Category: Governing the people

The new quality offering from Boris Johnson will be supplemented by contributions from the mysterious Mystic Mogg.

LCD Views has received a draft copy, which we publish in full:

Well hello and confimbulations to my old chums at the Telegraph. I’m starting the Boriscopes with Cancer because reasons. Once more unto the breach…

Cancer: Crabby, moves sideways and lives under a stone. Cancers are bloody difficult women and don’t say I didn’t warn you. Angela Merkel and Arlene Foster are typical of the breed. You will meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger and tell him to *#@% off.

Leo: Does nothing for ages then suddenly pounces on the undeserving. Leos lie in the Sun, The Mail and the Express. Big pussycats include Barack Obama and Robert Mueller. You will discover a whole load of so-called truths and shout about them on social media.

Virgo: Upright, uptight and never caught with their pants down. Virgos relieve their pent-up passions by shafting their friends and international trade, like Michael Gove and Liam Fox do. Today is a good day to keep your head down, which is a nice way to remain pristine.

Libra: Chip on both shoulders, and holds the balance of power. Strong, stable and thoroughly decent, like Theresa May and Vladimir Putin. One of you will lose a penny and find a pound, the other will do the opposite.

Scorpio: Hidden depths, sting in the tail – or just overrated arachnids? Hillary Clinton and Jeremy C. Hunt are Scorpios, so you decide. Find a hole to hide in.

Sagittarius: Mythical creature firing mythical arrows, like Jean-Claude Juncker and Anna Soubry. Nothing to see here. Enjoy the unicorns.

Capricorn: Fights like a goat, looks like a goat, brains of a goat. Michel Barnier and David Davis are perfect examples of the breed. Quit while you are behind.

Aquarius: Aquarians have an air of competence and modernity, like Sarah Palin and Dan Quayle. Seriously folks, if your birthday is in February, avoid politics. Leave it to the experts!! Enjoy your extra day every four years.

Pisces: Slippery, fishy, goggle-eyed. Think Recep Erdogan and Dominic Raab. Bollocks, February again. Yeah, bored now, so see Aquarius.

Aries: Sheepish fools, like Chris Grayling and Nigel Farage. They like to say ‘slam in the lamb’. Mint sauce is your mortal enemy.

Taurus: Bullies in a china shop. Just ask Justine Greening or Tony Blair. Can easily be brought down by a red rag, like the Mirror. Don’t have a cow, man.

Gemini: Saving the best ‘til last!!! The reputation for being two-faced, weak and unreliable could not be more wrong. I offer as evidence Mystic Mogg, Donald Trump, Jeremy Corbyn and of course yours truly. Have a good day!

See what I did there? I offer you my most explicitious feliciporations.

The now world famous Brexit Industries are thrilled to inform the great British public that their new novelty line, ‘Plastic Patriot’ key rings have sold out on day one, just like the men they’re modelled on.

”It must be the accuracy with which our design team in Moscow captured the facial expressions and avarice, greed, bigotry and insecurity of the men we took our inspiration from,” lead designer, Mr Knott Astooge, told our nativist toy correspondent.

The key rings are designed eventually to hold the great offices of state, but like all crazes they start with luring you in with collectibles to get a taste for it.

”We’ve cross pollinated the key rings with charm bracelets so people can benchmark their progress as they collect the full set and completely sell out,” Knott explained.

”You start with classic symbols and tropes from fascism in the first half of the twentieth century, build up to numerous offshore tax avoiding holdings, and after that level you’re really away to being a fully fledged plastic patriot, as you have serious personal losses to worry about should anyone attempt to enfranchise the plebs and make things fairer.”

Brexit Industries says they intend to continue their successful strategy of automated social media marketing to promote their product.

”Right now we’ve commissioned the cloning of thousands of middle aged British profiles to deploy as brand ambassadors. And more than a few hot, tattooed, bikini wearing girls in their twenties.”

You can begin collecting today but Astooge has some useful advice for the beginner.

”You really need to be a deeply unpleasant human being, devoid of empathy and most importantly, if possible begin all your statements of opinion with the classic signifier ‘Now I’m not a racist, but.”

Theresa May made an unexpected intervention into the ‘Today’ programme on BBC radio 4 this morning when she phoned up to interrupt the Justine Greening interview.

”Considering May’s job title we had to put her through and make the conflab a three way,” a radio producer told LCD Views, “it made for some variety anyway. Listening to Justine attempt to discover intelligent life on the dark moon Humphrys is a bit of a yawn.”

