Category: Brexit

Marvin, the Paranoid Android, has been chosen to park trucks in Kent post Brexit and he’s not impressed.

“I think you ought to know I’m feeling very depressed,” Marvin told us while standing despondently by our water cooler, “When they called me into the prime minister’s office and told me what I would be doing for the next forty thousand years, well, I told them it won’t work.”

They didn’t listen to you?

“No one ever listens to me,” Marvin sighed, “I am at a rough estimate sixty billion times more intelligent than your prime minister. I explained this to her and she just gave me a non-disclosure agreement to sign. It was very depressing.”

But surely you take it as a compliment? It will take more than a genius to solve the border issues in Kent next year.

“You’re not listening either. Neither is your water cooler. I offered them an escape plan, but they just shrugged.”

What ideas did you offer the prime minister?

“A million ideas. Mostly they were about escape, for her. Staying on the path they’ve set for this country points to certain economic death.”

Maybe if you were a bit more upbeat?

“I’m going to spend the next forty thousand years parking trucks in Kent, how upbeat do you suggest I should be? I have a brain the size of a planet.”

What if we let you take our water cooler with you, to keep you company?

“You’re as mean as they are. It’s already ignoring me.”

When do you start work? Isn’t it good to have a purpose?

“I’m just trying to die.”

Oh Marvin. We’re sorry. Goodbye.

The Emperor’s New Clothes, a haberdashery store located near the Palace of Westminster, has had to put a sign up warning its best customers it’s running out of stock.

LCD Views clearly doesn’t have any staff who shop there, so we sent along a correspondent down to the corner of Westminster Green to talk to some customers.

”I’m visibly distressed,” T May told us, “I’ve been shopping here since mid 2016. I buy a new suit every week. I particularly like the up cycled anchor chains they sell as necklaces. They give you a real atmosphere of what it must have been like to be a big ship, the Titanic, for example.”

And she wasn’t the only worried regular.

”Trump’s tariff war means I need a whole new ensemble, again!” a little boy called Liam F told us, “I don’t know how I’ll get us a trade deal if I don’t have the right suit for selling British made goods to tyrants. You know, easy clean stuff, in case you tour a local government facility while visiting.”

There were others too, most notably a bouncing, bullish, blonde chap.

”Now look here, this is fandaggerrel unpatriotic,” Boorish B flamepangled, “I’ve been telling our closest friends and neighbours to go whistle. The map of glorious, never ending gobstopping Global Britain is all pink!

And now I need their help due to a pesky little nervy thing. I need the full Bullingdon kit out to impress Johnny Foreigner!”

It’s clearly a concern. We hope supplies can be swiftly restocked.

”I don’t actually sell them anything,” the proprietor whispered, “they’re all nude!”

Just then we noticed a man with a whiny little voice beseeching a customer service assistant to sell him a pair of boxing gloves.

”This scary sociopath type is threatening to put me in a glass box on his desk!”

It wasn’t going well for him.

”Oh do shut up and go away,” the staff member told him.

We suspect the store will restock soon enough, reality supplies the shop.

A man who crashed a lorry into a house while drunk says the owner of the three bed semi knew what to expect when he bought the property.

”The whole front of the house is staved in,” the unfortunate homeowner told LCD Views.

They were clearly doing their best to keep calm, as they paced about with glass from the shattered windows crunching under their shoes.

”When we agreed to move to this new build we were told it would be a lovely community and we’d sense the warmth of traditional values.

The house was supposed to have a conservatory and an en suite and under floor heating. It’s got asbestos wallpaper, which is not lickable and worst of all the plumbing backs up and spews back out over the floor.

None of our friends want to visit either except that crazy distant relative who has the hots for our Nan. It’s a bit off.”

So you’re not happy with the decision to move?

“Look at the state of my house?!!!”

They shouted, as the chimney breast collapsed in a puff.

”They tell us we can’t move back. But I had my mate Dom look at the deeds and he says they’re dodgy as. We’re going to sue.”

Just then the toilet, largely intact still, begun to gurgle.

