LCD Views

The Head Mistress Theresa May (cartoon villain Victorian style teacher – runs a lavishly funded state school in Westminster) has surprised everyone this week by setting the head boy ‘Jezza’ (mature student, yet to graduate, multi-millionaire with an interest in politics) a snap IQ test.

It’s believed the boy has been studying for an IQ test of some variety since first being elected ‘absolute’ head boy back in 2015, but as yet he’s been left to his own devices to mutter and mumble over multiple choice practice questions such as:

Q. What form of Brexit best protects worker’s rights, collectively and individually?

a. None. All Brexits damage worker’s rights.

b. A jobs first Brexit.

c. The Brexit I attempted to sponsor in 2011, when Allotment House members John, Kate, Gisela and I voted with Tory Rugger Team players David Davis, Steve Baker, Andrew Bridgen, Nadine Dorries and others at the school council meeting for an IN/OUT EU ref, but failed at that time. We would succeed later.

https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2011/oct/24/eu-referendum-commons-vote-live-coverage

What questions will be on the IQ test for real have not been openly disclosed, although the Head Mistress hinted heavily at them. This has led some to suggest she’s secretly colluding with the head boy in the hope of helping him pass.

But an insider in the Head Mistress’s office has leaked a couple to us:

Q. What should be done about the proven illegality in the 2016 EU ref campaign by pro Leave campaigns?

a. Nothing. I want Brexit and I’m prepared to overlook the criminality.

b. A public inquiry must be held as soon as possible as without rule of law a democracy falls. And proven criminality invalidates the result of a poll.

if b. then,

ai. Would it be sensible for a leader of an official opposition that claims to want to be in government to use the proven illegality of senior members of a governing party politically in an attempt to bring about a general election?

Yes or No?

Another leaked question appears to have a creative writing focus.

Q. What is a jobs first Brexit? Describe using your imagination in 500 words or less, but being certain to include whether or not jobs lost prior to a Brexit, but resulting from the decision to Brexit, count as jobs lost in a jobs first Brexit?

And this one,

Q. What was the Labour Conference motion relating to a further referendum on EU membership, decided at conference in 2018?

Finally,

Q. If you discovered the Head Teacher of your school was possibly guilty of gross misconduct in office, would you,

a. Help her try and get away with it.

b. Tell her to get to f*ck and let her and her admin staff first stew, then rot in it as they’re dragged from office and held to account in the court of public opinion and potentially others.

While there are certain to be many questions on the IQ test, it’s believed that last one makes up the majority of the available points.

Strong and stable Theresa May has, once again, dragged the Downing Street podium into the spotlight in an attempt to appear less wooden. This time, she has made a barefaced plea for Jeremy Corbyn to join her in a coalition of chaos.

This follows an all-day Cabinet meeting, in which the executive was locked in a fortified dungeon until they agreed to support May’s dead duck of a deal. To disguise her intention to put it before Parliament yet again, she insisted that Corbyn was brought on board. This transparent attempt at consensus, she informed them, would allow MV4 to sneak under Bercow’s radar.

In the end, the cabinet folded. Not because they agreed with May, but it was the only way she would let them out to go to the toilet.

“I have today extended the hand of cooperation to Jeremy Corbyn,” May grated. “This is an effort to break the impasse that my pigheaded insistence on illogical red lines has created. It will be chaotic, but that’s because I don’t have much wriggle room left before the EU imposes a democratic election upon us. And that must never be allowed to happen!”

Corbyn allegedly heard the announcement while telling his home-grown spuds that they will soon be Free English Potatoes. But enough about John McDonnell and Keir Starmer.

Corbyn looked the gift horse in the mouth, and decided that it might not have been completely flogged to death after all. He failed to smell a rat (coz it’s a horse, innit), or to attach strings to it as a condition of his cooperation.

May, who had been sweating on Corbyn’s capitulation like only an android can, was relieved. “Finally, we have found the way forward,” she informed the bored press in a long-deserted barn somewhere in northern England. “With Labour on board, I can finally resign, and fuck off into the sunset, leaving Jeremy carrying the can. Brexit? Who gives a toss, I’m loaded!”

With that, she gave the can one last kick for luck and buggered off, leaving both the can and the keys to Number Ten in Corbyn’s bewildered hands.

It will be a truly Socialist Brexit. Await the Red Dawn.

The latest round of indicative votes reveals that Parliament is mightily sick of the whole Brexit charade. It has voted, decisively, for the Cabinet to re-enact the famous closing scene of The Young Ones.

The scene will be updated, naturally. A contemporary luxury coach, emblazoned with misleading slogans and base lies, will be used instead of an old Routemaster. The entire useless cabinet will be substituted for the four useless students. But Cliff Richard will still accompany them on their journey into the abyss.

This, members hope, will create a constitutional crisis, meaning that Brexit will have to be postponed – maybe indefinitely. After all, having voted to annihilate the executive, the parliamentarians are hardly likely to follow them over the cliff edge.

