Category: Governing the people

LCD Views has heard from an aide to the prime minister that Ms May got an awful fright this morning while conducting a search of her war cabinet.

“She was looking for the Penderyn whiskey bottle to fill her hip flask,” Mired Stiminer told LCD, “I don’t know why she was having so much trouble finding it, she keeps it in her desk drawer usually, but David Davis had been over to thrash out new Brexit catchphrases, so…”

It seems after searching the pot plant, an aspidistria that May describes as her “one true friend in all the world”, she decided the Penderyn bottle had to be in her war cabinet.

“It’s a bit daft to think it would be there,” Stiminer went on, “Boris would have polished it off if Davis hadn’t nicked it, just out of spite.

Not to mention Gove. He takes things to wind her up. He’d take her seat on the front bench if he could get away with it.

Or Hunt often nicks medicinal things to sell to Americans.

He took her first aid kit and sold it on eBay to an American bidder calling himself United Healthcare Group, which seems a funny handle for a person.

It cost the public purse £50, really high end kit, and he sold it for a fiver and a holiday in Bermuda! Ms May was going to sack him for it, but she chlorine chickened out.”

But with nowhere else to turn Ms May turned to her cabinet.

“She didn’t half shout in shock when she flung back the cabinet doors and found Jeremy Corbyn inside it hunched over a spy phone with Secretary of State for War John Profumo!”

But what did she do?

“What could she do? She recovered her composure and asked them if they knew where the Penderyn bottle was.

They said no, but Jeremy kindly gave her a hit of Smirnoff, that’s how the Russians pay him, and then told her to close the cabinet doors as they hadn’t finished telling the Kremlin what she had for breakfast that morning.”

But how will she react to the discovery?

“She’ll drink till the bottle is empty I suppose. She’s under a lot of strain at work.”

No. About finding Jeremy Corbyn with a Russian spy inside her cabinet just a day after hotshot Tory youth MP Ben Bradley was forced to bend the knee to Corbyn on twitter, for his little bit of democracy undermining libel the other day?

“Oh. Nothing. She’s not capable of doing anything about anything anymore. She’s already operating at the top of her game as it is.”

The Home Office sneaked out this snippet of news under the radar. Fortunately, LCD Views always looks under the radar and has picked up the story. Essentially, post-Brexit, the responsibility for policing across the UK will be contracted out to local people bearing firearms.

Privatisation is a major theme of the right-wing thinking currently in vogue. The logic that private individuals can deliver a more efficient service than the public sector will be applied to the police. Local policing will be contracted out, to the lowest bidder. All police forces are to be disbanded the moment the UK leaves the EU. Experts predict that vigilante justice will prevail thereafter.

LCD’s Justice At What Price correspondent spoke to criminal mastermind Bobby Onthebeat.

“Local people know the tensions and flashpoints within their own community,” he said. “Local Policing For Local People is the new slogan. Better than some airy-fairy wet behind the ears Plod straight out of Cop College!”

But the guns, what about the guns?

“They are the ultimate deterrent!” claims Onthebeat, swelling with manly pride. “A dig in the ribs with an assault rifle will make the crimmos think twice about nicking jelly babies out of the pick ‘n’ mix ever again!”

They are criminals. They won’t think twice about arming themselves and starting a gun battle on the high street, we suggested.

At this point, Onthebeat suddenly remembered that he had an urgent appointment with the Police and Crime Commissioner, and scarpered.

We subsequently asked the PCC, Lord Whatwerewethinking, about white collar crime, since the Fraud Squad would no longer exist. “White collar crime is a complete myth,” claimed His Lordship. “Rich people don’t commit crimes. Why do you think the prisons are full of poor people?”

Reassured, we look forward to a time when the greater availability of guns will stop crime for good. It will be a blood red, deathly white and blue murder Brexit.

An independent parliamentary disciplinary panel has found Ben Bradley MP for Idiocy, over qualified to be a Tory MP.

”He should probably phone Elon Musk up and tell him straight ‘I Ben Bradley, I am a visionary and you Mr Musk, you need me’,” panel chair, Mr Common Antique said.

”If Musk is too afraid of the competition he should next call Donald Trump and say to him straight, ‘I Ben Bradley, I am a legal genius and you Mr POTUS, you need me.”

The advice has been lent added weight by the Royal Society of Marine Floaters, who added unexpectedly,

”We know about pools. We know about ponds. We know about rivers and streams and palm fronds. Ben Bradley MP is too big for this pond. He should seek fame and fortune where he can spread his wings and quack.”

The flood of unsolicited advice comes after Ben Bradley MP for Idiocy libelled alleged, infamous soviet era spy Jesus Christ (has risen and will slowly float back down again if he doesn’t stop fudgeberging Brexit) on social media.

