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Warheads of smart missiles powered by MPs’ consciences

The Storm Shadow cruise missiles used in the Syrian air strikes contain a secret weapon. The warheads contain a highly explosive substance, which the UK has been stockpiling for many years. This substance is highly concentrated consciences of MPs.

Parliamentary debate was once at the heart of the UK’s democracy. Heated arguments, fuelled by beliefs and conscience, would determine and refine policy. No longer. It is as if Parliament itself has been turned over to the private sector, whose only responsibilities are to stay in power and to make as much money as possible.

In exchange for this opportunity, compliant MPs are requested to surrender their consciences. Disappointingly, a majority have opted to do this.

Whistleblower Tess Tifye explained how the whole process works.

“It’s made out to be smoke and mirrors,” said Miss Tifye. “But the reality is quite simple. New MPs are ushered into a dungeon in the Tower of London. They are told that it is an initiation ceremony. Of course, most of them are ex-Public Schoolboys and accept this without question.”

They are then asked a series of leading questions, designed to entrap all but the most wary. An offer is then made, and the MP has to choose between feathering his nest, or a life of honest toil. Deal or No Deal?

“If you choose the former, which most do, then you must surrender your conscience then and there,” Miss Tifye clarified. “The questioner, Sir Nicholas Something or other, has been doing this job for as long as anyone can remember. MPs fondly refer to him as ‘Old Nick’.”

So what does Old Nick do with the consciences?

“He leaves them to mature,” said Miss Tifye. “The longer, the better. The conflict between the MP’s dereliction of duty and sense of right increases over time. They can explode at any time, but they work best when focussed upon a scapegoat. This makes them the perfect warheads for missiles.”

The best part is that the consciences may be used again and again. An MP may request the return of his conscience, of course, but in exchange must surrender what remains of his credibility.

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Lettering on new blue passports to be printed in iron pyrite

The Home Office has thrilled everyone today with the announcement that the lettering on the covers of the new blue patriotic passports is to be printed in ink made from iron pyrite.

“It was a tough call,” Ms 500M Pounds told LCD Views, “we had thought about ritually slaughtering a unicorn and making ink out of its blood, but we went with the fools gold in the end.”

Why? Surely a unicorn, as it features on the coat of arms, would have been more appropriate? Especially in the context of the reasons for spending half a billion quid changing the colour of passports to a colour we could have had anyway?

“It was a real shock to all of us,” Ms 500M answered, “but we couldn’t actually locate a unicorn for the purpose.”

But politicians are promising unicorns now for pretty much everything going, surely you could have just taken an incy wincy bit of blood from one of those?

“Are you sitting down?”

Yes. I always sit when interviewing fictional characters.

“Unicorns don’t exist.”

Get out of here.

“Seriously,” Ms 500M was adamant, “I should know as I’ve just finished overseeing a study into their habitats, feeding patterns, reproductive cycles, best way to catch and tame etc. Unicorn farming is a cornerstone of all future policy. It was a bloody shock to discover they aren’t real.”

So what are you going to do?

“Buggered if I know,” Ms 500M replied, “spend money hand over fist and hope something magical happens is the most likely course of action.”

Maybe you could start replacing unicorns with iron pyrites all over the shop?

“Now that’s the sort of advice we pay well for. Do you want a job as a consultant at DExEU?”

How long would I have to stay for?

“Not long. No one does.”

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Family expresses gratitude it’s only local elections happening in UK May 3rd

A family in an endlessly war torn part of the world has today expressed its gratitude that it’s only local elections happening in the United Kingdom on May 3rd.

“Some may call us ungrateful for the attention we’ve recently received from the world’s pillars of democracy,” one member of the family said, “but hey, everyone likes their fifteen minutes of fame once a year.”

The family was speaking after the Friday night bombing raid on Syrian chemical weapons facilities and stock piles. While pleased that Assad’s capabilities in this area may have been temporarily downgraded, they were still left with some niggling doubts about the motivations behind the coalition of the willing’s actions.

