We have breaking news today that a man is too busy counting money given to him by gullible (ham based) idiots to go marching.
“I’d love to go the whole hog,” the man said, in between guffaws, “but I’ve all these fifty pound notes to count. I’m like a pig in a trough. Imagine giving someone a bullseye to walk on a public path you could walk on for free? Ha! You know what they say about a fool and his money.”
There will still be a smattering of gammon rolling down from Sunderland to London however, with many miles on a coach, (between episodes of ambling disorientated like blind men in a dark room with a blindfold on ordered to punch themselves in the eyes until they’re too swollen to be of any use while shouting their bank details out with log ins to anyone who’s listening), to show how serious they are about becoming impoverished and losing hard won rights so rich men can get fatter.
“Next march I’m going to literally ask for the shirt off their backs, because a few will give them to me,” he added, “although if it’s in July it could be risky. All those gammon could turn into crackling. They’re so salty and so cut up, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Then they can eat each other’s backs as they trundle along a B road. Pint of warm lager in one hand, fag in mouth, someone else’s crackled bag in your fingers? That’s the taste of sovereignty right there.”
And we can be reassured that although the man who theoretically organised, and was presumed to lead the pork derivative crusade, won’t be there except at the beginning and the end, the BBC will probably give it excellent coverage.
“Get me on a lump of turf shouting at Brussels and it’s wall to wall,” the man chuckled, almost as if he was part of some establishment conspiracy, “put nearly a million people on the streets of London? Let’s replay Dambusters!”