Category: Democracy

Northern Ireland can go whistle. Gibraltar has been sacrificed. Now the Falkland Islanders are getting a bit nervous about their future. As a result, a binary referendum has been held, and The Penguins want to Leave the UK.

The Referpenguin, as it is known, simply asked whether to remain part of the UK, or to leave. The Penguins voted with their happy feet, and glorious independence beckons.

“We want to regain control of our fish!” claimed ecstatic campaigner Nigel Farockhopper. Farockhopper, known to all and sundry as “Mr Fexit”, is the publicity-hungry but workshy face of the campaign. He describes himself as ‘just one of the Chicks’ and an ‘everyBird’. “No more restrictions,” he continued. “We are free to control our own destiny!”

Rumours of Argentinian intervention haunt Mr Farockhopper, however. Cynics believe that the powerful South Americans have been funding Farockhopper’s Fexit drive, as they have a vested interest in stirring up dissent in this little archipelago with powerful continental neighbours.

Few penguins in the public eye have dared to say much in the face of such powerful populism. There is, though, a growing campaign to overturn the Referpenguin and hold a Penguins’ Vote. This movement has a strong following on the local social media platform, Fishbook.

Trade is one of their biggest bugbears. “40% of our guano goes to the UK,” reads one post. “If we leave the UK without a deal, then this trade will cease, and thousands of penguins will have to go to South Georgia for a shit.”

It all seems rather fishy. Farockhopper simply brushed off all criticism with a wave of his flipper. “It will be the easiest deal in history!” he squawked. “Already, I am flying off to Easter Island, Gibraltar and Atlantis to seek out new markets for our guano. I’ll be a millionaire in no time!”

The idea of a strong foreign influence wreaking havoc in a small group of islands close to a large, dynamic continent is so ridiculous, it couldn’t possibly catch on anywhere else, could it?

Honesty is not the best policy for a policy maker. A minister of the crown has been sacked for giving a straight answer to a straight question.

Anything is believable in this Parliament of Batshit Crazies, so long as it is unbelievable. Ministers have resigned over the truth before, never has one been removed from office because of it.

Work & Pensions minister Liza Faluzers is the minister in question. The question in question was, “Do you agree that poverty in the UK is a political decision?” The answer in question was “Yes”.

Her erstwhile boss, the resurrected Amber Rudd, had attacked the recent UN poverty report. Going on a charmless offensive, she dismissed the report on the grounds that she “didn’t like its tone”. In other words, it was direct and strongly worded. “It was totally unacceptable,” said Rudd’s mouthpiece Wat Awopper. “Our true motives must never be revealed.”

Faluzers made the admission that sealed her fate on BBC Question Time. At the end of the show she was whisked away to Number Ten to receive her P45.

“I was shocked!” Faluzers told LCD Views. “I went into politics to make a difference to people’s lives, to uphold their rights and fight their corner in parliament. The government is working against the people, in the interests of money hoarders. Brexit is part of the plan. And, by the way, Brexit is monumentally f***ing stupid.”

The event is set to send seismic waves through the Conservative Party. Are you, or have you ever been, honest? Lie detectors are being deployed, and anyone who can beat one will be expelled from the party.

Faluzers’ constituency, Pants-on-Fyre, has deselected her.

“It is a great shame”, remarked Amber Rudd. “We have lost an able team member and friend.” The lie detector buzzed reassuringly.

Meanwhile, cabinet meetings have been abandoned as nobody can hear over the racket made by the lie detectors.

The United Kingdom’s leading letter writer, Jacob Rees-mogg (MP for Going-on-Backwards) has announced his intention to gouge out one eye and to do it in public.

“The abject failure of the government to use our superpower to overwhelm the half a billion citizens of the wealthiest trade bloc on earth has left me with no choice but to pick up a red hot poker and jam it into my non-monocle wearing eye,” Rees-mogg told a nearly empty press conference this morning,

“if the United Kingdom can not be completely and utterly financially and civilly ruined by the hardest of all conceivable Brexits, then I see no choice but to deprive the hopeless peasantry of my considerable vision.”

Asked what he intended to do once he has cut his vision in half, Mr Rees-mogg revealed forward planning of the kind usually reserved for anyone not in the ERG.