Once forcibly inserted into the live broadcast, Theresa May set about setting the record straight, as it pertains to her personal feelings on the last week of government.

”John you do backing vocals now while Justine and I talk,” Ms May ordered.

John Humphrys duly settled in to hum the “will of the people” as a fitting backdrop to the continuing discussion.

”Justine you were one of the first to resign from our government,” May stated, “did I look boovered?”

Ms Greening duly confirmed that “you looked like the same constipated, terror struck loser you always look like.”

This led to a lengthy pause, as it was disrespectful not only to the office of prime minister, but the individual.

”Hum hostile environment John,” Ms Greening said next, just in case anyone was thinking of pitying Ms May and/or taking her side.

”I’ll have your job,” Ms Greening followed up in what felt like a one two.

”And did I look boovered when Damien Green resigned? Or Priti Patel?”

Ms May carried on, listing the resignations, keeping firmly in her predetermined mental construct, unaffected by external stimulus.

”I am not boovered by the daily ministerial resignations as I want to govern alone,” the prime minister finished, although the others had already left the room, “all by myself. Just how I like it. Who’s the boss now? Let’s sign something mean into law.”

Nigel Farage is fantasising about reviving the defunct political entity that is UKIP. However, his party would need a powerful, charismatic and instantly recognisable leader. “If Theresa May cannot deliver the Brexit I want,” he grumbles, “then I will have to return Boris to frontline politics.”

Farage definitely helped to win the now-infamous Referendum. His blokey, beer-and-fags persona appealed to sections of the electorate, and he displayed a gift for crude Nazi appropriation. But ever since, he has been whinging about Brexit. You won, Nigel, get over it.

However, Farage has one major problem. As many-times leader of a fringe party, he is also many-times failure to be elected to Parliament. Hence the need for a leader who has.

“Boris Johnson is the ideal candidate,” waffled Farage. “He embodies all the characteristics of UKIP. He is opportunistic, selfish and talks bollocks.”

Farage emphasised the point by remarking that Boris promises much and delivers little, and that when the going gets tough, Boris quits.

“His experiences as Foreign Secretary will be invaluable,” witters Farage. “I mean, this is a colossus of a man. He is one of the few still willing to call a fuzzy-wuzzy a fuzzy-wuzzy. He has personally ensured that someone who claimed to be British, but had a foreign name, received an increased prison term. He is heroically rude to the Burmese, the Italians and of course the French. Perfect UKIP man!”

UKIP could become a force in British politics with Boris at the helm, Farage states. “’F*ck business’ is a very sensible idea,” he dribbles. “These powerful corporations holding the country to ransom. F*ck ‘em. Proper British summers, bendy bananas and no smelly immigrants disturbing a quiet night down the pub. That’s what the British people voted for!”

The British people collectively rolled their eyes and got on with life.

No definite word has yet come from Boris Johnson. It is believed that he is indeed plotting his return to the big time. Rumour has it that he is setting up his own political party – the Boris Johnson Party.

I P Standing’s (Hot Shot Hack Journalist) Secret Diary

Dear Diary,

It’s been hell I tell you…. hell!

Back in March I nipped out for a coffee with some new Russian friends in Salisbury, and I have been in quarantine for the last four months….

Has anything happened whilst I’ve been locked away at Porton Down?

Yes!

“Boris finally resigned from the foreign office,” whispered the LCD Views’ Murdoch look alike….”Now go follow up this rumour.”

I’m in the Wig and Pen in deepest Borchester. In walks the unmistakable frame of Boris Johnson. He looks sheepishly left and right and moves through towards the toilets. Intrigued, I follow in his footsteps. Just before the urinals he takes another door into the back yard and disappears into a large garden shed.

I creep towards a crack in the lattice boarding and place an ear to listen to the conversation.

“Right Arron what’s the plan?” the unmistakable soothing, dulcet tones of Boris.

“Boris, you are the leader we need to resurrect the party. I have the funds available from a friend of a friend, to mount the campaign. Money is no object. Will you accept?”

“You know my values Arron they are shallow and easily manipulated to ensure my name is spread across every newspaper…. Damn it man I’ll take it.”

I hear the spitting on hands and the sound of a handshake.

“Welcome to UKIP Boris, you will lead us to victory when May calls the next general election. Not long to wait….her own rabid backbenchers will topple her any day because she refuses to starve the middle classes as well as the poor.”

