Category: Democracy

Steady hands to the pump within the ranks of Labour today with the fake news that DUP leader Arlene Foster is rumoured to have been asked to act as the agent for Labour MPs offered bungs to vote with the Tories.

”This sort of work takes someone who knows the ropes,” Potentially Any Labour MP in a constituency that voted Leave (but more likely the ones who keep voting with the government), due to dark money and data manipulation and lies and some of them, well, some racists voted Leave, but no one is allowed to say that. That’s part of the manipulation of public opinion to turn the U.K. into a tax haven.

”It’s pretty funny, some of the Labour MPs who keep saving Theresa May’s ass were heroes for being lifelong champions of the underprivileged, and here they are, so steeped in an ideology decades anachronistic they’re prepared to save one of the cruelest and most incompetent governments in British history, just in the hope of nationalising the production of slogans and scooters.”

The offering of a bung, in the form of cash or a peerage, has become standard practice for the government of Theresa May.

”That’s because she can’t win a political argument with truth and reason, so she appeals to people’s basest self interest.”

Quite.

It’s not certain at the time of going to print if the MP for Islington North will also be bunged, but it’s unlikely.

”That’s because his own actions confirm him as a diehard leaver.”

Like calling for Article 50 to be invoked on the 24th June 2016 and three line whipping his MPs to vote for it, before any preparation was done? Oh and being one of few MPs to vote for an IN/OUT EU ref back in 2011?

”Quite. Bin fires warming the hands of the middle classes don’t start themselves comrade.”

Well, money saved is money earned! So what argument will May use to sway Labour MPs over to vote with her for her Brexit deal, in the hope of counterbalancing out the Tory rebels?

”Your principals are shallower than my pocket. And the money I’ll bung you, after attacking the magic money tree, I should have spent in your constituency anyway, if I cared at all, which I don’t.”

Quite.

LCD Views can report today on rumours flooding out of Downing Street that PM TM is preparing to hack the last of the magic money tree to the ground, then tear up and shred its roots, to secure support for her Brexit from rank and file voters.

“Who wants to be a millionaire?” Mr Scat Pants, aide to the PM, asked us during an unscheduled call to our radio station (we don’t have a radio station).

Wait, who is interviewing who?

“I don’t know, we didn’t plan to call you, we just suddenly found ourselves here doing it, just as you planned to do something else.”

We want to be a millionaire then, does that help?

“It will if you are prepared to back Theresa May when she puts her Brexit deal to the country later this year.”

Wait, does that mean she’s going to have to ask for an extension to Article 50 in order to hold a ‘People’s Vote’?

“Well, she’s a complete control freak, do you really think she’s going to lead (ha) the country into a no deal Brexit situation?”

She talks like she is.

“She says whatever she thinks will get her through another twenty four hours in office. Straight out of the old Cameron playbook. But a no deal Brexit is the most unmanageable situation to be in. A control freak will not willingly put themselves into that.”

So all we have to do is tick the box next to May’s deal when we go into the voting booth later this year? And we’ll instantly be a millionaire?

“Yes. A representative of the treasury will be on hand to cut you a cheque there and then. And what’s more, it’s completely equitable, even if you’re already a millionaire you’ll still get paid to vote for her deal.”

That’s caring Conservatism in action for you. What will I do with all that money?

“Well, the cheque will be redeemable for thirty extremely large pieces of silver. You’ll have to queue at the Bank of England for that.”

No problem. Then what?

“I’d suggest you buy a loaf of bread.”

And a speed boat!

“No. Just a loaf of bread.”

Why just a loaf of bread?

“Because by the time the Brexiters have finished with the pound, that’s all a million will get you. But you’ll still get to say you’re a millionaire, so there’s nothing at all to fear.”

Mad as hell backbencher Jacob Rees-mogg (MP for Mon-oc-Le) has embroiled himself in yet another assault on the parliamentary sovereignty he was so keen on when he thought 650 people would bend to his will.

”It’s the dumb powder plot AGAIN,” our exasperated parliamentary correspondent reports, with a vein popping somewhere, “seriously, these ERG halfwits do hypocrisy with each breath.”

The plot this time to undermine representative democracy centres on an obscure 19th century bit of power, that JRM remembers the birth of as if it was yesterday.