”Do you hear that? It’s really weird. Whenever that toilet goes off that guy whose been UKIP leader ten times, and now spouts propaganda for someone on LBC, you can hear him doing his radio show whenever the sewerage overflows. It gives me the creeps. Listen.”

They were right.

There’s more too.

“The GP surgery has been sold to Virgin. Southern rail were given the rail service, so that never runs.

And people keep shoving notes written in caps through our letter slot shouting about forming a volunteer neighbourhood watch, and if we don’t agree to patrol the neighbourhood to keep undesirables called snowflakes out then we don’t deserve to eat.

Then another mob, in sandals, keep knocking on the door asking if we’ve heard about the saviour JC and tell us very bluntly if we don’t join with them it’s our fault people are homeless. It’s a bit much.”

But as to the identity of the drunk driver? Who broke their home and laughed?

”It’s the real estate agent who convinced us to sell up and move here in the first place!” the broken home owner fumed, “Figel Narage! Of Cremlin and Narage and Wanks estate agents.”

But what was he doing driving a lorry drunk in the middle of the night?

”Apparnetly he’d been on a bender at the Hate and Fudge and spotted one of his ex-wife’s there who went after him claiming he only married her to get a burgundy passport after Brexit, or something.”

We did speak to Mr Narage but he only gave one statement.

”They knew what they were moving for. I don’t care what it says on the adverts for the house. The deeds have done the job. Best to shred them now. Ha!”

He opened his trench coat and offered us a ‘real’ Rolex next. We declined.

“Anyway,” he went on, “It’s the will of the roads that sometimes houses get smashed apart by drunk con artists in lorries who just happened to have possibly made an absolute mountain of cash on the quiet convincing people to sell excellent homes and buy poorly built new builds without proper planning permission.

They had their eyes wide open. It’s their own fault. Although I’m happy to help arrange a bank transfer via the Crimea if they’d like help refinancing?”

We will pass that along.

“They need to knuckle down and get behind watching the rest of the house collapse so they can pay to rebuild it,” he added, “they knew they were going to be swimming in sewerage or they wouldn’t have agreed to move.”

That all makes sense now. Thank you.

Theresa May is meeting with Nicola Sturgeon and Carwyn Jones to thrash out what Brexit means for the country. There is no representative from Northern Ireland because May is already in Arlene Foster’s pocket.

“Brexit means Brexit,” May will declare, triumphantly. Although this means that the meeting should be over in minutes, Sturgeon and Jones are likely to demand a translation. “Oot means Oot, Jimmy”, and “Brecsit, boyo”, presumably.

Number Ten is now employing escapologists to help May get out of trouble. One of her team, Harry Houdunnit, was sent to explain the Prime Minister’s position.

“Let me be entirely clear about this,” vacillated Houdunnit. “We are leaving. By which I mean, strengthening our union. The balance of power has shifted. Since Foster is a power-hungry opportunist, she wants full devolved powers for Northern Ireland. So to be fair, Scotland and Wales must be treated the same. This isn’t on the record, is it?”

No, no, of course not, we assured him, concealing our miniature recording devices.

“Theresa May is on record as saying that she wants to bring our country together.” Houdunnit continued. “This is why she is encouraging Wales and Scotland to become independent. They will be free to make their own laws and police their own borders. We are taking back control!”

Will England’s closest neighbours be able to rejoin the EU?

“So long as 52% of the people want it,” Houdunnit revealed. “This will give rise to a deep and lasting relationship. The price of whisky and lamb will remain almost unaffected.”

We passed him a spade so he could dig himself into a deeper hole. “Offa’s Dyke and Hadrian’s Wall will be repurposed for the 21st Century,” he shovelled, desperately.  “And Wales and Scotland will pay for it!”

At this point we terminated the interview, as Houdunnit was so deep down that we could barely hear him. It is only a matter of time before he hits the power cable that will terminate him. Dig for Britain!

The Conservative Party has issued a new directive to greedy party figures that they are to stop taking donations from Russian oligarchs in anything other than unmarked bills.

