Category: Brexit

BREXIT BLASTOCYST : The organisers of a recent nocturnal, far right rally explained today why the event was staged at night, in a warehouse, in the dark, with the lights turned off.

“The air raid sirens were played because the people attending are idiots,” the organiser revealed, “although the ones paying for and orchestrating the rally are far more dangerous and devious. Milkshakes were banned out of fear of friendly fire incidents. So too garlic, holy water and crosses.”

The rally itself was merely staged for propaganda purposes so that the owner of the Brexit Party can use footage in social media outputs.

“I hope that it was clear why none of the rabble attending the rally were allowed to come to the VIP event afterwards,” the organiser added, “they’re only needed as props. Mr Nigel Fuhrage can’t be having to rub up alongside so much sweaty gammon for too long. He can’t physically transport the amount of hand sanitiser around that would be required.”

But the undead attending the rally didn’t go home empty handed, even if they went home as empty headed as they’d arrived.

“They got to fetishise a war they never fought in in which tens millions of people died. Given the average age of the attendees, they won’t be required to fight in any subsequent conflict either. And they were given a blue glow stick. Which was nice. It’ll splutter out and fade away just like the pretence to concern shown them by the organisers.”

But what about holding the next one in daylight so they whole world can see?

“Oh no, that would allow contrasts with pro-EU demonstrations and reveal how paltry the attendance actually is,” the organiser smiled, “oh and for health and safety reasons, as those attending catch fire in sunlight.”

BRING OUT YOUR DEAD : Tory leadership hopeful, Jeremy Hunt (MP for Freak-on-Eyes), is bringing the kind of panache to the leadership race that only an inheritance multi-millionaire can.

“I’ll burn every job on the face of the planet, if that’s the only way to deliver Brexit,’ a smiling Mr Hunt said candidly, during a secretive, late night interview in a graveyard of political principles.

Mr Hunt was in the graveyard to dig up the body of the Honestly and we popped along to give him a hand.

“Here, grab the legs. I do this with a heavy heart, but I’m advised working as a resurrection man will give me street cred with the hipsters who decide if it’s me or Boris at the end of July.”

Next he asked us to bring his wheelbarrow a little bit closer. Honestly was buried next to Integrity, which was next to Any Semblance of Common Sense.

”I’ll also slash corporation tax, with a heavy heart,” he advised, “and you know the fresher the NHS is when you deliver it, the more they pay you. Of course we need to Brexit first so we can finish off the health service.”

But what about jobs? Given we are now so impressively insane politically, that a candidate to be PM feels it necessary to promise to destroy the livelihoods of hardworking British taxpayers?

”Well I’ll be tough on jobs,” he nodded, putting the shovel on top of the body, “and tougher on the causes of jobs.”

That’s one hell of a Brexit policy. It’s a wonder Boris Johnson didn’t think of it first.

”Oh, he’s too busy looking for a room to rent on sparerooms, or airbandb or whatever it is young lovers on the run use to protect their privacy,” Mr Hunt replied, “between looking for somewhere to sleep each night and his arts and craft hobby, I’m surprised he has time to campaign.”

So which jobs in particular will you be tough on?

”Manual workers. Manufacturing. Low skilled ones like teachers and nurses. Firemen? The rest of those will go in the waves of fresh austerity following any Brexit. Financial Services. Higher Education. It really doesn’t matter. If it employs people and provides self worth and stability, it’s dead. By the time I’m finished only inheritance millionaires will be in work. I parked my van over there. Let’s load up and get out of here.”

Where are we taking Honesty?

”To the nearest Conservative Party Hustings. If I can’t put it up on a scaffold before 0.3% of the population and show them it’s lifeless I don’t have a chance of winning.”

I’m surprised Boris hasn’t got here before you.

“Oh, he didn’t even realise political Honesty’s dead. He had no use for it when it was alive.”

WHAT WOULD YOU SACRIFICE : Mel Gibson, the senior civil servant at DExEU in charge of no-deal Brexit planning, has quit today, leaving a gaping skills gap in the ministry. And what with first David Davis, then Dominic Raab and now Stephen Barclay running the place, the gap was already a chasm.