“It’s okay to blow up civilians here or in Yemen with conventional weaponry?” they wanted to know, “but it’s not okay to gas us? That’s when limited action is taken? It does seem a bit cynical. If you were really concerned presumably you’d be committed full time to bring an end to the conflict?”

They did go on to say they were pleased that the military industrial complex had a playground though.

“Everyone thought Eisenhower was a bit loopy when he made his big goodbye speech in the fifties, warning of the commercial push for endless war,” the representative of the family commented, while lugging a small child for miles down a bomb cratered road, “but I suspect he’s been shown to be very much on the mark. Much like a laser guided missile. How much do they cost again?”

Still, at least the action is only limited.

“It plays into everyone’s hands,” the family said, “most of the leaders involved need a PR win. It’s a little curious on the part of May and Trump, given their attitudes to refugees. It’s also a little curious from the stop the war group, as I don’t recall them protesting the barrel bombing of my home or the other mass drops of conventional munitions by Assad and Putin? Still, everyone has busy lives, so you get involved when it suits I suppose.”

They hope to have a little rest now.

“It’s probably just as well the United Kingdom only has local elections coming up on May 3rd. God only knows how much your government would care about us if it was a general election!”

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Man stunned after time traveller gives him a book from the future

A man has been left stunned after a time traveller appeared late last night in his study and gave him a book from the future.

“Keir is to spend the day with friends recovering,” Mr A Friend told LCD Views, “he wasn’t overly shocked by the appearance of the space suited visitor from the year 2065, but he was rocked by the contents of the book the time traveller gave him.”

It seems the book, ‘Footnotes in 21st Century British Political History’, was intended as a gift.

“It’s uncertain what the motivation of the time traveller was,” Mr Friend said, “Keir is a little worried that behind the warm smile, the handshakes and the stories about how your house will flush the toilet for you in 2065, there was also a cautionary message.”

The suspicion appears to have been roused by Keir discovering he is written about in the book.

“When the time traveler said, wink, wink, you’re in the book mate, Keir was thrilled and he eagerly opened the tome anticipating a fat chapter on his service as British prime minister from 2022 to 2033, but it wasn’t there! He was shocked.”

Well, what was there?

“Just a paragraph. A few lines about being part of the official opposition that enabled the hard right Torykip destruction of democracy in the United Kingdom in the service of far right tax dodgers, which triggered the actual dissolution of the country itself.”

But that’s not fair, Brexit is a Tory project.

“It is certainly that,” Mr Friend nodded, “but according to ‘Footnotes of 21st Century British Political History’, Jeremy Corbyn three line whipping his MPs to ensure Article 50 was triggered is viewed from the future as a dereliction of duty almost as bad as David Cameron running as fast as he could the moment he realised he’d broken everything.”

Almost?

“Almost,” Mr A Friend nodded, “it seems Keir allowed himself to be carried downstream in the flow of Brexit. The people in the future believe he should have turned around and fought the poo logs flowing to the waterfall cliff edge. You know, stuck by his principles and beliefs like an elected representative is supposed to do.”

That’s a shame. He probably hoped for a more sympathetic place in history.

“People choose their destinies.”

So where does the time traveller live now if the United Kingdom has dissolved? The Republic of Scotland? Ireland or Wales? England?

“No. England is a distant memory spoken about in fables now. The time traveller said he was from the Kingdom of Kent.”

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U.K. parliamentary democracy now on milk cartons as concern over disappearance grows

LCD Views is proud to say we have played our part in the search for the missing United Kingdom parliament by successfully campaigning for the Palace of Westminster to feature on the entire country’s milk cartons.

“We had to do our bit,” Orange Searchlight told a late night editorial meeting at the Fudge and Fark, “it wasn’t enough to just shout from the sidelines anymore, we had to scream silently from recyclable cardboard dairy products too.”

Critics at the red tops have seized on the campaign as blatant self promotion, claiming there is no genuine concern for missing British democracy.