”I’m going to fight this all the way to deselection,” Ben told LCD’s legal whiz, “I’m going to raise a local militia to defend democracy. Hang on, let me tweet that.”

Ben tweeted, deleted and then explained,

”I was just following orders anyway, why pick on me? They must think I’m disposable? I’m not come coffee cup.

Well I’m here to tell them today that I, Ben Bradley MP, I am not going away. After all, they may need to use me as a dead cat on the table some other day.”

A strong and stable woman has taken advantage of the clownish antics of waffling foreign secretary Boris Johnson to have a secret meeting with her superiors in Stormont.

”I didn’t want to go on this team building exercise,” the woman told LCD Views, “they’re so bloody hard headed my bosses. I was worried they’d have me slithering on my belly in the mud under barbed wire. Or some other nonsense that will do nothing to help me reach my arms sales targets.”

A reasonable concern.

“Mind you, a blancmange on a train dessert trolley looks like a monolith next to me.

Do you like eating sweets on trains? Can we talk about transportation sweets rather than Northern Ireland?”

Still, it wasn’t as bad as she feared, one of her vp’s rambling about sex tourism yesterday as the future of Britain freed from the constraints of an overweening Brussels certainly distracted the media and the public.

”I hope I don’t have to talk to her again soon. Ever since I sold a controlling stake in my medium sized, family owned business to Foster and co, I’ve barely slept a wink.”

But luckily for her at least on one important and thorny issue her tough business partner is aligned.

”I do appreciate it,” Ms May winked. “She’s so easy on benchmarks for the Irish Border issue, she’s happy to pretend it’s not a problem either, so long as Brexit means Brexit, who gives a toss if a few cows get smuggled in someone’s front door and out the back of a house and across a line on a map?”

So when is the next meeting?

”I asked her about that. As her office in Stormont is currently closed due to some pickle over words that is just so boring to me.

But it seems so long as she gets to tell me what to do about anything that takes her fancy I’m free to get on with things as I see fit.

Is it normal to pay someone to take a controlling stake in your family business, or are they supposed to pay you?”

We left her to try and work it out.

Motoring enthusiast Theresa May is expecting to drive passed thousands of food banks on the road to Brexit.

LCD Views’ best intentions correspondent went along to brunch at Ms May’s central London crash pad to hear what she expects to learn from the experience.

He sent back this report of the scene.

INT  10 Downing Street   Morning

A grey hared woman wearing a neck chain you could flog a hyena to death with sits at a dining table.

She fiddles with her napkin.

Turns one cloth corner in a tight knot.

Her eyes could be swapped with the glass eyes in an old porcelain doll and it’s likely not many would notice.

It’s a long table. It would be difficult for people sat at either ends to hear each other without shouting.

But there’s only one other person with her. A hack with a smoker’s cough who looks like he hasn’t shaved since new year and is almost certainly drunk.

Reporter

“So Ms May, what are you hoping to see on the road to Brexit?”

Theresa May

“Food banks mostly, I suspect. It’s funny how high roads get dotted with one type of business. Although I won’t be stopping. I work hard enough to put sufficient food on my table.”

A servant enters carrying a silver platter. Her arms tremble. There is so much food on that tray.

The servant trips and almost spills the food. She mutters something in a foreign language.

Theresa May’s head snaps about like a rottweiler smelling a bleeding kitten.

Reporter

“Now that’s what I call a full english breakfast!”

Theresa May

“I will only pick at it. You may take one strip of bacon and a hash brown.”

Theresa May blushes.

Reporter

“What’s the matter?”

Theresa May

“Hash brown is a naughty word. It’s a foreign form of food.”

Reporter

“Oh. The butter is British, isn’t it?”

Theresa May

“I churn it myself. Just by looking at the cream.”

There is silence as the trembling servant places the heavy tray on the table. She withdraws, turns and almost runs for the door.

Reporter

“What are the statistics on the growth of food banks since you took office, and what impact do you expect driving on the road to Brexit to have on the living standards of both the working poor and the unemployed?”

Theresa May

(Those glass eyes are so hot suddenly you could use them to weld)

“Get out.”

Reporter

(stands, stuffing sausages into his pockets)

“You know it’s the road to nowhere you’re driving on? Or maybe the road to hell? Taking a magical misery tour?”

Theresa May twists the corner of that napkin again. Tighter. Tighter.

Theresa May

“After we leave the European Union and I am free to bring in legalisation to snoop on your computer at will I will make it my hobby to hang about in your search history. I’ll find out how British your values are. I’ll find out!”

End scene.

 

 

There is reassuring news for the minority of people worried the United Kingdom’s executive has no idea where it’s going with the announcement that the future of the country will be decided over the next few weeks by rats fighting in a sack.

LCD Views has long campaigned for a clear and easily communicable set of policies and we celebrate knowing that at last our call is answered.

