actually collect the bins, preferring instead to punch them over and deliver a devastating series of chain punches to the litter that falls out. On the high street,  the local butcher has yet to master the art of punching off a satisfying slice of boiled ham, and even if he could, chewing is considered effeminate in this town.

Why chew, when you can, instead, punch food into your mouth and soften the food with twenty uppercuts to your own jaw before opening wide and punching the food down your throat?

It has to be said, this gruelling process takes its toll on the teeth, and if you visit the Fistworld dentist, he will generally just punch out whatever teeth you have, damaged or not. This leaves 95% of the adults on Fistworld on a strict liquid diet.

Have you ever tried to punch soup out of a bowl? If you have, then you’lll understand the need we had to install a 17 ton rubber soup-filled udder in the town square, next to our animatronic Julian Clary. This allows our elders to stand and suckle on the udders many teats, as they deliver a sustained barrage of punches on the translucent sac above their heads. This is not the future our fist-fighting forefathers envisioned, perhaps. But it is the one we have, and we are not going to change our ways now.

3: The Kids Have Started Kicking Each Other, Which Requires That I Must Punch Them. But I Have Only Two Punches Left Before I Must Punch Myself Fatally In The Forehead

This problem pretty much explains itself, and raises no questions about the rules of  Fistworld. But it is safe to say, Kicking is punishable by a punch, and I can only deliver two more punches until the Emerald in my forehead begins to flash, and I must punch it into my brain.

4: The Large Cartoon FIght Cloud In The Saloon Has Just Entered It’s Eighteenth Year, And Has Achieved A Kind Of Godlike Status

Mayor is the highest position in Fistworld, and it is my honour to serve. However, I notice with concern that the large cartoon fight cloud in the town’s only Saloon, has begun to attract a cult-like gathering that will, once a year, sacrifice their best punchers into the sphere of dust. At any one time, up to twenty fists are visible, which is more fists than I can produce on any given Sunday. Sometimes I think of punching myself three times in the forehead and throwing myself into this eternal fistfight. Surely it must be heaven.

Learn more! Episode 333