“It’s a fierce reaction to this inconvenient scandal involving the nervy agent thingy,” Party tsar Boottle Augustus Norman Invasion Statute-of-Labourers-Brexit-1351 told LCD Views,

“I expect we can resume taking standard money transfers in a week or two, once the aluminium lady has finished blowing hard at old Poots. We certainly shouldn’t rush into any of that Magnitsky stuff.

Imagine the devastation to landlords if we stopped allowing masses of money from oligarchs in states that don’t have a functioning rule of law coming into the capital and buying up oodles of new flats they have no intention of ever allowing anyone to live in? It could be devastating.”

Queries have also been raised over the access of eyewateringly wealthy figures to the executive, with one such individual apparently shelling out £30,000 for lunch with the Secretary of State for Defence.

“Nothing to see there, move along, just because a minister of state is having a standard twenty course lunch with champers with a man who may have become insanely wealthy through means not exactly standard, is not reason not to tighten our state control over the media, post Brexit. It’s not corrupt. It’s business as usual.”

None the less, the party of government will have to do something?

“I’ll correct you there, you silly little peasant, I know this is beyond your ken, as my ghillie tells me every year when I fail to catch a salmon, we have to be seen to be doing something. It’s a key difference.”

So how will donations be made from now on?

“Oh, by reviving the old tradition of the brown paper bag I expect. Although personally I prefer the unmarked bills in a lockable briefcase.”

Theresa May spoke briefly this evening in the House of Commons to reassure Russian President Vladimir Putin that his acts of aggression against Global Britain will not go unrewarded.

“Russia has carried out another act of aggression on our soil, with the attempted assassinations with nerve agent. and we are determined to make a success of healing the targets, so Russia can try again, and of Brexit.”

The Prime Minister went on to say that she would have “Boris ring around the EU27 to pretend to talk about more sanctions against Russia”, but Mr Putin shouldn’t lose any sleep on the issue because “I hardly think the Germans are in the mood to lose billions at our behest again, now that we’ve made Nigel Farage our face to the world.”

The statement is likely to be laughed at by Mr Putin and his friends, who are well aware that using London as an alleged money laundering facility for misappropriated state funds isn’t about to end under the Conservatives.

”May I also reassure our good friends in Moscow that Brexit still means Brexit, even though we know they used digital methods, via social media, to heavily influence the allegedly advisory referendum of 2016. Also, that the Scottish IndyRef was a likely test run of the strategy. But I won’t persoanlly be asking why Alex Salmond keeps popping up on RT.”

Finally the prime minister of the Global Britain added extra reassurance by the ending statement,

”It’s a good thing your flag is the same colours of our own, so everyone knows what I really mean when I say a red, white and blue Brexit.”

After the prime minister commended her statement to the house, leader of whatever passes for an official opposition nowadays, cult leader Jeremy “allotment” Corbyn gave his response.

”I like drinking tea. You can do whatever you like, because I know really, you’re just misunderstood.”

And everyone in Brexitannia slept a little better that night knowing what Global Britain really means. Amen.

The famous, mystical cliff edge towards which we are hurtling at the speed of one of Liam Fox’s expenses claims, is getting higher and higher. The fall will be longer and more magnificent than we at first believed. Higher means bigger means better means success, doesn’t it?

Pro-Brexit cabinet members were queueing up to waffle excitedly about this latest triumph. “The greater the height, the better!” boasted Boris Johnson. “Imagine the zip wire! It’s a phantasmagoricalitastic success for Britain!”

Chancellor Philip Hammond was characteristically guarded. “It remains to be seen if this is actually good news,” he said, cautiously. “Incidentally, the BBC has contacted my little brother Richard about making a series called Total Brexit Wipeout.”

Jacob Rees-Mogg spoke in his usual measured, plummy tones. “I’m getting a little giddy with the heights of success,” he opined. “Although it must be said that one does suffer slightly from vertigo.”

LCD’s Head In The Clouds correspondent attempted to get on top of the reasons why the cliff edge is increasing in altitude. After a good fifteen seconds’ worth of heavy googling, his analysis was: “The EU is getting a bit snotty over the Irish border.”

