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Matt Hancock says he will now wear his underwear on top at all times

DRESS FOR SUCKESS : The UK’s very own superhero, Matt “Life Saver” Hancock, has announced he has undergone a dramatic makeover to bring his public image into line with his rich, internal fantasy life.

Previously Mr Hancock has been dressed like your average mortal, but now thanks to his inspiring and tireless efforts during the pandemic he’s going to dress how he wants to be seen.

“It doesn’t matter when danger strikes,” Matt will tell the press later today. “It can be at night, it can be in the morning, it can be at lunchtime, it can be early evening, maybe around supper time, or even elevenses, I will be there for you. I won’t be watching Don’s character assassination of me because I’ll be saving lives. The financial lives of party donors mostly. Whether you need a multi-billion pound transfer authorised as part of a dodgy PPE deal. Or maybe you’re a nurse who will just perish if they don’t get a ‘Care’ badge? I will save you. And if you’ve ever bought me a pint I’ll save you the time of WhatsApping me for a PPE contract. Hold fast! I’m on the way.”

The new look is said to be modelled on the classic dress designs favoured by the iconic, life saving superheroes of the last century.

“You will know when you see me swooping passed a care home as fast as I can go that you saw me because my underwear will be worn on top of my trousers from here on. Look up in the sky! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No! It’s one of the worst mortality rates on earth in the pandemic!”

Critics have been quick to point out though that simply wearing his underwear on top will not bring back the dead.

”When I stand too close to you and invade your personal space like a complete weirdo you won’t be worrying about catching a killer cold. You’ll be looking for a means of escape!”

Up! Up! And away! It’s not just any old cock! It’s Matt Hancock! And yes, that is a sock and he is happy to see you!

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Matt Hancock says he didn’t watch Dominic Cummings testimony as he was busy “saying lies”

MATT DOOR MATT : Dominic Cummings shocked anyone paying attention yesterday by not gaslighting, for a while. The weirdness of hearing testimony which matches lived experience led to a feeling of elation for many. You are not going crazy. Your impression of the Johnson government as a toxic, shambling shit shower of unnecessary death is correct. Yippe!

Not everyone was happy though. Not supporters of Matt “the men who died on those beaches” Hancock, who came in for some heavy, heavy petting from former super genius Dom.

”Matt doesn’t know what Dom said about him yet. He was too busy operating on a higher plain. You should see him when he revs up. It’s like watching a force of nature. You ever left an apple so long in a fruit bowl that it slowly shrivels, gets mouldy, the insides liquify and leak out, then there’s just a blackened and dried out curl of something almost unidentifiable? Like that. That’s Matt.”

How Matt will react when he learns that Cummings says he is an incompetent liar who should have been sacked 15-20 times isn’t entirely clear. Rage isn’t plausible. He may get angry, but apart from crowding out your personal space he is not credible as a physical threat.

“He’ll lie of course,” Matt’s supporter reveals. “He’ll say something ridiculous like he didn’t watch as he was saving lives. Not a shred of credibility about the statement, but he’ll say it. It’s what he does. He lies. It’s how he honours those men who died on the beaches. He’s very special.”

Perhaps a more honest statement from Matt would be that he didn’t watch as he was out there “saying lies”.

“But that would be honest. That’s not how you manage a pandemic, except when you’re replying to messages about PPE contracts on WhatsApp.”

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Cummings takes lead in ‘2021 No Shit Sherlock Awards’ with statement “Boris is as shit as you think he is”

BIRDS OF A FEATHER : SUPER GENIUS DOMINIC CUMMINGS put in what many are calling a ‘World Beating’ performance today when he ramped up the palace coup against outgoing Prime Minister Boris Johnson by putting in his entry for the 2021 No Shit Sherlock Awards.

In a dazzling performance that broke the brains of many client journalists and professional sycophants Mr Cummings laid the blame for the UK’s shambolic pandemic response firmly at the door of Boris Johnson. And Matt Hancock. He did so with a series of illuminating statements.

“It wasn’t me Guv. I was there. But it was the fat kid” being a perfect body blow to the blubber of death in 10 Downing Street, previously famous for ridiculously priced wallpaper. Oh and Brexit. Oh and a garden bridge. Oh and a chumocracy that makes the eyes bleed.