“It was a total screw up,” an insider at DExEU told us on the condition of anonymity, “Mr Gibson’s family was supposed to be kept chained in the basement at all times. The only contact they were allowed to have with the outside world was for irregular food and some water. Now and then someone from the ERG would come and take a photo to provide Mr Gibson with proof of life.”

It’s believed Mr Gibson’s family were taken hostage early in his tenure as head of no-deal planning when it was realised that as soon as he understood what he was working on he would immediately quit.

“There’s to be an urgent internal inquiry to work out what went wrong,” the insider adds, “I mean it’s SNAFU daily here, but to lose the only leverage we had is catastrophic, even for us. I suspect the accidental release of Mr Gibson’s family probably happened when Chris Grayling ducked in to use the loo on his way to see a pizza retailer about ferry transport.”

GIven that the door to the basement dungeon where Mr Gibson’s family were being held, including his pet Labrador dog Barry, was positioned next to the gents, it’s highly likely he was involved.

”The ‘g’ has recently fallen off the door to the gents. Grayling presumably believed that actually ents were living behind it and choose the basement door instead. This explains how Mr Gibson’s family achieved their escape.”

TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY : CHIRS GRAYLING is relieved to be back in the news today after the announcement that No Deal ferry contracts are out to tender again.

The first round of contracts to ship vital medicines to the UK in the event of a catastrophically, insane period of governmental, and political failure, resulting in a threat to life and livelihoods, ended earlier in the year with pay dirt for takeaway firms.

“You need to incentivise British businesses to diversify as we grasp the bold opportunities presented by Brexit,” Mr Grayling told LCD Views, “and the borderless potential to funnel public money into private pockets for zero outcomes.”

The ability to now just spaff taxpayer’s money up against the nearest wall is increased by the likelihood of complete idiocracy under Boris Johnson.

“It’s the natural next step in neoliberal, trickle down economics,” Grayling revealed, “you don’t even need to pretend to run a service of any kind now, thanks to Brexit. You just have to hire lawyers to draw up a contract and give us a call.”

The current tender round should see businesses from across the spectrum competing. No ships required.

“It’s about the gravy train,” Grayling went on, “and riding on it. It’s pretty special to be overseeing the evolution of outsourcing to the point where there isn’t even the pretence to delivering on being awarded a government contract. I feel like I’m chiseling my own David now. Michelangelo eat your heart out!”

But it’s not all plain sailing, as already lawsuits are threatened by takeaway food firms that don’t deliver pizzas without ships.

“KFC have intimated that they will sue,” Grayling admitted, “but that’s fine. We can throw anyone that sues money too. This is Brexit. This is taking back control of the public purse and burning in full view of all to see. It can only enhance the Conservative Party’s reputation for sound fiscal management.”

TALK TO THE HAND : The EU is coming under fire today for squandering more hard earned British taxpayer’s money on vanity projects after a giant floating hand set sail on a barge from the Dutch port of Antwerp.

The barge is expected to cross the ENGLISH CHANNEL and enter the mouth of the ENGLISH River Thames by ENGLISH Friday.

“Then it will make its way up the Thames before mooring mid-stream alongside the Palace of Westminster,” our Brussel’s correspondent reveals, “the project is designed to speed up the discussions with the next UK prime minister, or any further talks with Theresa May, should she decline to recommend her successor to the Queen in late July.”

But critics have pointed out that the hand won’t be capable of responding verbally to any of the shouted demands the next prime minister of Global Britain will make.

“That’s the whole point of it,” our correspondent explains, “talk to the hand. The next PM looks guaranteed to talk the same bollocks the last one did, without any reference to reality, so why do you think the EU will waste its time?”

Why indeed. A brief survey of the media output of either Boris Johnson, or Jeremy Hunt, shows that neither appear to have learned that simply shouting “DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?” for the last three years has achieved anything at all.

“At least with the hand moored off the Palace of Westminster the British taxpayer should save money, as the prime minister and their team won’t need to spend cash to attempt to renegotiate the Brexit deal.”

