Category: Governing the people

Power to the people! Yeah coz democracy. No coz communism. Erm… let’s have a managed no deal referendum!

In a measure that comes as a complete surprise to observers of this government, the major decisions are being sub-contracted out to the general public.

Who would have guessed? The successor to an administration that chickened out of making a decision about the country’s future relationship with Europe has chickened out of making a decision about how to handle a lockdown.

LCD Views sought the opinion of former governmental advisor, and current angry frustrated madman, Gordon Bennett.

“I give up with this bunch of incompetent charlatans,” he raged. “They have been brought up to do whatever the flip they like, and leave matron to clear up the mess. All their decisions have always been made for them. Public school taught them to bully and cheat their way through life. These men are useless in charge of anything, but ideal if you want to plan a midnight raid on the kitchens.”

This abdication of duty is also how we ended up with Brexit.

“Precisely,” Bennett spluttered. “David Cameron refuses to face down the extremists in his party. Instead he tried to fob them off with a referendum. Well we all know what happened next. Instead of facing the music, he ran away and hid in a shed.”

Something of a common thread here.

“Johnson rarely comes out of his fridge these days,” said Bennett through gritted teeth. “Where we need strength, we get weakness. Where we need courage, we get cowardice. Where we need clarity, we get a vague load of meaningless waffle. Where we need visible leadership, we get Dominic fucking Raab.”

And the decisions about going to work, health and safety, travel and so on, are being left to the common sense of The People.

“Life or death decisions are being pushed on to people who shove creme eggs up their bum and think that Boaty McBoatface is a good name for a polar exploration ship,” he almost screamed. “Gordon Bennett! I despair, I really do.”

There will not be another referendum. The People are up shit creek without a paddle, and those nominally in charge are expected to take the money and run any day now.

The government’s guidelines for coping with the current crisis have been criticised for being more than a little vague of late, but the source of those guidelines has now been identified. A keen-eyed observer has pointed out that the guidelines bear a remarkable resemblance to the rules of a modern game.

The game in question is Mornington Crescent.

According to Professor Humphrey Rushton, the world’s leading authority on the rules, every single rule has parallels in the current crisis:

“It’s uncanny,” he told LCD Views via a Zoom chat. “It’s as if he’s taken each and every rule and applied it to the COVID-19 crisis. According to Stovold’s Second Ruling, players can only move an even number of stations along from mainline termini unless they absolutely have to travel by an odd number. That’s like stay in unless you need to go out.”

And that’s far from the only similarity.

“According to the original version of the rules, transverse laterals can only be blocked from the south unless you’re approaching from the north,” the Professor went on, “the parallels here are self-explanatory and only an idiot would need that one explaining.”

Indeed they are. The other obvious parallel is the Brooke-Taylor Gambit, which states huffing is expressly forbidden unless you really really want to put the other player at an unfair disadvantage.

“That’s basic government policy most of the time anyway,” Professor Rushton went on. “And there’s more parallels even than that. I haven’t even started on Montague’s Amendment where the entire Circle Line is wild.”

There have also been reports of parallels to other bizarre games, most notably the card game Fizzbin, whose best known champion was none other than Captain James T. Kirk, who famously triumphed on planet Sigma Iotia II by scoring a Royal Fizzbin – the odds of which are so astronomical they have never been calculated.

At this rate, we can expect the end of the crisis to be announced by the prime minister shouting out “Mornington Crescent!” at the top of his lungs. Assuming he manages to find his way out of the fridge.

FOLLOWING THE ARS-ON SCIENCE : Pants Fire extraordinaire chief, Boris “accelerant” Johnson, has today confirmed the U.K. has moved forward.

“It happened while I was asleep,” Mr Johnson said, with words some suspected were designed to avoid accountability.

“So sometime between 2am and 11:30am today the country ramped up CV-19.”

Mr Johnson said it was really “a stroke of luck” that he woke up so early, or he may not have known before afternoon tea.

The new stage appears to build on the earlier work done by the FUBAR strategy of pandemic management.

“We are controlling the virus,” he went on, “with our initial policies we’re controlling it all over the country. We’ve really levelled up London and the north. And we’re a long way to solving the social care crisis, just as promised.”