Mr Cummings did occasionally deviate to kick in the teeth of Matt Hancock, as already stated. Noticeably absent was Britain’s next prime minister Michael Gove and Rishi “Eat Out To Die Out” Sunak. This is presumably because Dom needs them to think they’re safe from his sociopathic rage, so they also join in attacking Johnson.

But his stellar moment came when he lodged his entry into the No Shit Sherlock Awards.

“Boris, you know, he’s as shit as you think he is” Mr Cummings said, even if it took him six hours to say it. It was a shot at the title that few will come close to competing with, even though there are still many months left.

We asked the judging panel of the annual award for their reaction to Mr Cummings’ entry into the competition.

“He basically just said water is wet. But we’ll accept the entry. That’s the whole point of the awards.”

Boris is as shit as you think he is. So too, is Dominic Cummings. Let’s not get confused.

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BREAKING : Downing Street says “It’s time to move on” from Cummings’ viral testimony”

DETONATE THE SMART DOMB : 10 Downing Street has responded to the damning accusations of the Prime Minister’s former advisor Dominic Cummings.

In a press conference in the Rose Garden a short time ago the Prime Minister’s rental dog, Dylin, moved to alleviate pressure on the embattled PM.

“Woof woof woof woof,” the hourly rate canine said, in what critics immediately declared a rehearsed speech.

Whether or not the show of support by Dylin will be enough to see him rehired is anyone’s guess, but it’s clearly nice to see man’s best friend stand by him, even when he’s a rental. Just like the PM.

Tory MPs though have been quick to crawl around the press holding photos of the prime minister’s bulging arse and licking them in the hope of becoming Health Secretary.

It’s not clear if Mr Cummings’ explosive testimony will make amends for being thick enough to help someone so clearly incompetent into Downing Street. But it’s believed his genuine claim to actually be pretty thick himself and a complete fantasist “who couldn’t cope with reality and power at the same time” will help.

“It was a multi-layered performance by Dom,” a Westminster insider said. “Plea bargain, blame shift, vengeance, palace coup and doing the work of whoever he really works for all at once. Will it be enough to get him off the hook? Doubt it. But it’s nice to see him put the boot in all the same. Hell hath no fury like a superforecaster who didn’t forecast his own political end!”

For his part Michael Gove has offered the PM his full support, which clearly means he and Ms Gove are preparing to move into No. 10.

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Claims PM wanted to be infected with CV19 live on TV dismissed – “He opted for a lobotomy instead”

SHITSHOW STEAMROLLER : Downing Street have reacted angrily today to claims Prime Minister Boris Johnson had planned to be infected with the killer virus of our times live on television.

While not outright denying the rumour they have nonetheless reacted forcefully after the story was leaked, presumably by Bojo’s one time BFF Dom. Classic.

“Who hasn’t come up with a mad scheme while completely hammered?” a 10 Downing Street source told LCD Views. “Have you seen the sheer number of traffic cones and policeman’s helmets littering the insides of 10 Downing Street? But to do such a daft and dangerous thing as deliberately inject yourself with a potentially lethal virus? You’d have to be a complete idiot. This is injecting bleach levels of stupid. It wouldn’t be an example of Blitz Spirit. The Prime Minister decided in the end to contract the virus by acting like a complete idiot instead. We got where we were going in the end.”

The method chosen eventually to catch the heavy, heavy cold was to go to a hospital and shake hands with everybody inside. Then wait. Dither. Delay. Use boosterism and false bravado to encourage a relaxed attitude in the credulous. Wait for the fever in the night.

“Admittedly that was incredibly stupid too. But in the PM’s defence he had just had a lobotomy live on TV. You all saw it. It happened when he floated the idea of just letting the virus sweep through the community. Take it on the chin. Back in the innocent days of herd immunity as policy because none of the people making the key decisions in the executive had a shred of common sense. British or otherwise. Only the PM took the lobotomy in the standard way, through the side of his head.”

And a little over a year later 150,000 are dead.

“In the PM’s defence, last year’s lobotomy wasn’t his first. He had an ethical, moral and spiritual one decades ago.”

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Culture Minister lists “voting for lies on buses” as prime example of British values!

QUEUE POLITELY AT FOOD BANK PLEASE : THE CULTURE MINISTER Oliver Dowden is famous for having been bred specially for his job in a tub of British made yoghurt and it’s given him special insight into the culture of our country.

Happily he is willing to share his knowledge and to urge the BBC to help him celebrate British values, at risk of being broken down into component parts and flogged off.