But we must say the hand appears to be a waste of time, if moored next to parliament, as our MPs have already voted to take the rest of the year off and the lights in the commons will be on, but no one will be home.

THE BREXIT JOB : Boris Johnson has been recorded by those pesky neighbours again, this time shouting at bus he made from cardboard boxes.

”We’ve got the tape,” a breathless LCD Views imaginary intern gasped, “the neighbours sent it in by courier because they are big, bloody lefties and they decided it was the best way to undermine Boris Johnson’s bid to be prime minister. Not because of his character as a chancer who makes us complete and utter bulldust to amuse himself in interviews is relevant to his potential as prime minister.”

The tape is a revealing one and it does seem to contradict the intern and validate Boris’s claims as to how he unwinds.

The first hour or two is Boris rummaging around in the garbage pile in his living room, muttering how “you can’t get shaggable help these days” and “what’s wrong with a French maid’s outfit for dusting bookshelves anyway?”. Then there’s a cry of success and a search for scissors and paint.

Music also plays, mostly opera, which our resident classics expert identifies as “Pagliacci” by Ruggero Leoncavallo.

”But things take a turn when he selects famous British movie theme tunes,” the interns reveals, “and the music for ‘The Italian Job’ starts up.”

It’s unclear if the cardboard box bus survives the ensuing tantrum as Mr Johnson can be plainly heard intermittently sobbing and shouting furiously at himself.

”But you were only supposed to blow bloody David Cameron out of a job”

He says it over and over before finally apparently giving up, urinating on the bus and going out into the street to find somewhere to sleep.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN : Numerous Tory MPs have been in the press in recent days promising they’ll bring down their own government if it goes completely crazy. Reassuring words indeed.

“If this isn’t crazy I don’t know what is,” our only remaining sane analyst, Mr Brain, says, “I advise these MPs to undergo immediate hearing and vision tests. They clearly can’t have seen too well what’s been happening for the last several years. They haven’t heard the news? The whole show is batshit.”

While Mr Brain is kind and gives the start of insanity as the 2015 general election, and the promise of a simplistic IN/OUT referendum, others push the date back to 2010 with the beginning of purely ideologically driven policy making decisions.

“I think, after further consideration, I’ll accept 2010,” Mr Brain agreed, following a furious debate inside my head, “and not just because I want to end this conversation and get out of here for lunch, before I go crazy.”

It’s not certain what it will take for the group of MPs, said to number twelve, to believe their government is nuts? If they don’t already think it is.

“You would have thought that the creation of a minister to oversee voluntary food shortages was the moment? Even for the most tolerant. But no. On they trudge, dutifully hoping that sanity will return, even while expecting Boris Johnson to form a government.”

LCD Views has some advice for the MPs. A stitch in time saves nine. Stop talking and act. Although the chance to save nine has already passed. Maybe you’ll save a few.

Or in the famous words of Jack Nicholson’s character, Jack Torrance, in ‘The Shining’, “HERE’S JOHNNY!”. And yes, we’re already past the moment he smashes in the bathroom door.

We’re at another of Nicholson’s classic films, ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’, but this time it’s not one, but all.

BAD OMENS : Amazing news today with the revelation that the Brexit God has been spotted driving his chariot in the sky over Stonehenge.

“He was supposed to do the drive by during summer solstice,” a red faced priest from the church of Brexit told our religious affairs correspondent, “but he was late of course. But he’s still a god and I won’t hear any heresy to the contrary! It’s the fault of remoaners. That’s why he was late. They didn’t fatten enough calves and sacrifice.”

And sacrifice to appease the Brexit God is becoming a key question in British political life. It’s being pushed to the forefront as the two remaining candidates to lead the Tory Party (into oblivion) attempt to win the support of the congregation.

“Jeremy said on the weekend that he would burn a steel wheel business, which has captured half the EU market for its product, to the ground to make Brexit God happy. That’s a good start. But there’s a long way to go. Boris will need to up the ante on that.”

How Boris will do that isn’t yet clear, mostly because he needs to hide a lot and think about it.