The public can expect to enjoy the benefits of the latest stage as they resume using mass transport to go to workplaces unfit for viral control.

“By pouring petrol on the blaze we can get it over faster and begin to rebuild,” Mr Johnson beamed, “while other countries are still chasing their tails we’ll be siftng through the rubble to see what stone is good to rob and re-erect mighty Britannia on the world stage!”

But for voters who will be nostalgic for the two months of Schrödinger’s lockdown, Mr Herd Immunity has words of reassurance.

“You’ll still be able to hear me fiddling. It’s about all I do. So like Theseus finding himself suddenly in a hair dresser with the Gorgon, stay alert for important passages of improvisation in the mood music. You should be able to detect them through the sound of the UK’s crackling roof timbers.”

WATCH YOUR TONE: The mask has slipped. But put it back on quickly before anyone gets the virus. The fatuous filibusterer and acting Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, has issued advice to his critics. It is better to say nothing and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt, he says.

“Let me be perfectly clear about this,” he spluttered to the virtual press conference, in which the press was not allowed to ask questions. “I’m doing this for your own good! If you ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer, which makes you look stupid for asking it, if indeed you did ask, and if you didn’t, well you might have done, and what I’m really saying is, you must stay alert to avoid looking stupid, but it’s up to you, but whatever you do, stay alert!”

What does “stay alert” mean, asked a member of the public.

“Well, really, it means to stay alert, unless you can’t, but you should try to, well, the most important thing is to stay alert and don’t travel by bus, unless you have to, and even then don’t do it, and later today there is a 130 page dossier coming out which explains exactly what stay alert means,”

Clear as muddied waters.

Why don’t you follow your own advice, asked another pleb.

“I’m always staying alert,” waffled Johnson. “Oo, oo, oo, oo, staying alert, staying alert. Do as I say, not as I do. Protect the NHS by being alert at all times, keep calm and carry on, if you can, unless you have to go to work, let me be very clear about this, don’t panic, don’t tell ’em, Pike, these tricky blighters are everywhere. Reds under the bed! Fight them on the beaches! Stay alert! Stay alert! Exterminate!”

Johnson has left plenty of room for doubt with his statement, but at least there is nobody in the country who still doubts that he is a fool.

Welcome to the herd! Continuous criticism of the way Boris Johnson and his chums have handled the covid-19 crisis has had an un-herd-of consequence. The government is now completely immune to criticism.

As usual, Boris Johnson has been misleading from the front. He shakes off negative comments with ease. “Criticism? Must be doing something right, old boy,” he was herd to remark by a Downing Street ‘source’. “Like water off a duck’s arse, wiff waff, keep calm and hide in a fridge and all that.”

Upon hearing this nauseating drivel, government lickspittle Laura Kuenssberg practically wet herself, before penning another embarrassing love letter to Johnson.

Emboldened ministers have followed suit. Matt Hancock now feels that he can be patronising, smug and rude while telling people to watch their tone.

Priti Patel is so convinced by her own numeracy skills that she thinks she should be Education Secretary.

Dominic Raab can now locate Dover on a map (with a little help). This means that he now believes he knows where Foreign is, so he is free to be the best Foreign Secretary ever.

As a treat, therefore, Chris Grayling has ordered a celebratory ferry with garlic bread and extra mozzarella.

This outpouring of misplaced confidence shows how effective the herd immunity strategy has been. To explain its mysteries, we consulted eminent expert Dr Sigmund Fraud.

“The strategy displays a triumph of ego over reality,” opined Dr Fraud. “Johnson’s blithe optimism and utterly misplaced confidence have infected the entire government.”

You must have a cure. Tell us there is a cure.

“There is a cure,” lied Dr Fraud. “But, seriously, covid-19 is like foot and mouth disease. The only way to neutralise it is mass culling. Or, if that seems slightly inhuman, letting infected people die, and brand it as nature taking its course.”

And how can the immunity to criticism be tackled?

“That requires unwavering exposure to facts and reality,” said Dr Fraud. “Unfortunately, much of the press and the opposition have developed herd immunity to facts and reality. The good news is that it’s like the Emperor’s New Clothes. It only takes one person to point out the truth to the sufferer to put them on the road to recovery.”

