Category: Governing the people

Chris Grayling is the latest minister to come clean about dirty deeds. He admits to attempting to snort coke, but couldn’t do it because of the high carbon dioxide content.

“I usually just drink it,” confessed Grayling. “But then Govey let on that he likes snorting it, so I thought I would give it a go!”

But that didn’t work out too well either.

“I sat there with my drink, snorting,” said Grayling. “But making myself laugh down my nose did nothing for me. I must say though, I did produce some impressive bogies!”

Eventually someone explained to him that snorting coke meant breathing it in through a rolled up banknote.

“Well, I thought, my plastic drinking straw is much the same thing,” Grayling continued. “So I did it! Then sneezed everywhere, because the bubbles got up my nose. I told Govey, I can’t see what all the fuss is about.”

But Gove isn’t the only government minister with a drug habit.

“Rory Stewart likes a bit of opium,” reveals Grayling. “No wonder he always smells so nice. He picked up the habit from Jacob Rees-Mogg, and Jacob admits to occasionally sampling laudanum with Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”

Then there are several cannabis users.

“Dominic Raab likes to smoke joints,” said Grayling. “So I tried it. I rolled my joint first, why you do that I still have no idea, then smoked it. I now have a large supply of smoked gammon. It’s delicious, but I still can’t see the attraction.”

Grayling also reveals that there is a small group that enjoys LSD.

“The old fashioned ones, who want a return to the pre-decimal currency,” said Grayling. “They claim that unicorns are not only real, but they have seen them and ridden on them. Well, I got some farthings and florins, but no unicorns appeared. It’s a mystery, and nobody will tell me what’s going on!”

And he departed, to the strains of Lucy in the Sky with David Davis.

GO WHISTLE : Global Britons need have no fear today as the U.K. shortly embarks on its next premiership, with the oh so slow sinking of the bad ship Mayhem, as supporters of hot favourite Boris Johnson say they’ve priced in all his noteworthy qualities.

“We’ll be alright Jack, don’t worry about us,” a gaggle of Tory inheritance millionaires told LCD Views, “we didn’t get to where we are today by dint of the accident of birth. Hard work. Graft. More Graft. A lot more graft. And even more graft got us here as buoyancy aids to the most feckless and untrustworthy man in British politics. And given the shower in Westminster currently, that’s saying something! Trust us to profit whatever happens.”

And whatever happens is highly likely. Mr Johnson doesn’t have a reputation as a details man, rather the opposite. And he doesn’t have a reputation for honesty. And he doesn’t have a reputation for loyalty. And he doesn’t have a reputation for the degree of blood, sweat, toil and tears that Brexit Britain would bring.

“Lazy, feckless, dead cat on the table PM? Yes please,” the supporters chorused, “just like Donald Trump in the White House, everyone will be so distracted by all the chaos and outrageous comments that they won’t see what we’re up to behind closed doors. Look at the Boris show! Be appalled! Be surprised. Watch as the NHS gets privatised.”

But what of the chance that Boris as PM will read the impact papers of Brexit and decide he’s not doing it? He’s got the brass neck for any sort of policy reversal. He hardly wants to be the PM who breaks up the UK.

“Then it’ll all be May’s fault. The old fool. She’s the Brexit patsy forever. Job done. Off you trot. Don’t you worry about Boris, he’ll be okay. And we say to the EU, keep your banana straightening machines away!”

So it’s just bluffing it out all the way?

“And some bullying too. Anyone who gets in the way of Boris will be like a Japanese child on a rugby pitch.”

His supporters may have priced in Boris Johnson’s flaws, but I’m not sure the rest of us can afford it. Boris as PM? He’ll make a Titanic success of it and I know that the lies will go on…

National Service is the best cure for delinquent kids, says ‘Tory Rory’ Stewart. Stewart, the wannabe PM, hopes that cadets will progress into the EU army.

“You must understand that this is strictly non-military,” explained Tory Rory, rolling a special ciggie. “Young people will be trained to march, obey orders and kill foreigners, but in a completely non-military way.”