“Once I only have one eye I will become king in the land of the blind,” he shrugged, “I hear the tax arrangements are particularly pleasing, as all of the inspectors are blind and so too the people, so they can’t see how much they are being fleeced. It will also come with the added advantage of being able to divide the population into the right and wrong sorts of people, then I can simply angle my head so as not to notice the undesirables.”

And where will you perform the spectacle?

“Under the statue of Winston Churchill on College Green. I have dreamed he will cry for me the moment the blazing rod of eyeon begins to push into my non-monocle wearing eye.”

Does he see any difficulties in such a feat of self-harm?

“I confess the poker will have to be exceedingly hot,” Rees-mogg admitted, “because first it’s got to burn through all the egg currently on my face after my failed coup to oust the prime minister.”

LCD Views can report exclusively from a WC concealed behind a secret door at a Tufton Street, Westminster address today that the power thinkers of British politics, The ERG, have a new plan to oust Prime Minister Theresa May, following the seeming failure of the intellectual powerhouses to bring about a no confidence vote in the PM.

“The ERG, not to be confused with the BORG, although we are admittedly two different brand names owned by an inter-galatic umbrella company called the TURD, demand that the chair of the Conservative Party 1922 committee, Graham Brady, allow President Donald Trump to count our no confidence letters in Prime Minister Theresa May,” spokesman for ERG, BORG and TURD, Jacob Rees-mogg said,

“because I wouldn’t have been such a one eyed idiot as to attempt to bully the prime minister in public last week unless I was damn sure I couldn’t get hurt afterwards. There simply must be an error in Mr Brady’s counting,

“There is not one iota of feasibility in the possibility that we developed a general high concept during some drunk, late night WhatsApp rant with each other and then shot our load in the dark without knowing who was going to get it in the eye afterwards. Or indeed before considering how many people who texted to say they would put quill to parchment were likely to actually do so. I’d look pretty bloody silly if that were the case.”

In response Mr Brady’s office said it wasn’t in the rules of the party concerning no confidence votes to have foreign heads of state count the letters, no matter how great at maths, and estimating the size of groups, they were known to be.

“Rules are for poor people,” Mr Rees-mogg dismissed the response, “it will be a simple matter for Owen Paterson to fly the letters over to Mr Trump the next time his handlers at Tufton Street arrange from him to go on a junket to the States. Mr Trump can then use all his fingers and toes three times to add up the letters. You will soon see Ms May does not carry the support of the party.”

Requests for the White House to comment on the matter were successful, insofar as there was a response.

“Who is Ms May again?” an official replied, before excusing themselves to help Donald Trump rake some leaves. Just so many leaves. You’ve never seen so many leaves.

The most famous pig’s head in British politics has given a rare interview today to assert it will stand against David Cameron should he launch any re-election comeback bid.

”I don’t mind admitting I’m still a little bitter,” Pork Scratchings told us in an exclusive interview conducted near the Bullingdon Club headquarters, just for the vibe, “I believed Dave when he told me we were always going to be together, and one day even, medical science would provide me with a body. And then we could get married.”

Well that was all a sham.

”Well that was all a lie. He was using me to impress the other boys.”

So your motivation for standing for election in any seat bored shitless, shepherd’s hut David decides to go for is a long standing wound of unrequited love?

”Excuse me?” Pork Scratchings looked well oinked, “do I look like I haven’t gotten on with my life? You think Britain’s laziest PM is that good a shag?”

Well, he did fuck the entire U.K., so…

”That. That there is my motivation.”

Jealousy is what is driving you?

”You haven’t done your research, have you? I was assured you were a professional outfit.”

Well, it’s a little hard to research an unsubstantiated rumour put about to make David Cameron a laughing stock by Boris Johnson, presumably.

”I’m not some cheap device utilised to draw on the lowest common denominator perception that all rich people are sexual perverts.”

Well, what are you then?

”I’m a serious Tory party candidate for Westminster. Just look what happens when you smash some lipstick on me and put me in a safe seat. I am not just some easy ride.”

Thats not what Dave says…

”Don’t ever call me for an interview again. I’ve a country to save.”

History and semantics can play cruel tricks.

Forty-five years ago, a steamy affair between Madame Cholet, the grey haired French cook, and diminutive, corpulent female lead in  BBC children’s TV series The Wombles, and a handsome young and athletic self lubricating French dildo, produced a love child.