And so the government marches on, like a herd of elephants in the room.

Ramp up! Ramp up! The alt-increase in testing has been explained. There are many thousands of covid-19 tests, oven ready, to be sent out on the post. Unfortunately, they have run out of stamps.

Lights On But Nobody Home Secretary, Priti Patel, is on the case.

“I personally ensured that there would be sufficient supplies,” she fibbed, consulting her notes. “I personally ordered one hundredty million thousand and thirteenty dozen and diddly squat.”

That’s all well and good, but where did you order them from?

“Turkey, of course, they have got loads that we can have,” she replied, again after riffling through her papers. “They will be on a supply plane today!”

We know that hundreds of small post offices across the country have offered to supply you with stamps, why didn’t you take up their offers?

“I’m glad you asked that,” she stalled, listening intently to her earpiece. A slight pause. “Thanks Dom, classic mate. Dom says, I mean, the government believes, that it’s more efficient to make a grand but futile gesture instead of being pragmatic!”

Again she touched her earpiece, wincing slightly.

“I mean, this country has the capacity,” she stated, brass neck gleaming. “But Turkey has the supplies, and this is a matter of urgency, and this is not the time to have loads of small donations, which will probably get lost in the post. Incidentally, you will ignore my previous comment, and my office has already emailed you a restraining order.”

Extensive investigation revealed that Turkey did indeed have 400,000 stamps, which were indeed on a plane, which is due to arrive some time next week. Unfortunately these are not postage stamps, but Green Shield Stamps.

We put this point to Patel.

“This conversation is over!” she shrieked, slamming her laptop shut.

Things have come to a Priti pass. These are testing times, unless you are in government.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE : The Treasury is back in the limelight today as wonder kid Rishi confirms (Tory backer pleasing changes) to the Coronavirus furlough scheme.

“We all saw how George Eustice suffered when impoverished Britons wouldn’t pick his family crops, in spite of Brexit,” an aide to Downing Street told LCD Views, “of course the reason is obvious. We’ve allowed the plebs to live like inheritance millionaires. This has to stop.”

The deeper concern is also that allowing everyone to have a holiday may lead to demands to conditions similar to MPs.

“Of course there are very many hardworking MPs who do not take the absolute piss,” the source looked baffled, “but there are also gold star MPs for who all those holidays and expenses on the public purse aren’t really enough. We can’t have the people living like that. Who is going to bail out the banks next time they’re in crisis?”

Changes to the scheme will allow beneficiaries to “Choose Their Own Adventure”.

“You’ll get to pick between fruit picking, migrant spotting with Nigel Farage or shagging Boris Johnson.”

But what about conscientious objectors?

“Oh, they’ll get to work on Covid-19 wards with what we deem as suitable protection. Just after we ease out of lockdown, as timed to please the Telegraph, Mail and other democratic, humanist bastions.”

EXPERT SEXPERT : The SIC (Shagger In Chief) man of Britain, Boris Johnson, has confirmed, via an UDSC (Unidentified Downing Street Source), via RP (Robert Peston) or the good ship SS LK (SS Laura Kuenssberg) that The Telegraph will shortly publish a front page column by their prize columnist.

The prize bull(shitter) of UK print columns is of course the UK’s MOM (Man of the Moment), BJH (Boris Johnson Himself).

The column will meditate on the sanctity of marriage.

“Mr Johnson knows all about the sanctity of marriage,” the source confirmed, “he’s tested it to destruction. Reverse engineered it. Dismantled and reassembled with new parts. Basically, he’s the expert.”

It’s believed the column is both a reaction to recent events and also timed to capitalise on the new baby.

“Just because the baby was conceived out of wedlock, during an extramarital affair, is no reason not to celebrate Mr Johnson’s continuation as the father of the nation. By the time he’s finished he will be the father of most of the nation.”

There will also be the secrets to a long and happy marriage, with critics (there’s always some) already claiming that those sections will be plagiarised.

“There will be a good mixture of Ancient Greek and some medieval French thrown in. It won’t be at all relevant, but it will make Mr Johnson sound superior, by virtue of a bought and paid for education.”