That sounds intriguing. So who will be conducting this novel non-military National Service?

“The Army, of course,” Tory Rory replied, taking a deep drag. “The Army will soon be running everything, after whoever beats me in this leadership race crashes us out of the EU. The Army is the solution to all domestic emergencies!”

Suddenly it makes perfect sense.

“The Army will take over from the failing police service,” he continued, blowing smoke rings. “It will run hospitals, battlefield style, and will completely take over education. A bit of old-fashioned discipline is what the kids of today need.”

And presumably National Service will replace sixth-form colleges?

“Exactly. It will be the nation’s finishing school,” he said, the opium really kicking in now. “Career opportunities are many, and I’m sure a lot will wish to progress into the EU army.”

Difficult, if we have crashed out of the EU.

“What? Nobody in their right mind would do that!” exclaimed Tory Rory, completely addled now. “The EU brings stability, prosperity and growth, and the longest peace Europe has ever known!”

He paused, apparently shocked by what had just come out of his own mouth.

“Yeah, but Brexit, yeah,” he drawled. “Got to Brexit come Hell or high water. Kind of appropriate given this climate change lark, eh?”

Tory Rory paused, seemingly deep in thought. He looked down at the remains of his ciggie.

“Christ, this is good shit,” he said finally.

Stewart retired to sit on a cactus and ponder his next move. Determined to blow his own trumpet, and his chances of ever progressing further, he rolled another ciggie to enable him to cope with his cognitive dissonance.

The drugs don’t work. Just say no, kids.

SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMONDS : Identical twin girls have taken over control of the U.K. this afternoon after Theresa May stepped down.

The Grady girls will serve as interim Tory leader and prime minister until the Conservative Party leadership contest is concluded.

”They may even be asked to stay on,” Chairman of the 1922 committee, Mr Satan, told LCD Views, “it’s unlikely whoever succeeds will be able to command the confidence of parliament. So if we can’t find a way to prorogue the meddling chamber then a little bit of the old supernatural terror maybe needed to see it out. At least until Brexit is delivered.”

It’s believed Ms May handpicked the Grady twins personally, believing they would be well suited to continue her now famous hostile environment.

”I personally would have just stuck it out,” Mr Satan shrugged, “Ms May’s knack for turning all that is good to dust was perfectly suited to the disaster capitalist project we’re carrying out. I don’t personally believe she’d exhausted her appetite for deceit, blackmail and treachery. I guess she just ran out of puff? Shame. I would have carried on supporting her. She’s one of my brightest and best.”

But out of puff May is. The Grady twins will however guarantee strong and stable governance throughout while the Prince of Lies chooses her successor and makes them an offer they can’t refuse, in exchange for temporary power.

”Anyone concerned that we’re just wasting more time while the Brexit clock runs out needn’t worry,” Mr Satan added, “given the rapidly deteriorating state of parliamentary democracy and the declining economy, that’s exactly what we’re about. So too the official opposition. Just settle in and enjoy the ride.”

We did ask the Grady girls for comment but all they would say was,

”Hello Blighty, come and play with us. Come and play with us forever…”

Donald Trump has backed Boris Johnson’s Tory leadership bid – but has some important advice. If you want to be an international leader, you have to be more orange.

Trump knows what he is talking about. After all, he is President of the United States, the World, the Universe, and Loompaland.

His advice was, naturally, splashed across social media. “Boris is a bigly great man!” read one typical post. “He learned from the best – me! I admire his hair, I LOVE his attitude. Like me, he is being bullied for telling his version of the truth. Prime Ministerial harassment!”

So far, so Trump. But a late night missive from the presidential bathroom contained the vital missing link. It read, “Boris must be MORE ORANGE if you covfefe”

Rumours that the President actually did an Elvis and died on the throne, mid-tweet, have been greatly exaggerated.

Analysts have been puzzling over the end of this tweet. However the initial advice is sound. To become PM, Boris must go on a diet of Wotsits.