A child whose very existence was for decadeds denied by both its parents, and BBC executives alike, but whose ethnicity, by a cruel accident of semantics, is now on everyone’s lips.

He is, by his admission, one of very few on the planet who can genuinely identify themselves as an actual bona fide COCKWOMBLE.

And he is angry, very angry.

“Yes, I am a Cockwomble, one of the few on this planet with the right to name myself thus,” he wept, hiding his face and declining to give his name.

“But that doesn’t make me a gammon faced, knob headed, right wing spunk trumpet,” he added pointing out that he didn’t get to choose his parents, but he does get to choose his politics.

“And there’s no way I would ever support that loud mouthed, racist wank puffin Tommeh Robinson – he looks like a cross between a Thunderbirds puppet and the demonic ventriloquist’s doll from classic British horror flick, DEAD OF NIGHT” he added.

A spokesman for the UK society of Spunk Trumpets declined to comment on recent salacious rumours concerning the late British Jazz trumpeter, Kenny “one’s salty, the other’s sweet” Ball.

The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) for its part issued a stern warning against the growing problem of sexual harassment of ciff nesting seabirds.

“This is not only dangerous for the birds, for whom gammon flavoured human secretions are not a normal food source but also, as many species – including puffins – roost on very high cliffs, extremely risky for the sick sadistic shitgibbons who indulge in these disgusting practices,” it said.

LCD views contacted David Attenborough for his views on primatial coprophilia but he (wisely) declined to comment.

A shady character who sought asylum six years ago is going stir crazy. Tired of his luxurious imprisonment, he is now blaming his jailers for his suffering, and demanding a higher class of sparkling wine to lighten his torment.

Julian Assange – for it is he – has tired of being out-leaked by corrupt governments on both sides of the Atlantic, who no longer care what people think of them. In a desperate attempt to salvage column inches, he has blamed the Ecuadorians for his predicament. To soothe his savage breast, he has indicated that, henceforth, only the best Champagne will be acceptable to him.

Ecuador, which has accepted his citizenship and protected him from extradition, is naturally the enemy. Who else can Assange blame? Gaslighting is the order of the day.

LCD Views, concerned about Assange’s mental state, sought the opinion of brain doctor Maddus A. Laurie. “Julian is clearly going slowly insane,” opined Dr Laurie. “Stuck in a small apartment with only his own company. It’s known in the trade as Bunker Hunkering.”

Dr Laurie described the symptoms. “Being delusional, creating a fantasy world, tilting at windmills,” he said. “Sufferers become convinced that they are the only sane person in the world. Their ego inflates as their grasp on reality diminishes. Assange sees himself as a victim of ‘the system’, when in reality he is a sad little man avoiding the harsh realities of life.”

Most political leaders suffer from Bunker Hunkering, claims Dr Laurie. “They become more and more convinced that everyone is out to get them,” he claims. “Often correctly, of course. Their policies become increasingly extreme, in accordance with Thatcher’s Law, which states that a leader’s compassion is in inverse proportion to their self-importance.”

So a man whose existence has been reduced to enforced idleness, taking working holidays in the bedroom and refusing to empty the cat’s litter tray because it looked at him funny, is now down to his last few marbles.

The cat, incidentally, summed up the situation perfectly. “I don’t want to be here,” she mewed, “but I also don’t want to leave.”

Robot Strictly winner Maybot2.0© has developed a new dance. She is in the process of perfecting the permanent limbo.

This dance has been described to LCD Views by ‘dancepert’ Corrie O’Graphy. “Traditional limbo involves being able to pass under a bar,” O’Graphy explained. “It requires a high degree of flexibility. Permanent limbo is the same, except that it uses an invisible, indeed non-existent bar.”

Political commentator Ben Dover-Backwoods went further. “May is bending over backwards all the time,” he clarified. “She has a lot to live down to. The bar has been set, it is a very low bar indeed, and it is getting lower all the time.”

Indeed, the bar has now been lowered so far that it is difficult to perform even the permanent limbo. Nonetheless, May is attempting this feat of backbreaking impossibility. If she goes forward or backwards, the precariously balanced bar will topple. Trapped in this eternal nether world, she is quite literally in limbo.

“This is the static permanent limbo,” said O’Graphy. “You move neither forwards or backwards, but remain in the same position indefinitely. It’s an endurance act really, but it can leave a dancer bitter and twisted.”