I scarper quickly back to the toilets and retch violently into the nearest ceramic bowl.

I need a taxi back to Porton Down and quick.

A silver toast rack, masquerading as a concerned member of Parliament, has revealed today that it’s privately shitting itself over the prospect of actually having to do something, as opposed to just mouthing off all the time, trying to bully others to do things.

”It is a little bit rum when it comes to a pass of this nature,” the toast rack confessed, while waiting to be interviewed again so it could mouth off again about what the other items of tableware should be doing.

Proposals it has neither the responsibility for nor the intention of having accountability for.

”Or, as we say in our humble dwelling, Et ubera mea tenere quae nutrire possit infantulum.”

And it seems the static rack has reason to furrow its polished brow, as various silver spoon holders, it believed to be in a position dictating the placements of the knives and forks, serviettes and saucers, are suddenly disappearing off the national tablecloth.

”Numerous of the spoons have been swept off the setting in the last twenty four hours. This is of deep concern to all British patriots and the tax dodging, human hating hedge funds, which are my actual constituency,” the toast rack said,

“if the ladles aren’t there to do the heavy lifting and convince all the common diners they should go hungry whilst their betters feast, then I may actually have to exceed the functions of my design. This will not be an uplifting experience, unlike four million people using food banks.”

People may begin to examine where the bread you hold in your rack comes from?

”Precisely. I am not made for the wet work of smashing democratic standards to shards and fleecing the country senseless, after having brainwashed a sufficient majority with racist nationalism to the degree their consciences and brains disengage, I am not a knife. I am merely a piece on the board with limited mobility, and a lot of polish, that people are dazzled by,

”Ego sum panis tosti eculeo. Et vis ad tenendum meo infectum nutrix.“

Great news for critics of Iain Duncan Smith’s flagship poor person elimination scheme, Universal Credit, with the announcement that Universal Credit is to be scrapped and replaced with involuntary tickets in the weekly Conservative Party funding lottery.

“It’s a sign that your government is listening to your concerns,” empathy void Andrea Loathsome told LCD Views,

“apparently some people were finding it hard to manage on below subsistence level welfare payments twinned with kafkaesque eligibility mazes and have actually taken to begging for food at banks,

“This is just embarrassing. What must their friends think? Although I suppose their friends are also workshy curtain twitchers. The poor and criminal classss really are incorrigible.”

But in spite of reservations within the party that opening their prize drawers up to dirty, poor people would lessen the status of a major political party using gambling to fund itself, the scheme has gotten the go ahead because no sane business will donate to the Tories, because of Brexit.

”Oh, let’s not get carried away,” Loathsome corrected, “oligarchs looking to make useful, heavily compromised idiots out of your elected representatives will still throw us bundles of unmarked bills,

”So too hedge fund racketeers who need us to crash out of the European Union for them to cash in, but even so, we’re finding ourselves a little short because we’ve so many secret scandals to throw money at. This is to make them go away, allegedly.”

How the lottery funding will work isn’t entirely clear long term, as it is expected to reduce the number of people claiming the benefit of funding the Tories.

”What matters is how we get through to tomorrow,” Loathsome said. “making everyone on benefits enter a lottery to fund our party with their welfare payments, and the chance that one of them may even win some money to payback a loan shark? Well, what an opportunity. That’s put the c back into con-servatives. Oh, and just to be clear, so there’s no complaints if you win, all prizes will be paid in roubles.”

Ms Loathsome went on to finish,

”It actually brings ourselves and welfare recipients closer together. Under the world we’ve created we’re only surviving day to day now too.”

The Prime Minister hailed the deal she hammered out at Chequers as a great victory. But it was a close run thing, some say. There was deadlock, even after May allowed extra time for debate. The issue was finally settled once and for all by a penalty shoot-out.

“I’m just so proud of the boys,” said a perspiring May afterwards. “They stuck to the game plan and kept their nerve. It’s a great night for England!”

May went on to claim that the result was “an overwhelming mandate” and that “Brexit is coming home!”.

“Let me be entirely clear about this,” she vacillated. “We won 4-3 on penalties, and you can’t get much more overwhelming than that! It’s coming home at last. Remember 1966? Free love, drugs, The Beatles. Good times, and we are taking control and bringing the good times back.”

A bunch of cheering cabinet ministers joined Captain May at this point, dancing and hugging one another. “Two World Wars and TWO World Cups!” they sang, over and over again. “Ingerland! Ingerland!”