But they are wrong. They are traitors. They are enemies of the people.

A freephone number has been included on the inside of the carton so that anyone who spots British democracy can alert the relevant authorities immediately.

“You would have thought with the Cambridge Analytica revelations, coming after all the proven lies of the Leave campaign, the very fact the only people pushing for calamitous structural change to the United Kingdom and its place in the world being proven ideologues, and just well, all the tax dodgers and neo-fascists wanting Brexit would have been enough for parliament to stop pretending it’s run away and come home,” Green added,

“but apparently not. And now we have a prime minister using a long running and incredibly brutal conflict over identity in the middle of England to further tax dodging? Seriously? If parliament won’t come home of its own accord we will have to campaign for the people of the United Kingdom to start using their eyes and ears and find it.”

No reward is being offered for locating parliament because having a functioning, representative democracy is reward in itself.

“Just look at the countries that either lost one or never had it,” Green adds, “and stop buying the f*cking Daily Mail, Telegraph, Express and so on.”

Indeed. Keep your eyes open. You can drag democracy back to the Commons, kicking and screaming if necessary.

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Generation Game Irish Border special leaves contestants empty handed

The latest comeback for the Generation Game broke records last night. Unfortunately, the records broken were very rare vinyl ones, and they were broken by being smashed over the contestants’ heads . . . by other contestants. And that was before the games even began.

Presenter Joachim Pfeiffer, the Border Relations Unification Chief Executive (BRUCE) introduced this Irish Border Special edition, and promptly announced the contestants: Theresa May, Arlene Foster, and Leo Varadkar, representing Great Britain, Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland respectively.

There were various challenges against the clock, most of which were never even started let alone finished. The contestants spent most of the two year time limit bickering among themselves.

In the round where they had to assemble a machine gun from scratch, Ms Foster proved surprisingly skilful. Fortunately, the “bullets” provided for insertion were lightweight dummies, incapable of hurting anybody.

Then there was a Play Your Cards Right round. May proved particularly poor at this, especially when the ace up her sleeve turned out to be a pair of twos. Nothing for a pair. Not in this game.

The most interesting round was the Nice To See You Border Construction Challenge. Foster attempted to erect a concrete partition, which Varadkar promptly threw down. Meanwhile, May created an invisible, frictionless model out of theoretical bricks. Nul points all round.

Then for the grand finale, the various negotiating points were arranged on a conveyor belt and displayed to the contestants. They had to agree on everything they saw. Unfortunately nobody had precisely the same recollection of what even one of the items was – even the cuddly toy – so they had to go away empty handed.

Mr Pfeiffer said afterwards, “This is a first I believe. Nobody has ever gone away empty-handed from this game before. They have made history, but not in a way they would have liked.”

Didn’t they do well? Well . . . no, not really. Oh well, better luck next time.

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Brexit industries bowling alley uses local residents as pins

Brexit Industries, all of them, are a target once again after their bowling alley caught the eye of the health and safety executive for using local residents as pins.

”It was pretty bad to be honest,” local resident Mr Demo told LCD Views, as we arrived to see the lanes inspected, but still at this moment in use, “people were told it was more fun dodging the bowling balls than it was rolling them.

I wasn’t convinced. I tried to stop people standing in a triangle. Ten at a time, rabbits in the headlights, and here comes the hard, rolling ball…”

It’s believed the lanes were opened after a series of high scoring strikes by a big blonde man featured prominently on television.

”There were other promoters of the lanes. BBC was right behind it even. Health and safety experts did say that standing as still as you can in a group of ten as a fourteen pound ball smashed into you would cause a lot of damage, but another guy said it would make people money, so they did it anyway.”

But who is rolling the balls down the lanes if all the local people are pins?

”All the people who are doing the actual bowling are incredibly wealthy types or bearded revolutionaries.”