”Basically he wants Her Maj to act like the autocrats in her deep lineage and over rule parliament, should it get too uppity and act to scupper, or delay Brexit so we don’t all starve,

”The Brexit MPs driving ambition is to turn the U.K. into a tax haven and burn workers’ rights in the process. Environmental rights. Gender equality. Racial equality. Any equality really. It’s so galling to win the accident of birth lottery and be told your equal to the idiots who didn’t choose their parents well. They can’t stand it. CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHY LABOUR IS ALSO A BREXIT PARTY AT THE MOMENT?”

”Sorry. It all gets too much. It’s really hard to report on this mind enflaming hypocrisy without swearing. Such a bunch of Jeremy Hunts.”

So that clears that up.

The hypocrisy on the part of Jacob is even more touching given the film of him arguing for an EU ref, back in the days before the country was taken over by a right wing coup, supported currently by the left wing, as Jacob is on film suggesting a second ref would be advisable on whatever deal was achieved, should the U.K. be illegally manipulated by dark money and foreign interference into marginally voting for Brexit in an advisory ref.

”What a shower of shit governs us,” our correspondent bursts back in, “why couldn’t Her Maj have stepped in earlier? All these businesses shifting all their money out of the U.K., why didn’t they? I’m going for a drink.”

And so are we. As the latest dumb powder plot by JRM goes off like a penny rocket, which is more than can be said for the gunpowder plot.

Great news for living democracy today with the announcement that the Tory government is making moves to ensure that the relentless march of time, and corresponding mortality, doesn’t stop the voices of ardent, Daily Mail Reading Brexiters go unheard.

”Downing Street has ordered an entire new ministry be created,” Mr Tilnpot Teapot-Heating-Harrass MP (for Leether-on-Wings), told LCD Views pseudo science correspondent, “and I’m to run it, even if I die!”

The Ministry for Immortal Democracy will initially only have a modest budget of £350m per week, but there are plans to expand rapidly.

”I’ll stretch those taxpayer pounds to death,” the newly created Secretary for Death (he’s already nicknamed) told us, “what with half the aunts in my family being amateur spiritualists. I’ll get them all on the payroll for a good price. Performance related pay even, even if you’re no longer breathing you’ll still get paid!”

But while the move to create the ministry is just sensible governance, in the event of a second EU referendum, a so called People’s Vote on the actual state Brexit is in, the move hasn’t been without serious debate.

”Certain undemocratic forces within parliament are suggesting that not just Brexiters should be enfranchised beyond the grave, but remoaners who have passed over since the 23rd June 2016, but we haven’t been able to hear their voices since the referendum nearly three years ago, why should we hear them now?”

LCD Views would like to commend the government on moving to gerrymander the afterlife, for not only the imagination required, but the sensible use of public funds that may otherwise have gone to prevent the ranks of the dead voters swelling more slowly.

”We already zombies voting in the House of Commons!” the minister added, “now an overwhelming majority of the undead will be reassured they’ll be heard long after they’ve gone to the grave!”

A notorious con man is being sought today after the attempted sale of London Bridge to any sucker stupid enough to buy it.

The man, described by witnesses as “buffoonish, bouncy, blonde, with a childish sense of entitlement, reckless disregard for truth and the sort of bully who would smash a child over in a game of rugger just for the sweet, sweet taste of it” was spotted Saturday pitching his con to a packed hall in famous kid’s toy factory JCB (they make diggers – batteries included).

”He was very brazen about it,” a witness told LCD Views, “he claimed he could get you any bridge you like. It didn’t have to be Tower Bridge, although he was planning on drawing down his bridge collection and wanted to raise cash in the process. That’s why he was selling Tower Bridge.”

But LCD Views can confirm, after a search of the deeds at Land Registery, that the grand and intricate Tower Bridge (located in central London and often mistaken for London Bridge – because the current London Bridge is a bit meh) that the real owner of Tower Bridge is a Mr Smith, Thornton Heath, who purchased the bridge at a house clearance auction in 1985, and owns it still to this day.

We spoke to the police officer leading the search for the man to learn more.

”What can I tell you?” D.C. Fibbs asked us.

More?

”Thomas or…”

Just get on with it, please.

”Okay dokey. The man is notorious.”

We told everyone that right at the start. What else have you got?

”Well, I don’t got any bridges!”

D.C. Fibbs, this kind of wiffle waffle suggests you don’t have any leads.