“He’s probably writing a hymn. That’s my guess. There used to be questions over his orthodoxy, but I personally believe he’s self-serving enough to lay whatever is needed on the altar, so long as it only harms someone else. This is Brexit.”

But why Stonehenge?

“Brexit God is doing a national tour to convert more heretics into believers. He’s a smart god. He’s still hanging over Westminster. He’s omniscient. He’s a strong god.”

And where should people look next if they wish to see Brexit God for themselves?

“I suspect their bank balance,” the red faced priest shrugged, “poor man or rich, Brexit God will influence. Mostly by transferring whatever the former has left into the accounts of the later. Praise be to Brexit God. God of currency fluctuation and those who are blessed by it.”

UPPING THE ANTE : Jeremy Hunt left Boris Johnson with his mouth hanging open at the Tory leadership hustings on the weekend when he said “I’ll burn the country to the ground if that’s what it takes to deliver Brexit.”

Sources within the Johnson campaign said, after the hustings, that they feared there is a mole in his campaign, as Boris was planning to promise to burn as many working class jobs as necessary to deliver Brexit, once he gets into Downing Street.

“Hunt’s promise is too similar to what Boris was going to promise,” the source said, “it’s uncanny. We were briefed that Hunt was going with ‘jobs first Brexit’, or some other complete bollocks, but not a job incinerator line. Maybe we got our Jeremy’s mixed up?”

The promise to do mass economic damage to the country to satiate the increasingly furious Brexit God does mark a unique turning point in British politics.

“It’s impressive,” our politics intern commented, “you have candidates running to be the leader of a governing political party and a key plank of their pitch is their willingness to destroy the lives and livelihoods of constituents? That’s a first, isn’t it? When you consider it’s for no actual gain. It’s not a war, no matter how much the old Tory duffers fantasise that it is one. It’s a political choice to bend the country over and not use the butter. I’ve never seen anything like it in my time. But then I’m only young, excuse me, I have to write a letter to Nigel.”

What the candidates will promise now, that goes further than the job incinerator, is up for speculation. We’re presuming they’ll go biblical on our asses now and warn us if we don’t paint a red cross over our door then Brexit will take our home in the night.

Once upon a time…

Pixie and Pearl were two white rabbits , sisters, who lived under the rolling green downs near the sea. Where the land ended there was a sharp drop to the rocky beach below , which was known as the Cliff Edge, near the Seven Sisters, no relation! They lived a happy carefree life , munching the luscious green grass and diving into their burrow whenever birds of prey hovered above.

They did not see many people as where they lived was out of the way and not the easiest of places to get to on foot  although some humans did visit, for the walks, fresh air and because they had heard that rabbits lived there. Years ago they had been virtually wiped out by a vicious monster called Myxomatosis, but their race had survived and returned.

One day they were woken by the sound of loud shouting. They rushed up from their underground home and sat upright, ears upright and whiskers quivering, to see what the reason for the uproar was.

They looked down into the valley and saw huge crowds of people, led by a large man with blonde hair which stood up and blew about in the wind, walking cheerfully towards the Cliff Edge. They were chanting “Take back control, we want our country back, 350 million for the NHS, no deal, we voted to Leave, will of the people.”

None of this meant anything at all to the rabbits of course, but they did wonder that going towards the Cliff Edge would have bad consequences.

“Why are those people rushing towards the edge of the cliff, they’re not birds they can’t fly,” said Pixie to her sister.

“Something is driving them to think it is a good thing,” said Pearl who was a slightly more worldly rabbit than gentle Pixie. “They think they can fly, but that’s strictly for the birds,” she added.

Before they could think or say anything else, the people were disappearing over the edge, like a waterfall cascading over the rocks, down to the sea below.

The rabbits dimly recalled the terrible disease, imported from a country far away, that had destroyed so many of their ancestors, and saw similarities between that and what was affecting the people below.

“I think this is something called Brexitmatosis,” muttered Pearl as they dived underground to escape the terrible scene they had had just witnessed.

And Pixie and Pearl lived happily ever after, because they didn’t hurl themselves off the Cliff Edge into the sea.

THE END