Johnson himself is delighted. “I absolutely love Wotsits,” he admitted. “I also love Trump. I particularly admire the way he says whatever he likes without fear of getting Muellered. The courts won’t find me guilty either. I’m Boris Johnson. Talking bollocks is what I do. They can’t prosecute me for being me!”

Members of Boris’ staff reveal that he is stockpiling skin pigmentation products as well as Wotsits. He is going to reveal his new statesmanlike appearance at the televised beauty contest. This is already being described as ‘going the full red panda’.

Unfortunately, Trump has recently cut all communications with Boris. Johnson believes Trump is mixing him up with Nigel Farage. “It’s ridiculous!” said Boris. “After all, he’s a mendacious, lying, narcissistic twat, with his own personal advancement being his only goal in life. We are nothing alike!”

The future’s bright…

POLL AXED : Brexiters, Lexiters, Corbynites and Moggdolytes are taking comfort in each other’s arms at the news SNP leader Nicola Sturgeon, and future Libdem leader Jo Swinson, are all set to replace May/Foster as joint leaders in Downing Street.

”It’s a new dawn,” a distraught looking Moggodolyte sniffled, thumbing through a memorial edition of Jacob Rees-mogg’s fantasy novel about crushing the poor, “and it’s a terrifying one. They might want to make us pay tax to fund public services sufficiently again and restore civil society. The end of neoliberal Darwinianism? It’s terrifying.”

Lexiters were also emotional.

”I dedicated decades attempting to turn England into a time capsule of the 1970’s crossed with an endless communist revolution. I was going to personally make the trains run on time. What’s left to live for? These two capitalist stooge’s will keep us shackled to EU rules on human and worker’s rights, gender and racial equality, new reforms to curb the tax dodgers, environmental focus in an attempt to keep the environment habitable? It’s horrifying. Where’s the room for a worker’s utopia with re-education camps for thought criminals in all that?”

Not to be missed out the Corbynite’s were just furious.

”I didn’t spend the last three years telling anyone who queried Corbyn’s stance on Brexit on social media to fuck off and vote Tory for nothing. Now they gone and voted Libdem and Green and Plaid and SNP! Traitors! They’re undermining the leader! And that’s his job!”

The Brexiters however seemed strangely pleased.

”Endless struggle. We now have endless struggle. And most importantly, Nigel’s EU pension is only getting fatter, well, assuming it isn’t all docked away for expenses fiddling by the time he finally retires.”

None of this was destined of course, until the Labour and Conservatives reacted to the fraudulent EU referendum in 2016 by deciding the centre, and left to right of it, in British politics had ceased to exist.

Policy made in denial, it seems, eventually led to exile. At least that’s apparently how Jeremy Corbyn plans to govern the Labour Party now that most of the PLP have finally split. As to the Tories? Who cares. So long and good riddance.

The polls have it. The polls have it.

GOOD FENCES MAKE GOOD NEIGHBOURS : Home Office Minister Sajid Javid has taken another great stride towards 10 Downing Street today by taking a pop at the Scots.

“It’ll play really well to the Tory membership, including the one that lives in Scotland,” Mr Jobby told LCD Views, “I’m personally very pleased with today’s tweet. When Sajid asked me to be a campaign adviser I wasn’t aware quite how hard we’d punch out at the colonials. I’m really enjoying it. I’m drafting a tweet insulting Nicola Sturgeon’s mate Varadkar next. This is to ensure he also knows who he’s dealing with when Sajid also re-negotiates the Irish backstop. And don’t get me started on the Welsh!”

Why not?

”We don’t know any of their names.”

Negotiations over borders and backstops promise to feature highly in any Javid premiership, given how fast the rush to independence for the various nations of the U.K. is likely to be. And that’s regardless of who is installed as the next Tory PM.

But what would Mr Javid do in the highly unlikely event of Scottish independence?

”That’s just not up for discussion. As the future prime minister revealed in his tweet to Scotland today, the Scots know the benefit from English rule. They won’t want to change the habits of centuries. They voted in 2014 to stay in the union, largely on the basis of EU membership, but no one cares about that anymore. We’re all Brexiters now. Even the Scottish! Because they’re ruled wisely by the English.”

