LCD Views

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.”