Apparently in order to bowl and not be a pin you have to prove you have a certain amount of money in a tax haven, or you have to be an idiot nostalgic for a past that never really existed who couldn’t give a flying sh*t about the needs and dreams of the young.

Or thirdly you have to have missed some revolutionary boat decades ago and see the Brexit bowling alley as a magic portal to catch the boat.

LCD Views commends all innovations in community sports and we are expressly glad the Brexit bowling lanes are bringing the 1% of wealthiest people together to play with everyone else, at their expense.

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Average lifespan of a knocker-upper in Victorian London was fifteen minutes

The average lifespan of a human alarm clock, or knocker-upper, in Victorian London has been calculated at fifteen minutes.

While some noteworthy human alarms did last many years, most were killed as a result blunt trauma from a missile striking them on the head during their first early morning shift.

Missiles most commonly thrown at ‘alarms’ were full chamber pots, but bibles were also commonly a cause of death.

Old News spoke to Mary Smith of East London, a survivor of the trade, about life on the predawn cobbles of old London and just how easy it was to die on the job.

Mary is an authority, having been given the handle of ‘Ace’ by other alarms during her very first shift, after successfully waking five customers without being killed.

Mary’s lodgings, high over the street close to The Old Bailey, were striking for the sheer number of scuffed bibles stacked about the room and dozens of crates of broken chamber pots that look vintage.

“It was murder on them streets,” Mary told us, puffing on a pipe, her wrinkled hands crissed and crossed with the scars of battles fought long ago, “Jack the Ripper was at his foul work when I first started working as an alarm. I was only nine at the time. It wasn’t my first job. Prior to working as a knocker-upper I’d managed a team of fifty children in a match factory. I had to leave that when my jaw rotted away from the sulphur. This jaw is wood.”

Mary knocks her pipe against her jaw with a regular beat that evokes the window panes she must have knocked on all those years ago.

“But it were your customers who were the most dangerous. And other knocker-uppers’ customers too. Oh, and the packs of feral, abandoned infants you had to be on your guard against.”

Mary pauses, lost in thought a moment, until a shiver running up her spine brings her back to Old News.

“I saw one knocker-upper, bright eyed chap, called himself Life, he were just back from killing people legal like for Empress Victoria on the subcontinent and fancied his arm at waking people early.

Well he thought he was going to be an ace and his red army coat would be his schtick. His first customer was his last. Bill Tricks the manager of the knackers yard end of Shit ‘n Blood lane. This fool Life walks right into the yard and shouts ‘wakey wakey hands off Bill’s snakey!’.

Life were killed by an old bull set for boiling down to glue that morning. Gored Life through the kidneys, right through the stones and all. Rumour had it he got thrown in the pot with the bull and ended up as glue too.”

Mary went on to explain that the way to survive on the job was to use a very long stick or a blow pipe, through which you could dart frozen peas at windows and run before the pot was flung.

“For a while I had a stick so long I could tap on windows just by leaning out of my own reasonably priced, top floor studio apartment on Sensible Road, just down end of Youmustbekiddingme Market. Before I moved here that was.

Lean right out my window and tap on all the windows on my street. No bugger could kill me with a flying King James Bible that way. No one could come charging down stairs with a knife and use my guts for garters. I could duck as soon as I saw the glint on a rifle barrel.

Old Harry Fists was a terrible one for shooting human alarm clocks. He killed six of them before I took him on. I was an ace many times over by that stage.”

Inquiries as to the reason she carried such a wish onto the cobbles were met with an icy glare.

“Did you spend your childhood on the streets of Victorian London? No. Well, you wouldn’t understand, so keep your beak out of it.”

We apologise and she continues.

“Not one of us could read letters or numbers and so you were forever waking up the wrong house. Although that were pretty funny if you got up some high and mighty type like a lawyer or a merchant of louse powders or what not.”

So how is Mary spending her days post the invention of the electric alarm clock?