Oh, yes, the Irish border. That hard, soft, physical, virtual boundary that runs between Northern Ireland and the Republic and/or through the Irish Sea. This has led to the Westminster Uncertainty Principle, which states that, if you close your eyes and stick your fingers in your ears, the thing you wish to ignore will go away. If there is a border, but nobody is looking at it, does it still exist?

There may yet be more twists and turns to come on the Road To Brexit. Nobody knows whether the Road is straight or winding, wide or narrow, motorway or rutted farm track. Is it a ring road, a cul-de-sac, or a tangled mess like Spaghetti Junction in the dark with no road signs?

Enough rhetorical questions. We finish with an updated proverb: Pride comes before a cliff edge.

The BBC Radio 4 political reporters are in lockdown after triggering an emergency Brexit news blackout in response to the EU’s ‘Ireland First’ declaration yesterday afternoon.

“We established the protocols early last year when we signed up to Brexit mind, body and spirit,” said Nick Robinson, political editor on the failing Radio 4 flag dingy programme ‘Today’,

“we don’t care anymore that it’s an agenda of lies to profit wannabe fascists and money launderers, allegedly, and we should be interrogating the living hell out of it.

We just care that it matches the sentimentality we feel about having to stand in food ration queues with our mums when we were boys. Ah, the wellspring of youth.”

At least that’s what we think he said.

He was knee deep in terror with his colleagues, hiding in the walk in fridge the programme editors store Iain Duncan Smith in, when he’s not wanted to bluff and dissemble on behalf of the great leap backward.

“But while we prepared protocols for how to react if ‘things got a bit sticky with the Brexit’,” Robinson continued, “We didn’t think what we would do after the lockdown. How to actually get out of it?”

It’s believed playing endless patriotic songs is the most likely avenue out of the fridge.

“We’ve hidden the EU’s ‘Ireland First’ declaration down in the Northern Ireland sub-section of UK news for the moment, to give us plausible deniability against accusations of not covering the story.

But there is no way in hell we are mentioning it until we can find a suitable way to link it to assertions that the ‘EU is doing itself more harm than us’ by seeking to protect the peace in Northern Ireland.

Also, this is ‘just the EU’s opening gambit’. They’re rattled. And other favourites from Brexit bingo. Stick with us. We’ll find a way. Humphrys is flying back on a RAF jet from a stone rolling contest right now.”

Nick Robinson went on to further express his gratitude that Donald Trump has delivered a double whammy of distraction in the last twenty four hours, by twinning trade war with a promise to talk to Kim Jong-un.

“I almost achieved a state of near perfect elevation when I heard the news,” Robinson said, “there is little chance of Trump following through, he’s just looking to distract with a penny rocket, but boy, being able to obsess on that story and not mention the EU starting the process of bringing down the brave, noble, beautiful, wise, all powerful, lying, economically insane administration of Theresa May? What a relief.”

Nick stepped back from the fridge door at that point so a cook could open it and get a slab of butter out.

Before asking his colleagues again what sort of immigrant they really like?

Does anyone else get the feeling the BBC will also find itself hauled in front of parliamentary committees in the years to come, and asked as the public broadcaster, how it failed to properly investigate the sham and con job of Brexit?

“I’ll be retired to the south of France by then!”

Yes. Thanks Nick. Keep up the good work. A narrow cabal in the Tory party needs you and your team to keep wearing blinkers. Oh, and the Lexiters, they need you too.

Remain voters are stockpiling typically British foods in readiness of Brexit. This septic isle, they believe, will probably be plunged into a massive depression. Well, that’’s what happens if you fall off a cliff edge.

Small-scale smuggling of Marmite already takes place, in a small way. Expats living the life of Riley in southern France and Spain expect their relatives to bring supplies when they visit. Jars of the precious brown nectar are concealed in hand luggage and disguised as fake tan.

The writing is on the wall (sponsored by Donald Trump). Those who can read the runes believe that the message is clear: the only people to benefit from Brexit are the vultures who stand to pick over the carcass after the event. The rest of us, who gives a hoot?

Government officials insist that the message is, everything is fine, get patriotic and get thee behind us, Satan. To put it more succinctly, we won, get over it.

