ERG stalwart and utterly reliable rentagobshite Andrew Bridgen has excelled himself. He has gone so far up his own arse that he has reappeared out of his own mouth.
“The House of Commons is out of touch,” he wittered. “We’ve betrayed the people. Even as a fine, upstanding member of the House of Commons, it is not my responsibility. I am, however, perfectly happy to point fingers at anyone and everyone around me!”
The potato farmer, once described as ‘thick as mash’, is obviously oblivious to the fact that he himself is part of the problem. So every time he opens his big mouth, he disappears a few more inches up his own fundament.
“Parliament is unable to deliver a proper Brexit,” he drooled, disappearing another few feet into his digestive system. “This is nothing to do with the destructive nature of the ERG, or myself personally. Running away and mouthing off to the press, moaning about the mess that I and my chums have made, is in the job description.”
Steady progress through the intestines.
“In fact, the reason that Brexit has been lost, stolen, destroyed, or dug up and made into chips is entirely due to parliamentary remoaners,” he crowed. “If only they had come up with the idea of Brexit, they might have got behind it instead of going through process.”
He indicated air quotes at this last word, as he shot through his stomach and started on the final journey up the oesophagus.
“In fact, it’s about time that we put a proper, plain speaking man in charge,” he wibbled. “Like me, or my mate Mark Francois. Someone who isn’t afraid to say ‘up yours’ to filthy remoaners like Philip Hammond.”
At which, the journey complete, he popped out of his own mouth. Utterly full of himself, puffed up and unable to move, like a potato in fact, he was abandoned as a warning to others.
Onlookers debated whether to call a doctor, but decided sod it, it’s only Andrew Bridgen.