Free copies of the column will be mailed to every home in the United Kingdom and anyone that pins the article to their front door will be spared when the Angel of Death visits the land, ie, not have to return to work at the premature end of lockdown.

“If you want to know about the sanctity of marriage, best to find out from the man who’s lining up a new one, while still trying to wriggle out of the old one.”

Mind your language: the new NHS app doesn’t just identify proximity to covid-19 sufferers. It doesn’t just give “Classic” Dom Cummings and his merry troupe of Vote Leave conmen unprecedented access to your personal data. It now teaches you manners.

The app constantly listens in to your conversations. It is programmed to respond when a man and a woman are talking. At the first sign of the women becoming assertive, the voice of Matt Hancock himself will emerge to remind her of her place. Stock phrases are believed to include “moderate your tone, dear”, “get back into the kitchen”, and “calm down, dear, it’s only a conversation”.

One of the app’s developers was due to give us an interview, but, very unfortunately, before he could do so, the nation’s mainstream media discovered that he had once taken a non-essential journey, and vilified him across the front pages.

Another developer was unable to talk due to feminine modesty.

In the end Hancock’s right hand man, Andy Shandy, gave us the official line. He’s a bit of a wanker, and does the occasional job for Little Matt, but had the inside track on the tracking app.

“There’s absolutely nothing sinister going on,” he claimed brightly and not altogether convincingly. “Manners Maketh Man, and women should be seen and not heard. Victorian Values are coming back, thanks to Brexit, and it can all be achieved under the disguise of fighting covid-19.”

Isn’t this all, well, sexist, in the modern era?

“We are taking back control,” he explained, talking slowly as if to a lady. “Stay home, stay safe, have dinner on the table by six o’clock sharp, lie back and think of England. Do your duty for the good of mankind!”

Otherwise men will be forced to break lockdown to get their end away with someone more willing, get pissed, and play golf with other Telegraph readers.

“Exactly,” said Shandy.

And if a man doesn’t play golf?

“Then he’s clearly not one of us,” he replied. “Filthy working class scum, needs to be locked down for his own good. Rules are there for a reason you know.”

The app is also programmed to recognise regional accents. In this case, Matt Hancock’s voice will warn, “Know your place!”

It’s a jungle out there! A brave, patriotic soldier has been discovered, who is still fighting World War Two. The location is the impenetrable jungle in south-eastern Albion, known locally as “Essex”.

The man was discovered in full, if dirty, fatigues in Kingley Wood. He carried a loaded rifle, and took our reporter into custody in an old,  hollowed out oak tree, before consenting to grant an interview.

“Whose side you on?” he demanded, jabbing your reporter with his rusty bayonet. “Churchill or Fritz? You can’t trust anyone these days!”

I’m an Englishman, said the reporter, and anyway we are all on the same side these days.

“Nonsense! You’re a German spy! I speak German, you know, so you’ve been warned!” He moved the blunt point of the bayonet up to neck level. “Vot ist you in zis vood doink?”

Really, the war has been over for 75 years, put the rifle down and come home.

“You don’t fool me!” he shouted through his clenched teeth and advancing with a slightly constipated expression on his face.

Look, could you move away a bit, we are supposed to be keeping two metres apart at the moment.

“Typical Jerry trick!” he spluttered. “Don’t you cough on me, I’m part of the invincible English Army!”

Look, there are no Germans, and your government needs a brave, patriotic soldier like you to give the country a boost.

“No! They could attack at any moment!” he cried. “They will swarm in from Southend-on-Sea and overrun the country so it looks like Chelmsford when Poundland has a sale on!”

Your reporter, by now fed up, pushed the gun barrel to one side and left.

“Come back, you traitor! You’re going to betray me to the enemy!” He trained the rifle, steadied himself, pulled the trigger. The old gun clicked, but did not fire.

Enquiries locally revealed that an old lady, who claimed to be the soldier’s mother, would take pies to the wood daily, but nobody would be quoted on this. Doors slammed, net curtains twitched, and the little village assumed an air of silent menace.

“Are you local?” No. Fearing repercussions, your reporter narrowly escaped on the number 452 bus.

Pig-headed, out of touch, and still fighting The War, the government could learn much from this man.