”I’ve got one for a dog.”

Sigh.

Anyone spotting the bridge obsessive is advised to stuff their fingers in their ears and run for the nearest ballot box. More on this as it develops.

British prime minister Arlene Foster was popping the champagne corks and celebrating at 10 Downing Street tonight after she survived a vote of no confidence in the House of Commons.

“Ms Foster benefited from the fixed term parliament act really,” our Westminster watcher, Mrs S Cream, phoned in, “the act was brought into law because David Cameron and his chumocracy chum chums figured they’d need a maximum of five years to gut the Liberal Democrats politically and get us back to a two party system. It also benefits all the crooked and lying MPs who know that it’s unlikely they’ll be turfed out onto a gold plated pension before they’ve properly lined their nests.”

But that rant against the fixed term act aside, Ms Foster has shown just how smart she was to not only employ Theresa May as her deputy, but get Theresa May to pay her in excess of a billion pounds for the privilege.

“If Jeremy ‘fencepost’ Corbyn was not a Brexiter things may have turned out differently in the House of Commons this evening,” Ms S Cream notes, “as there is bugger all chance of any Conservative MPs acting to bring about the downfall of their own government just to watch a bunch of old commies pull off Lexit.”

Ms Foster was expected to have a terrible day, hot on the heels of her deputy’s total thrashing on the WA vote last night, but Mr Corbyn’s cunning, waiting a month to call the No Confidence vote, after Ms Foster was buoyed by winning a vote of confidence in her as prime minister, and now in her government, well, someone has a lot to be thankful for over the quality of opposition they face.”

After the fizz has been consumed and the celebrations died down Ms Foster is expected to get right back to work telling Ms May exactly what she has to do each day if she wants to cling onto her job for another twenty four hours.

“This is why British democracy is the envy of the world,” Ms S Cream adds, before going into a cupboard to scream.

Jeremy Corbyn has been advised to order a bicycle courier for later this week to ferry his few meagre belongings to 10 Downing Street.

The advice comes after Labour are certain to triumph in the looming No Confidence vote in Theresa May’s shambolic and vicious administration.

In spite of rent-a-gobs, baffled BBC journalists and Twitterati blithely assuming the government will easily put down the No Confidence motion and carry on doing whatever it is they’re doing, the stars are aligning for a different outcome.

“Mercury is in the ascendant and Pluto is beside the fire hydrant,” our political mystic advises, after gazing at the stars high on meth during the night, “and the Tory Party will not let go this dazzling chance to save themselves.”

Save themselves by passing the flaming can of Brexit shite over to someone as deluded as most of themselves?

“That’s right,” mystic meth replies, “Jeremy ‘Castro’ Corbyn will have his chance to go to Brussels and shout cake.”

How’s that going to work out for him?

“You don’t need me to tell you that.”

But doesn’t it mean he has to orchestrate either revocation of Article 50 and the enduring scorn of his revolutionary chums, or the destruction of the United Kingdom as we know it?

“Yes. The Tories maybe incredibly cruel and sociopathic, but they’re not stupid.”

So carry the can and pass the parcel.

“And if Corbyn isn’t careful he’ll be the one left standing when the music stops.”

Be careful what you wish for. You may just get it.

Theresa May and her one remaining loyal colleague (not so much a colleague as a toilet roll) played a blinder overnight as she seeks to increase the chances of her Brexit deal getting through parliament.

“Who will rid me of this troublesome speaker?” Ms May was heard to shout, while in the 10 Downing Street W.C., “I need a pliant speaker!”

What followed, according to unreliable witnesses, was a muttered discussion, before Ms May emerged fragrant and triumphant.

“I love it when a plan comes together!” she exulted the empty room, lucky toilet roll raised high.

From that moment it was all go. Our parliamentary correspondent has the scoop.

“The moment she conceived of the wheeze to privatise the office of the speaker it was non-stop action inside 10 Downing Street,” says our ear to the door, “she was on the blower and straight onto Seaborne Freight to see if they wanted to supply a new, zero hours contract speaker to fill the seat left vacant by disloyal old Bercs.”

But isn’t the job of choosing a speaker that of parliament?

”Not since the passing of the EU Withdrawal Bill last year and a little noticed clause giving the executive the power to instantly outsource any office of state so long as it’s first labelled ‘unforeseen’ and an ‘emergency’.”