“The realities of Brexit are closing in,” commented Dover-Backwoods. “May is being squeezed between the EU rock and the ERG hard place. She is caught in her own trap, hoping that she doesn’t break before the final whistle blows.”

With the EU pulling May one way, and the ERG dragging her the other, while the DUP snipes from the sidelines, the UK PM must be heartily sick of all the acronyms.

Instead, the country is left with a conundrum. Like all riddles, the answer is obvious, and simple once you see it. And the question is this:

When is a backstop not a backstop? When it’s an Irish backstop.

Andrew Bridgen MP (NW Brexitshire) is to be replaced as an MP after a recent broadcast interview in which he confusingly claimed he could be king of Ireland if he pleased.

“Because I’m an Englishman,” Mr Bridgen asserted, “and English men are the natural rulers of Irish men.”

Whether or not Mr Bridgen is also the natural ruler of Irish women he is yet to confirm, but the staggering assertion has led to the triggering of a little known parliamentary instrument called “cheddar powers”.

“Cheddar powers are only ever triggered when a sitting MP proves himself far less intelligent than a cheese sandwich,” John Bercow MP, Speaker HoC told LCD, shortly before fending off the latest Conservative Party attempt to oust him because he tells them off sometimes.

“So Mr Bridgen will be replaced by a cheese sandwich,” Mr Bercow continued, “by chance it’s made of Irish cheddar. This will probably rub a bit of salt in the wound for Mr Bridgen (here Mr Bercow fell off his chair laughing. We waited for him to climb back on to carry on) and so while Andrew “thick as mince like all ERG” Bridgen can’t claim an Irish passport, the cheddar sandwich that replaces him can and potentially thus become King of Ireland. But only after its reunification in a year or two thanks to the efforts of idiots like Bridgen. It’s all very straightforward. One would have thought Bridgen would have understood the rules of cheddar.”

And so the stellar parliamentary career of the hard right ERG boofhead Mr Bridgen draws to a sudden close and the career of a sandwich begins.

We will miss Mr Bridgen for all his work. The highlight of which was organising the parliamentary rebellion that stopped British military intervention in Syria in 2013, and thus arguably helped allow an entire catalogue of genocide to play out more forcefully than it may otherwise have, oh and also allowed that cheerful Russian chap his way back onto the world stage to wage merry havoc all over and puts us all back at risk of WW3. Well done Mr Bridgen. You must be proud.

But all is not lost. A colleague has a new venture for Andrew.

“I’m going to rebuild him as a proper bridge,” Boris Johnson took a break from bonking young blondes to tell us, “And re-name him Adraw Bridge-n. Whacko! Woof!”

Potatoes, turnips, cabbages and other great British vegetables were in a celebratory mood today with the reassuring announcement that Nigel Farage’s EU pension will be paid from the BBC license fee.

”Only if no deal is reached between the completely trustworthy U.K. government and the rule stifled EU tyranny in Brussels,” a very unbiased Nigel Farage MEP told the collection of Russian algorithms and British born idiots who listen to his LBC show ‘Lord Haw-Haw’s half hour’.

”I’m personally happy to pay extra on top of the reasonable levy to fund the Conservative Party press release machine,” A (patriotic) Potato told LCD Views, “£350M a week if need be? I’ll phone Nigel up personally and tell him.”

Root vegetables such as carrots and turnips also said they are happy to weigh in with clods of cash.

”Since the evil empire across the channel docked Nigel’s salary for all that fraud, which he totally didn’t commit, I’ve been worrying how he’ll afford another ticket to ride in Trump’s magic ‘gold of the people’ lift. I’m happy if my entire BBC license fee is diverted straight into Nigel’s account in Panama.”

When asked for comment the Director General of the BBC, also a Lord Haw-Haw, gave confirmation of the Beeb’s willingness to divert its funding to Britain’s greatest patriot since Profumo.

”We already buy him a mansion a year for providing most of our political output,” Lord Haw-Haw confirmed, “what’s another eighty odd grand a year, indexed to rise with inflation on top of it?”

Indeed.

And in so doing so the state broadcaster can finally put to rest all those allegations of being biased to left wing politics. Everyone will be pleased. Keep Nigel warm this winter just by being forced by law to pay for the totally unbiased BBC.