The only person not enjoying himself was Boris Johnson. Boris revealed that it was he who scored the winning penalty, but for which side he was not too sure.

“It’s a gigantic turd!” he remarked, in one of his pot-and-kettle moments. “It’s horseshit, bullshit, and a humungous pile of poo. You can polish it all you like, and God knows I’ve polished a few turds in my time, but a turd is still a turd.”

Further analysis revealed that this heap of stinking manure was dwarfed only by the fudge mountain on the lawn outside Chequers. Both were being cleared away, and delivered by the lorry load to the nation’s gutter press.

The nation is now firmly behind May as she plots further glories for this outstanding team. “If we can beat ourselves,” she remarks, “we can beat anybody!”

LCD Views has the scoop on the historic meeting of the cabinet at Chequers yesterday, after an insider phoned to tell us it was “just twelve hours of staring at a photo of Jeremy Corbyn and primal screaming.”

It seems the thinking behind the group therapy focus on the man some believe to be leading the official opposition was only the fear of “commies raiding their chests of tax dodging treasure” could get the squabbling cabinet of self serving maniacs to adopt the outward appearance of common cause.

”Now we have restored collective cabinet responsibility crashing out of the EU to asset strip the U.K. will be much easier.”

This is because the negotiations with the EU are very straightforward, whereas the last few years have shown that internal negotiations by the Tory cabinet are hardly the easiest deal in history.

”I don’t honestly know what we’d do without a disaster socialist sitting on his hands waiting for the entire country to become a dumpster fire?” the insider mused, “but having those old Trots on the flip side of the ideological coin to our disaster capitalists at this time has been immensely helpful.”

To ensue the results of the primal scream therapy stay effective changes were made to the screensavers on all cabinet minister’s confiscated mobile phones.

”Every time a Tory cabinet minister looks at his smart phone now he’ll see a screensaver of either Corbyn, McDonnell or Owen Jones. It will keep them rigidly in line.”

Gavin Williamson will be the exception though.

”We’ve put a photo of Putin on his phone. So little Gav can see the man who’s playing him like a fiddle day in and day out.”

Great news for lovers of democracy today with the announcement that the hero of Little England, Nigel “I take the piss out of fishermen for fun” Farage is all set to return to frontline politics after growing a new generation of supporters in a laboratory.

“It’s groundbreaking stuff for the democratic process,” a technician from the ‘Make Meat Great Again’ movement, supporting Mr Farage’s return, told LCD Views.

“For years scientists have been attempting to grow pure British meat in a dish. Now they have achieved this amazing ecological advance, we aim to take the technology and immediately use it to grow a mass of climate change denying, racism fuelled bigots to vote for Nigel.”

But won’t that offset the potential environmental gains of the technology?

“That’s the entire point! Well, it’s part of the point. Most of the point is to ensure Nigel finally wins a parliamentary seat so he can not turn up for work in Westminster too. Just like his dedicated and principled stance of taking masses of public money with his MEP’s salary and doing f*ck all to justify it, except sow division on the public stage. It will just be great to see him elected to Westminster, but never there. Lab grown meat can realise this for the democratic process.”

But detractors of the ambitious plan have been quick to point out that a slab of meat grown in a dish won’t be able to vote.

“Seriously? I bet you’re a remainer? How the hell do you think the Conservatives are going to survive the next general election if they can’t change the law to allow a petri dish parented slab of gammon to cast a ballot? Get with the times!”

The laboratory that will be used to grow the new generation of Farage support will be based in Argentina.

“It used to be purposed to clone Hitlers. But they could never get the moustache right. And now thanks to the international coalition of tyrannical kleptocrats and greedy Western politicians, they don’t need to carry on. Brexit. Trump. Orban. Le Pencil. Others. Who needs to clone a toothbrush moustache leader when we’ve plenty on the world stage for slabs of gammon to back already. We just need the voters now. And best of all, once the meat has voted, we can slap it in a pan and fry it for lunch. Which is exactly what we have been doing with the old generation of gammon focused voters for decades.”

Get some pork on your fork.

“And give a ballot to a collection of cells with no functioning higher intelligence.”

So, in spite of the headlines about growing meat in a lab and letting it vote, nothing is actually new under the sun then?

“Now, now. Don’t be rude. These are people who vote for charlatans and bigots. If you hurt their feelings, they’ll never come around to your way of thinking. Hug a dish. Hug a petri dish.”