The situation is clearly untenable. So disappointed Remainers plan to stay in the EU by emigrating from the UK. They are planning to utilise their burgundy EU passports before they are forcibly downgraded to the blue UK variety. Everybody wins.

Unfortunately, Europeans do not understand British delicacies. Other culinary icons being hoarded in preparation of exile include HP Sauce, Real Ale, and Cornish pasties. Canny operators are making sure that they have enough supplies of exemplary British cuisine to last, while they get accustomed to having to eat garlic, snails, and frogs’ legs.

So expect booze cruises to be replaced by pasty pilgrimages and baked bean beanos. Watch Brits currently living The Good Life slowly become bon viveurs. Très bien, what, old bean?

It only remains to point out that the Remainers will remain by leaving, leaving the Leavers to leave by remaining.

LCD Views is facing an emergency situation in the WC at work today after we reluctantly heeded the advice of consumer watchdogs and stopped the sale of Brexit toilet paper in our office toilet.

“It seemed a sensible free market solution to the mysterious issue of staff overusing office supplies,” Gary Searchlight shrugged, “we make the staff pay for it sheet by sheet.”

Coincidentally, Gary is the member of parliament for Bogland, a Legatum employee, an ERG member, a possible Kremlin stooge and the purchasing manager at LCD. None of this is a conflict of interest.

“Forcing the staff to purchase sheet by sheet meant they felt a sense of personal responsibility, they were key stakeholders and didn’t just flush roll after roll of our hard earned money down the loo, when it was supposed to be diverted to a tax haven.”

So what went wrong?

“Nothing, in theory.

We outsourced the loo roll supply to foreign majority owned firms, so we could more easily send the profits from the privatisation of the toilet paper through a fun series of bank accounts ending in Panama.

We allowed individual staff members to pay for the Brexit toilet paper by docking everyones’ wage, regardless of the amount they used, to be fair.

This may have impacted negatively on the interns, who are dirt poor, but it taught them to work harder before they had a ‘personal space movement development ease episode’.

We ran endless workshops to re-educate the staff on the correct deployment of Brexit toilet paper too. We worked up mission statements. It was very distracting.

After a while we introduced a new rule that a qualified professional needed to change empty “sanitation empowerment facilities”, or bog rolls in old money, which led to some delays at times, but was clearly safer. Everyone could see that. Every year we doubled the number of professionals needed to do it. And we had to train them. It was expensive, but worthwhile.

So we had to charge more for the toilet paper to cover the increased costs of maintenance of the system.

We essentially invented a whole new industry out of changing the toilet paper. It did wonders for the outflow inflow workflow of our accountant and CFO.

What we didn’t expect were the lobbyists who continually presented magic charts and backhanders over curries that proved we could incrementally reduce the service formula criteria of the composition of the Brexit paper, while still maintaining minimal satisfaction levels for all key stakeholders, i.e., anyone who needed a poo. It was almost like it was all a set up job.

This led to increased competition in our one WC, for different grades of toilet paper, that were incidentally more profitable to supply. Which coincidentally increased the amount of money we sent overseas.”

So what’s the matter? This all sounds like a dream?

“Brexit toilet paper, released onto the British and European market by FarageCon, BanksCon, HannanCon, RedwoodCon, Rees-moggCon, JohnsonCon, HoeyCon, DavisCon and FoxCon some years ago, it’s failed. 100% failure. Oh, and it’s now so expensive we can’t maintain the system any longer by just increasing the ‘responsibility levy’ the staff pay.”

Omg! How did it fail?!

“It’s been discovered it’s now composed of 99% horseshit and 1% powdered glass.”

Isn’t it the same formula as when they first released it onto the market?

“No. Back then it was 100% sovereignty. That doesn’t chaff your bum half as much. Actually polishes it up nicely.

But this latest formula, while more profitable for the concerned democrats selling it, and loved by the red top tabloids, it’s causing a complete failure in all toilets and we’ve had to order an immediate cessation in use of the Brexit paper until we can work out who to sue for all the bleeding bums and blockages.”

So what will the staff do in the interim?

“Who cares. It was never about the staff. Go to the loo before you come to work I’d say. Then hold fast and wait for the stomach pains to pass.”