Play along though, what if? Purely hypothetically?

”Firstly, and this is confidential. If Scotland tries to hold another independence referendum Sajid is likely to nuke Nicola Sturgeon.”

Actually use Trident?

”Yes. We will deal with the SNP once and for all! Mwahahaha!”

But what if that fails to annihilate the Scottish independence drive?

”Oh, then Mr Javid promises a free and frictionless border with Scotland. Dealing with the Scots is really very simple. Just wait to see what Mr Javid tweets on it once he becomes PM. He’s just getting warmed up.”

Ann Widdecombe, the face that launched a thousand shrieks, has vowed to make a difference in the EU. Her first ambition is to sit on the fisheries committee.

Nigel Farage, the face that launched a thousand shakes, is backing her bid. “It’s an excellent career move,” he coughs. “It brought me fame and fortune and a fish supper for doing fuck all!”

Widdecombe herself was eloquent on the subject. “I have a duty to make the unelected bureaucrats see that Brexit means Brexit,” she screeched, in that familiar banshee with elocution lessons voice. “I will shout it in their faces until they get it. That’s the only way to deal with Johnny Foreigner!”

That is, if she attends any more often than Nigel. “Of course I will,” confirms Widdecombe. “I’m not going to Brussels though. I can’t stand sprouts, they give me frightful wind!”

Widdecombe confirms that she will actually be working from home a lot. “I will make a full contribution,” she promises. “I must get on to the council to organise me a postal vote!”

Essentially that means she will be sitting at home, writing letters about fish. “And being paid for it!” Widdecombe points out. “Otherwise it’s the same as what I was doing anyway. It’s win win!”

The fisheries committee meets on a Tuesday. “That’s unfortunate,” Widdecombe comments. “My dancing classes are on Tuesday. It’s a question of priorities.”

So, attendance as frequent as Nigel, then? “As an elected member of the unelected bureaucracy, it is my duty to remind women everywhere that they need to be dragged around by the hair,” she argued. “Only then can Britain return to its glory days!”

Widdecombe has already drafted her maiden aunt speech. “One of my nephews is sorting out this Skype thingy for me,” she explained. “Since my nice new blue passport doesn’t let me travel to the EU, it’s only advisory.”

It’s all rather fishy.

Annunziata Rees-Mogg, newly elected MEP for the East Midlands, has expressed a certain amount of confusion. Where the hell is it, she wants to know.

This will come as a great comfort to voters in Sutton-on-Sea, Chapel-en-le-Frith and Barton-in-the-Beans. She is a clean slate, a blank page. She will have no preconceptions as well as no knowledge.

“One has no idea where this East Midlands place is,” said Annunziata, after several victory glasses of vintage champagne. “It doesn’t matter, it sounds ghastly, wherever it is. I’m not going to sit in the bloody EU parliament anyway!”

Erm, it’s your job now, a nervous aide reminded her. You have been democratically elected to serve…

“Nonsense! Off with his head!” she retorted. “I rule, you serve. That’s what this is all about. Remove this blithering idiot from my presence and have him executed at dawn!”

I have a map of the UK if it helps, squeaked another aide. If you take the train from St Pancras…

“One does not use public transport!” she replied magnificently. “If one cannot get there within the hour in one’s brother’s post chaise, then it can’t be worth going. Throw this man into the dungeons!”

Look, it’s just here! gestured the departing minion, desperately waving his map as Annunziata’s heavies dragged him off by the hair.

“One does not even acknowledge the existence of The North,” replied Annunziata conclusively. “Flat caps, clogs and cobbles. Like one of Jacob’s little fantasies.”

Very soon the afterglow of her victory began to fade. Before long, like a Cheshire Cat, all that remained was Nigel Farage’s grin.

Once upon a time, the UK followed a white elephant down a rabbit hole. It followed a dodo, ate some magic mushrooms and listened in thrall to a pack of lies told by a pack of cards. Let us hope that it wakes up before it’s too late.