We sent our Downing Street insider along to a meeting of the Conservative Party cabinet to learn more.

“We’ve been waiting for someone to throw us out of 10 Downing Street to be honest (for the first time ever),” Ms May, acting prime minister, explained to our man.

“I mean, you won’t find a bigger house of cards than my government. I should know, I put it together after all.”

But it seems the lack of a concerted effort to dispose the May government has forced her to actually make some settled policy decision on Europe and other areas.

“Domestic policy is easy enough. We just decide what is the kindest possible thing to do and we pick the opposite. But Europe, boy, that’s a bigger pickle than most realise. We’ve had to come up with a novel way to fill in that policy hole.”

And it seems they have.

“Right now each and every member of your cabinet is training a rat to fight. Once the training is finished we will put them all in a sack in the middle of the cabinet table and let them fight to determine who’s king rat.

It’s going to be vicious.”

It seems whichever rat emerges ‘king rat’ will get to decide the Brexit policy of May’s government.

“I must admit I’m a little nervous about my own chances,” Ms May said, “I was asked to pick one of two rats to train and I still haven’t decided. But I’m sure it will be alright on the night if I just believe it will be.”

Once the sponsor of ‘king rat’ has set out their policy on the future of the United Kingdom it will be easily communicated to the voting public much like any other readily communicable virus.

May the best rat win.

British Army chiefs are said to be uncertain how to respond to an order direct from 10 Downing Street that they are to synchronise privates on parade with Trump’s totally non-phallic military calvacade later in the year.

LCD Views normally requests Defence Secretary Gavin “tarantula” Willyson write for us directly on any defence related matters, so why change a good habit now?

Over to you keeper of the dark arts.

“People are asking me how I feel about that trembling bird brain in my office of destiny at Downing Street going behind my back and ordering my British Army to organise a parade,” Mr Willyson writes, “am I mad?”

And are you mad?

“I’m furious!

When I promoted myself to run the military of the United Kingdom I did so because it seemed the natural progression for chief whip of the Conservatives.

What’s better than a book full of other people’s secrets when it’s time to apply a mental chinese burn, than having the whole saucy military in the palm of your hand when some pinko, commie, leftie, commie, pinkos get up to no good, once the post Brexit food rationing starts?

I’ve the whole lot of you right where I want you. It makes me aroused.

Not in a sexual way. In the purely academic sense of having all those guns and missiles and submarines under my command. Throbbing in the palms of my hands.

Cheers me up the thought on down days.

Days like the day following the day after you have a big spray about the Russians in the press.

But you forgot about all that illicit stuff in the early 00’s. And the devious rooskies already have a fat file on everything naughty you’ve ever done.

Which is shock, even if you’re defence minister of a nuclear power.

Who thought that being defence minister of a nuclear power would be harder than screaming behind closed doors at gutless Tory MP’s who are terrified someone will find out what they did on their gap year?

Oh, this is probably all too much for the average voter to understand. This is why you’re the ruled and not the ruler. Metric or imperial! ha!

Now, no military parade in the United Kingdom is going to be phallic, as we will have downsized the whole show to a couple of cardboard cutouts by the summer, and neither will Donald’s, not with hands his size.

We can line up a flat screen television in Leicester Square, show the US on parade on it and have our privates out and parading at the same time. No way on earth will that flop. What ho!”

 

Global Britain 2.0 publishers have chosen LCD Views (out of a competitive field of one) to make the patriotic and nourishing announcement that the updated edition of their bestselling cookbook, ‘Brexit recipes : How to eat mud in a time of plenty’ will be updated to include a dairy section.

“It’s truly exciting for anyone who takes all the eggs they have out of the fridge, while high as a kite on populism, and drops them on the floor,” GB Chief Editor, Mar Larky, told us.

We interviewed Mar in a pop up cafe by the Thames.

“It’s a great idea Mar to have a pop up cafe on the foreshore while the tide is out.”

“Isn’t it just. You don’t happen to know what time the tide comes in do you?” Mar was so excited, he almost spilt his triple espresso macchiato.

“No. But I’m sure if we just believe it’s not going to rise we’ll be fine. Tell us about the updated edition?”

“Sure thing Searchlight. Inside this updated edition is all anyone who still cooks will need to easily reverse egg related accidents.”

That’s really good timing when you consider the state of the country.

“Say you actually make an omelette and break all your eggs. Or scramble some eggs by mistake.

We all do that from time to time, when it was actually our brains we meant to scramble before watching BBC Question Time?”

I know the feeling.

“That’s not a problem anymore.”

It seems the recipes Mar has compiled for putting eggy mishaps right will involve simply building a time machine and stepping inside.

“Our new generation tardis designs mean you can build one from materials found about the home.

