Category: Governing the people

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.”

LCD Views can report with a sense of tension not felt since the discovery of no toilet paper inside 10 Downing Street, that the bad cop of British politics, Dirty Theresa Maybe, has chosen a .44 calibre customs model with which to threaten to blow the United Kingdom’s economy’s head clean off.

And more, she’s set for a Friday showdown with the criminal gang of serial offenders she is the symbolic head off.

”She’s arranged a meet of the full outfit at a disused industrial mansion in the Buckinghamshire countryside,” a well heeled munitions supplier to Dirty Theresa told us, “she’s going to isolate them and pick any subversives off one by one.”

It’s expected before dispatching any disloyal member of her long running syndicate, she will first deliver the killer line,

”This is a max fac customs proposal. It has never been built or commissioned before. It’s incredibly complex and the IT dynamics of facial and number plate recognition likely to be used will all most certainly lead to a militarisation of the Irish Border on day one of implementation.”

She will then pause, to let the words hammer in, before continuing from a script committed to memory but not intellect.

”It will likely see the death of thousands of medium sized and small employers in the first year of operation, leaving the big players to gobble up and dominate.”

Another pause.

”Now ask yourself a question, punk, do I want collective responsibility in blowing the UK’s economic head clean off?”

Well punks, do ya?

LCD Views can report today about exciting progress on the memoirs of arguably Britain’s most famous twenty-first century statesman.

Speaking exclusively to Mr Cameron, during one of his rare visits to Blighty, the man famous for both attention to detail while in office, and chillaxing, gave one of our fictional reporters the inside scoop on his turgid opus.

“I like to think Churchill would be proud of my writing style,” Mr Cameron said, as we stood outside the shed, while he searched his key ring for the key to open up the modest, lawn dwelling.

“He was another prime minister who wrote. I’m not sure many people know that.”

Dave’s delightful shepherd’s hut, rumoured to have cost as much as the average annual income, was chosen as the location of the exclusive as it just epitomises the man so well.

“This is the bugger,” he muttered and turned the key in the lock, “it’s a bit rusty. Should I put some olive oil on it? Mind the cobwebs when you come in, I don’t spend a lot of time in here.”

So David, tell us about the exciting literary masterpiece?

“People said I cared too much about the working man,” Dave mused, appearing not to have heard the question, “but without appealing to the UKIP vote, by actually challenging the nativist, lie strewn path they hoped to force my party, and the country in general along, without that submission and sheer force of gutlessness on my part, what state would the country be in now? Not to mention all the Russian money poured into the party. I still haven’t figured out what all that was about.”

That’s an excellent question. We are sure your dedicated band of social media warriors will answer it for you.

Tell us about the autobiography though and why you haven’t just hired a ghostwriter?

“I’m a genuine man,” he answered, “what you see is what you get. I wanted to make the book authentic from cover to cover. It’s why I’ve skipped my early life and begun with chapter one, ‘Hugging Hoodies’.”

The hoodies will be very glad to get a name drop. What else is in it?

“The making of the hostile environment. How I appointed old Maybot to look good to the middle aged posh lady vote and then just let her have her head.

And what about that barnstorming effort in North Africa along with Sarkozy?

“I’m not sure I remember. I’ve eaten so much french cheese lately. My dreams are nightmares.”

You know, helping to depose Gaddafi because of Libya’s high position on the oil production table and then just hoping everything would take care of itself. No need for any Marshall Plans in the 21st Century.

“Oh that. I’m feeling a bit peckish. Let’s get some grub?”

Can we finish the interview first? What’s the Libyan chapter called?

“It’s a shame you know,” David replied, “Tony got such a bigger war than me. I’ve always been a little bit jealous of that. I guess I could have gotten us into Syria, but they are so low on the oil league, and anyway, then the USA got fracking and well…what would you like for lunch? Come on. I’ll have my man bring us up some foi gras?”

Can I see the wine list first?

“Ha! That’s what Sam calls my post office period. The whine list. As all I do is mope about the places we own blathering on about how do you finish an autobiography that ends in complete and utter failure?”

With a chapter titled, ‘Writer’s Block’.

“I”m using that. Red or white wine with lunch? Actually it’s not to early to pop a cork. Let’s have champagne.”

Please tell us what you’ve called the Libyan chapter first.

“If you insist. You’re as persistent as old George talking about balancing the books by shaming poor people into food banks. I’ve called the Libyan chapter ‘Mission Accomplished’. Now, it was champagne, wasn’t it?”