And getting rid of Bercow is an emergency?

”Most definitely! He’s baffling the hell out of all the other old boys. He’s a Tory MP putting an interest that is not that of the Tory Party first. Complex and dangerous mind game to play. The entire fabric of our governance is tearing apart. Both sides of the house know party interests first. That’s the rule. May had to act.”

But will Seaborne Freight be able to supply a speaker in time for today?

”Of course, they’ve pulled one of the spotty teenagers out of catering college and told them it’s down to the Commons for you and not the ship’s mess.”

But they won’t know what to do.

”Of course they will. They’ll do exactly what the executive branch tells them to do.”

Order! Order! What would you like to order?

Westminster police are appealing for the assistance of the public today after the release of the image of a notorious fly pitcher spotted flogging peerages from an open briefcase on College Green.

“She could talk the knickers off a nun,” PC Dee Tective, in charge of efforts to combat illegal street trading in the area, told our crime and punishment correspondent, “well, not so much talk, but offer an incentive of either a billion pounds or a knighthood.”

The street hawker, nicknamed Bung by locals, is held in little affection in the locality and over the last several years has become an increasing nuisance to people attempting to get anything useful done.

“It’s mostly the way Bung calls out when she stalls out,” Dee explained, “knighthood means knighthood, peerage means peerage, privy council means privy council, red, white and blue knighthoods, pick any colour you like! They’re all red, white and blue! Like this. Day in and out. It’s driving people nuts.”

Of course more serious is the loss of credibility of the honour system, an integral part of British democracy, as Bung flogs counterfeit or damaged honours for a song from the paving, before legging it.

“There’s some many knights and lords, dames and damsels wandering about College Green now it’s hard to know who to doff your cap to,” PC Tective said, “and not to mention the waste created. Knock off knighthoods spoil rapidly. Bung dumps them in the alleyways if she gets the merest whiff of myself or one of my colleagues. They don’t half stink. I think she’s losing her touch a bit, as she used to shred any evidence of wrongdoing, not just discard it willy nilly.”

But the scourge of College Green may soon be feeling a little hot under the collar.

“There’s a big vote in the House of Commons coming up tomorrow,” PC Dee Tective said, “you can bet your last squid Bung will be out on the pavement attempting to make a killing this afternoon. And we’ll be ready to pounce. Unless of course we’ve been ordered not to intervene by some mysterious, shadowy mastermind higher up the food chain.”

Anyone seeing Bung is asked to phone the police and report the sighting and is advised not to approach.

“We don’t need any have a go heroes. Let us do our job. You get too close to bung you’re liable to discover later that your freedom to move across an entire continent has been robbed from your back pocket.”

Police up and down the country have been alerted to the threat posed by the Yellow Vest movement. Coppers have been ordered to take a zero-tolerance attitude towards anyone in a yellow vest acting suspiciously.

This hair-trigger attitude is making few friends, but it is at least an effective deterrent. Anyone in a light-coloured reflective jacket desecrating a vegan sausage roll gets lumped into a van and taken to the nearest nick to cool down.

However, the policy can backfire. Take a recent incident in which an over-keen policewoman arrested herself. LCD Views went down to the cells at Gammon-under-Pineapple police station to speak with the miscreant.

“I was getting ready for work, putting on my hi viz jacket, when I noticed this smug, foreign-looking woman in a yellow vest,” explained PC Myra Flection. “I tried to ignore her, but I kept catching sight of her everywhere in shop windows, puddles, you name it. She kept pace with me exactly. Well, I was in a right state when I walked into the station, I can tell you. I went straight up to the front desk and reported her.”

What happened next?

“I said, Sarge, I said, there’s this yellow vest woman stalking me,” said Flection. “What does she look like, he asked. Like that!! I said, pointing at her staring out of the mirror at me. Well, I didn’t waste any time, I marched right up to her and put the cuffs on.”

How did you manage that?

“She came right up to me too,” recalled Flection. “The only way to get the cuffs on was to put them on myself. So I walked back to the desk and handed myself in.”

Fair enough.

Back up at the front desk, Sergeant Evan Elpmee clarified what had happened. “PC Flection is keen, but as bright as a thirteen-watt bulb,” he explained. “And I’m talking about daffodil bulbs! She’s in the cells for the safety of the residents of Gammon-under-Pineapple.”

It’s certainly worth reflecting upon.