POUNDING THE PAVEMENTS: Lose the lockdown pounds to save pounds for the NHS, says Number Ten. Or, in other words, you plump idle scroungers are forcing us to sell the NHS to pay for our liposuction.
Boris being Boris, the portly Prime Minister sold this message with a photograph of Dilyn the dog taking him for a walk. Whether the questionable canine really was Dilyn, or a hurried substitute in the manner of the recent “Wilfred” picture, is a moot point.
But the message doesn’t apply to Johnson or any of the Vote Leave mafia squatting on our democracy. These playground bullies pick on anybody and everybody who is not like them.
“By failing to vote to protect the NHS, you are essentially putting it on the table as a bargaining chip in a future trade deal,” goes the argument. “Yeah, but your mum’s fat,” comes the reply. “And my dad could beat up your dad!”
There’s absolutely no answer to that.
“My mum’s NOT fat!” wails the UK, brandishing a portrait of Britannia herself with a sinking feeling. “Your mum’s fa-at! Your mum’s fa-at!” jeer all the Boris Bullies, holding the UK down and punching it in the face while stealing its dinner money.
Let us be entirely clear, as any disrespectful politician wishing to muddy the waters would say. The prospective sale of the NHS is nothing to do with Brexit, or the desperate scramble to seal a deal, any deal, with Donald Trump’s USA. It is absolutely nothing to do with a desire to chop it up into lots of lovely lucrative little cash cows. Instead, it is totally the fault of anybody with a fat mother, or who is a bit chubby themselves, or simply knows of somebody who could probably shed a few pounds.
So there. Pay up, you podgy porkers. Let that be a lesson to everybody who has ever had chips instead of salad. Ner nerny ner ner!
Post Brexit food shortages will ensure that the population is as slimmed down as whatever is left of the NHS.