“Football means football,” a woman who sees it as her solemn duty to attach herself to England’s certain victory in the FIFA World Cup 2018 has written on a notepad.

”Football means football,” she repeats, several times, before adding, “and I mean to make a success of it.”

The speech is being prepared in advance and according to those in the know will be delivered regardless of the actual outcome of England’s 2018 campaign.

”England winning the World Cup is a tangible benefit of Brexit,” she will also say, “as we move forward as one nation with the other nations within our one nation subdued into their rightful positions of being subservient to my government, England’s victory brings glory and renewed national pride to Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales and Kent.”

Football means football.

Queries as to whether or not it will be wise to claim England’s success if they lose have apparently been dismissed.

”What actually happens is no longer important to those in government,” the insider observes, “What is important is how the people will emotionally interpret events. We aim to make a success of it.”

So even if England should make a seamless, smooth and orderly withdrawal from the World Cup before the final, the speech will be delivered as written in advance?

”Yes. Once May constructs something in her mind reality must be made to fit or she can not function. Football means football.”

Will Germany’s early exit get a mention in the speech?

”Of course. No matter how many decades have passed, no matter what the current generations of German people may or may not have done to move on and make reparations for past generation’s horrors, your government is determined to whip up the gammon voting Brexit supporting electorate with constant reference to this awful chapter in our shared history. Germany’s premature exit only strengthens our hand in the Brexit negotiations.”

But South Korea knocked them out.

”And we aim to make a success of it.”

The bomb squad were in action this afternoon after concerned residents of a strong Leave voting constituency called the emergency services after spotting an unattended pineapple.

”Me life flashed before me eyes,” Mr Gammy Gammon told our community care correspondent, “I were just out taking me dog Mangle for a drag down the high street when I caught sight of the pineapple in the reflection of the reflection of my mirrored sunglasses.”

The emergency services did release an audio recording of Mr Gammon’s frantic call, but it’s so breathless we’ve decided to save you the effort of listening. Just imagine a man panting after running for his life and hiding behind a class of school children on an excursion.

Another caller described the incident as “squeaky bum time.”

And Arrrron ‘all the r’s’ Hedgefund said the experience was,

”worse than that time I was stuck at the boarder in North Ireland with a broken homophone.”

The pineapple was apparently removed by the bomb squad and has been taken away to be destroyed in a controlled explosion before the rings will be battered and fried.

The bomb squad also responded to requests for an interview,

”Seriously? It was my first day off in over a month and I’m lying there on the sofa just about relaxed for the first time in weeks when I got the call regarding the bomb scare,” a spokesman said, “I grabbed my gear and scrambled to meet my team at a rallying point near to the incident only to discover it’s a gaggle of BBC Question Time audience wannabe’s terrified of some fruit? Talk about a waste of time and good adrenalin.”

We asked Mr Gammon what he thought of the bomb squad’s comments?

”Do they even train these people? This is life and death. If that pineapple had gone off God only knows what could have happened to the complexions of the entire neighbourhood. And to think they used to rent these dangerous devices out for parties? It’s a bloody good thing society has become more civilised, is all I can say.”

The wisdom of the collective of Little England MPs within the Westminster parliament was on full show today in a little studied clause of the EU Withdrawal Bill.

”That dragon is gone sunshine,” MP for pervs, C Chope cheered, as speaker Bercow read out confirmation of her maj putting her x on the bill.

The removal of the dragon from the Welsh flag was seen as part of the current favoured Brexit among cabinet, the so called ‘F*ck Wales First’ Brexit, which takes its inspiration from the words of world famous human impersonator Boris Johnson.

”We’ll be lifting the bloody kilts up and tearing them off the Scots next!” Chope shouted, smart phone in hand.

Other measures targeted at Wales, after the breaking of Tory promises to do with rail electrification and now the Swansea tidal lagoon, will be the roll out of wholesale de-electrification across the valleys.

”They can burn whale blubber for all I care!” Chope sallied on, “and we’re going to turn that Swansea bay into a bloody nuclear fuel dump. F*ck Wales!”

While Chope was clearly in unstoppable form, he wasn’t alone, as Bone, Mogg, Davis and a bunch of other complete and utter baggy pant stains cheered and hollered, before calming down and wondering how many bottles of champagne to celebrate with over lunch.

As to how Wales was taking being dumped on by Westminster yet again wasn’t clear,  as no one at the BBC could be arsed to find out.

”More castles for Wales!” Chope shouted, now in a bit of a lather, “Edward the first knew how to deal with the Welsh and Little England has not forgotten!”