We’re all going on a summer holiday. “It will be easy to persuade them onto the bus,” said conspirator Elle Eventhour. “They didn’t vote, so they spent the evening getting pissed. We have put a crate of Champagne in the Brexit Bus, and put Elgar on the stereo. It will be almost embarrassingly easy.”

No more working for a week or two. “Or ever again, if our plan works,” adds Eventhour. “It’s the ideal way out of trouble. We can go back to the EU and plead special circumstances. Call it a Brexit dividend.”

Fun and laughter on a summer holiday. “Yes, I know it’s only spring, but so what?” argues Eventhour. “They will enjoy their short drive off a high cliff. I bet they will bray with insane laughter as they fall. Everybody’s happy.”

No more worries for me or you. “It will all be over,” sighed Eventhour. “Then we can all relax. We have programmed the playlist on the coach, so that the bus will go over the edge as the final verse of Summer Holiday plays out.”

For a week or two. “Yes, I suppose someone else will have to take over,” admitted Eventhour. “But first we all need a clean break!”

We’re going where the sun shines brightly. Sunlit uplands? Unlikely, but right now we would settle for Bognor Regis.

BREAKING : The all day long meeting of Theresa May’s cabinet, and their special advisors the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, broke for an unscheduled time out just moments ago, even though no decision on which rider to inflict on the public first has yet been reached.

“I’m frankly fed up with it,” Famine texted LCD Views to say, “I’ve worn out overseeing Universal Credit as it is. Do you know how taxing it is to take the seed of an idea born in Iain Duncan Smith’s brain and drive it all the way through to fulfilment? I really don’t get paid enough. But now they’ve got me hanging about month after month to help Brexit. Elevating Brexit to the position of fifth rider was supposed to ease the workload, as he can multi-task like no one when it comes to ruination, but he’s not yet been allowed to start work. I’m fed to the gills. Which is not something I normally say, given I feed off modern Conservative Party policies and my appetite is endless.”

And Famine wasn’t the only rider to message during the garden break.

“None of them have got any balls,” Death texted, “they just talk and talk and talk. It’s pretty tiresome. I’ve a ten year plan that starts with Brexit, preferably No Deal, but any Brexit will do, as it’s about breaking apart the EU as a peace project. You know, return the European continent back to its traditional values of bloody squabbles and mass conflict. Not this mind numbing nonsense of sitting about in committees debating regulations and rights. Yawn. I’m tempted to skip out and go and see what Trump is up to. No one will notice, I’m ever present, always looking over your shoulder anyway.”

But perhaps the most scathing message was received from Brexit itself.

“I’ve learned to ride. I’ve got a saddle. I’m good to go. What is the bloody hold up? Why won’t they let me get to work? I’m with Death. None of them have got any balls. If I have to take anymore of listening to May and those planks in there bleat on, trying to square the circle of destroying the country for the profit of disaster capitalists, while not destroying their party, I’m going to lose it. Just as well Labour didn’t back the motion to have an emergency break in the event of a No Deal Brexit,

“I just hope Labour can triangulate its membership long enough, and fence sit long enough for May and the Tories to finally deliver me. I can tell you. It’s going to be quite a final birth by the mother of all parliaments! One more push love! Right now I’m just crowning.”

ERG stalwart and utterly reliable rentagobshite Andrew Bridgen has excelled himself. He has gone so far up his own arse that he has reappeared out of his own mouth.

“The House of Commons is out of touch,” he wittered. “We’ve betrayed the people. Even as a fine, upstanding member of the House of Commons, it is not my responsibility. I am, however, perfectly happy to point fingers at anyone and everyone around me!”

The potato farmer, once described as ‘thick as mash’, is obviously oblivious to the fact that he himself is part of the problem. So every time he opens his big mouth, he disappears a few more inches up his own fundament.

“Parliament is unable to deliver a proper Brexit,” he drooled, disappearing another few feet into his digestive system. “This is nothing to do with the destructive nature of the ERG, or myself personally. Running away and mouthing off to the press, moaning about the mess that I and my chums have made, is in the job description.”

Steady progress through the intestines.

“In fact, the reason that Brexit has been lost, stolen, destroyed, or dug up and made into chips is entirely due to parliamentary remoaners,” he crowed. “If only they had come up with the idea of Brexit, they might have got behind it instead of going through process.”

He indicated air quotes at this last word, as he shot through his stomach and started on the final journey up the oesophagus.

“In fact, it’s about time that we put a proper, plain speaking man in charge,” he wibbled. “Like me, or my mate Mark Francois. Someone who isn’t afraid to say ‘up yours’ to filthy remoaners like Philip Hammond.”

At which, the journey complete, he popped out of his own mouth. Utterly full of himself, puffed up and unable to move, like a potato in fact, he was abandoned as a warning to others.

Onlookers debated whether to call a doctor, but decided sod it, it’s only Andrew Bridgen.