“Having a lie in! How else? And hurling bibles at all these bloody delivery people that buzz my buzzer a dozen times a day because they’ve worked out I’m always in. Vermin. Here’s one now. Pass me a crate of broken pots and grab yourself King James! Let’s have at them. You’ll be an ace at knocking out Amazon Prime men by lunch time!”

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Migrants make YOUR house cost more, says Dominic Raab

Housing Minister Dominic Raab has blamed the affordable homes crisis on migrants. His figures suggest that immigration has caused a 20% price hike over 25 years.

Raab is writing to the Migration Advisory Committee, instructing it to advise migrants to clear off. This, he believes, will give proper ethnic Brits a fair shot at the housing market.

LCD’s Paradoxical Positions correspondent took time out from Brexit matters to engage in a Q&A with Mr Raab.

LCD: Tell me, why are you presenting housing price rises as bad news? Normally it indicates a healthy economy.

DR: It’s the wrong type of price rise. It has been caused by migrants flooding the country, and greater demand pushes prices up. Migrants are bad.

LCD: Migrants are portrayed as coming here to scrounge off the taxpayer and drain our public services. How does this create demand in the house buying sector?

DR: They take jobs from the native Britons and buy their houses, rather than building their own. Mud huts, or whatever they prefer.

LCD: Explain how they simultaneously scrounge off the taxpayer and take our jobs.

DR: Let me be quite clear. We are at breaking point. Some get jobs, many scrounge, while genuine British people are unemployed.

LCD: All the figures show that migrants make a positive net contribution to the economy.

DR: And they force native Brits out of work. We need to take back control of the situation, close the borders and make sure there are British jobs for British workers.

LCD: How does that affect yourself? After all, you are the son of a Jewish immigrant, and married to a Brazilian woman.

DR: We are fine, because we are rich and important.

LCD: Taking two jobs which could be done by genuine Brits? You mean, because you are white?

DR: I am on record for being against positive discrimination, and in favour of meritocracy. There are good migrants and bad migrants, that is why we need border controls.

LCD: You are also on record for saying the British are the worst idlers in the world. How are they going to replace all the hard-working foreign workers who currently keep the country afloat?

DR: Universal Credit means work or starve. Possibly both. It’s another Brexit dividend.

Migrants come to this country, work, buy houses, and fit in. Like Dominic Raab. It’s just not good enough.

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Woman to do whatever she likes now until her time runs out

A woman has told LCD Views that she is just going to do whatever she likes now.

”At least until my time in office runs out,” she said, pressing the nails of her left hand so hard into her right she left a mark,

“and oh, I suppose, given how little tax my husband’s company has paid for years, I guess I’ll do whatever I like after too. We’re very rich. Even Brexit will not likely negatively impact on our choices overly much. Which is nice. Because Brexit is going to be an economic disaster. Ha!”

And what about right now?

”I’m dropping bombs right now,” she replied. “bit of the old moral outrage and a bookended event.”

You’ere talking about striking chemical weapons dumps in Syria?

”If you like,” she replied, clenching her teeth so hard you could actually hear one crack, “chemical weapons aren’t like other weapons that Assad and Putin have been using to butcher civilians.

This is why people protest against attacking chemical weapons delivery mechanisms and not the mass bombing of civilian areas.”

It’s rather convenient for you right now too.

”Yes.

The less time spent discussing Jeremy Hunt’s little flat fiasco the better. And don’t get me started on Jaguar.

We are supposed to be able to bribe our way out of the mass negatives of Brexit with patriot cheques and threats.”

Let’s stick to Syria then?

“Thanks. Once you’ve blown up some chemical stuff you can dust your hands off and say job done and go back to just selling bombs to tyrants. You know, the moral high ground.”

You’ve certainly on some sort of high ground, looks more like a precipice to me.

”It’s okay,” the woman replied, “I’ve a parachute just like many of my colleagues on both sides of the floor in parliament. No matter how crap we are at government currently.”

Your hands bleeding. Do you want a band aid?

”Not quite finished yet,” she said, digging her nails in some more, “how do I get out of this office again?”