No one should be left staring at an empty egg container, unless of course your children need them to make a spaceship.

Although we do cover that in “After the Drumpf : Life beyond Earth”, just in case you’re interested.

Most recyclable products can be used to build a vehicle that can be launched into orbit using only the power of your imagination and some hot air. We call them Johnson Balloons.”

We did ask if there would be any legal complications arising out of using the ‘tardis’ as a name?

“Why would there be? It’s our BBC. We pay for it.

We can use John Humphrys as a utensil drawer if we want. Andrew Marr as a food processor. Andrew Neil to oversee an illegal cock fighting ring. Nick Robinson as a souffle mould. The choice is ours.”

Demand is expected to be intense for the updated edition, but only because by the time it hits the shelves all the other books will have been eaten already or used to warm homes. So I’d pre-order yours today. It’s only £200M a week. A real steal!

Sounds of alarm are mixing in with the screeching of high windows opening on the upper firms of futures brokerage firms today with the news that Brexit stocks have begun to slide after the company issued a series of profit warnings.

“It’s a bit of a pickle,” Brexit broker David Davis told LCD Views, “I mean, these profit warnings were top secret, we weren’t even supposed to show them to the shareholders.

I’m a little surprised they exist to be honest, I’ve been running around tell the world they didn’t, because I was so drunk at the time I was supposed to have written them, I couldn’t remember if I did or not.

I ordered every one of the fifty two people I gave a copy not to show anyone.

I’m buggered if I know how they leaked out? It’s not like we want to get people used to the idea little by little that they’re in for one god almighty shock. Definitely not the frog in the slowly boiling pot theory applied to running a country.”

It is to be hoped that stocks in whistleblowers are holding their ground, because Davis claims he will be hunting for whoever did it, once he finishes the latest round at the Commons bar.

“Don’t be silly!” He laughed back, in our face,

“Of course I won’t be looking for who leaked them.

I’m attempting to get to the end of the Brexit process without looking in the mirror.

It’s making shaving a bugger of a job though. Can you tear me off a few tabs of toilet paper? I think I’m cutting my own throat.”

LCD Views would like to reassure anyone holding Brexit stocks who maybe feeling anxious that there is nothing to worry about, these profit warnings are perfectly normal in modern Britain.

We advise you to hedge against any losses you may worry about incurring with Brexit by putting everything else you own into bitcoin and USD dollars together.

There is absolutely no concern at all that if Donald Trump is able to stack governance of the Fed across the pond with sociopathic idiots serving his simplistic understandings of global trade and diplomatic relations, and the interplay with financial markets, that this will in anyway cause a crash in the value of the dollar, once he is able to start artificially devaluing it, causing a pickle for the United Kingdom, as we pull out of the European Union to embark on a bold and triumphant global tour in a boat.

While stocks may go up and they may go down, Brexit stocks can only rise like Daedalus and Icarus. But maybe start stockpiling a little tinned food, just in case.

Brexit Dad Figel Narage has expressed his views on the so-called Brexit brain drain.  His brain is staying exactly where it is, he says.

“Brexit means Brexit!” he declared. “This means we are staying exactly where we are, and everybody else can clear off. My plumbing is just fine, so get over it.”

LCD sent Lone Centrist correspondent Caleb V Nice to speak to Narage. He suggested that intelligent Brits would leave the country while they still can. “Brain Drain means Brain Drain,” he remarked, cheekily.

“The only thing going down the drain is, well, what is supposed to go down there. Here, let me demonstrate…” At this point Mr Narage left the room. Ten minutes and a hearty flush later, he reappeared. “There! Everything is going just swimmingly!” he said. “Oops, wrong metaphor.” He left briefly to flush again.

Mr Nice gently reminded him that the phrase Brain Drain was not meant to be taken literally.

“Cream rises, and dregs fall,” stated Narage. “The brightest and best will stay. Who wouldn’t? And the rubbish will be flushed out into the Brussels cesspool. That’s science, that is!”

No, no, could we move on from actual sewage systems, pleaded Mr Nice.

“Oh, I see!” Narage responded. “Nudge nudge, wink wink! I know what you mean! See my wife, Krystyna? Now you know why she is always smiling! And my lovely children, Figella and Figel junior? The old Narage plumbing is in tip-top condition, like a well-oiled machine.”

Tempted to leave Mr Narage to continue lubricating himself, Mr Nice tried one final tack. People are seriously worried that our brainiest people are going to emigrate, because the economy is likely to shrink rapidly post-Brexit. Neither will we be able to afford their wages, nor will their jobs be safe.

“Nonsense, my dear chap!” he replied. “It’s just scaremongering. It happens every time this country changes for the better. Stop being such a gloomy Graham and get behind your country!”

Cream rises. But so do scum and big sh*ts.