To help the BBC in its task of banging the drum for Blighty Mr Dowden has drawn up a list of the British values that we will now all celebrate. Unless we wish to be taken to a re-education camp.

“Queuing. Politely at food banks,” Mr Dowden will regale the country with later, as he unleashes his agenda. “Also having to be shamed by footballers into feeding hungry children. That is a contemporary value. It just feels Victorian. Calling MPs fancy names and titles. Very British. Electing the most disreputable figure we can find in our political life as Prime Minister. It really shows us off to the world.”

The list is clearly going to be a long one as what we value is displayed by how we are currently behaving both at home and abroad.

“Cutting foreign aide in the middle of a global pandemic. That shows how we value charity. Decreasingly. Oh and letting Priti Patel loose on asylum seekers. Just fantastic.”

But there is one action in recent years that really nails contemporary Great Britain and it needs to be celebrated.

“Voting for liars and following their agenda. We really value that. Just look at all the people who voted for a giant lie on a bus! And look where we are now. The British value of a great sense of humour has never been more needed.”

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Liz Truss to revise Aussie FTA to include “commitment to vote for U.K. in Eurovision”

THROW ANOTHER INDUSTRY ON THE BARBIE : BREXIT SUPERSTAR Liz Truss is so annoyed at the nil points awarded to Global Britain at the recent Eurovision that she is going to do something radical.

“She’s not going to sing, don’t worry,” an aide claiming to work for the trade Tsar told LCD Views. “Although she says if the Eurovision contest ever opens up a category for spoken word poetry she’ll be right in there. She has an extensive back catalogue of verse written to celebrate Brexit.”

But the one thing Liz Truss can do is take a lead from her boss. She can agree deals, publicise and celebrate them before decrying them as basically a con on the British people.

“It was incredibly underhand of the Australian trade negotiators to behave as they did,” the aide informs. “Liz Truss will publicly call out their dirty deeds and say she is not going to stand for it. The UK-AUS FTA must now include a commitment from the Australians to vote for the UK Eurovision entry in all future competitions. Assuming we’re still invited. Furthermore they must recant how they voted last weekend and demand their points go to the UK.”

The move to ensure the UK never again receives nil points, no matter how many Italian au pairs they incarcerate at the border, will be a great boost to the British farming community.

“When we’ve paid off our farmers and replaced them with hormone stuffed beef imported from the other side of the world they’ll be able to retire knowing that when they watch Eurovision they’re not going to see the country they love embarrassed.”

The BBC has been ordered to support Ms Truss in her efforts by making a new documentary focused on Ms Truss’s efforts called “A Very British Sell Out”.

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The Great British Potato War – 1.0 The Brussels Cramps

“The average human shares 80% of their genes with the average potato. The patriot shares up to 100%.” – The Observations of Prime Minister William Bunsen

The fear of potato shortages was constant during The Great British Potato War. Hunger was always on the menu. The slogan “Get War Done!” kept us going. Three words which roused the mighty British bulldog from his slumber. I saw it as my duty to keep the men’s spirits high when their bellies were aching. There was endless bellyaching.

The soldiers under my command would whisper in the black fondant nights, “When will the proper British potatoes run out?”

I could not answer them. I would crawl between the pickets on our perimeter whispering my mantra, “Get War Done!”.

“What?” they would mouth back.

“Get War Done!”

“Oh. Okay.”

When we marched towards the enemies of the people a different slogan was called for.

“Believe in Great British Potatoes!” I cried it lustily. The men would throw their caps high and cry too! Good men. Men who valued freedom of speech. They would sell their lives dearly. “Trust in Prime Minister William Bunsen!” I encouraged them with that too. “Trust in Billy Burner”.

Of course, no one knew then if it were possible to eat a root vegetable that did not come in a packet with a Union Jack on it. Traitors at them. We knew that, but they weren’t God’s chosen race sprung fully formed from the soil of this sceptred isle. There were rumours in the dark years (before Parliament lent its sovereignty to the Executive in perpetuity) people did eat all manner of forrin foods. Padron Peppers from Spain, whatever they were. Kalamata Olives from the Peleponnese, ditto. And of course avocados, we all knew what they were, they were heresy! But I did not believe patriots had. Patriots would starve first before they let the green flesh of treason pass their lips.

[Ed. It is possible to eat a non-Union flagged root vegetable, but it results in a psychosomatic digestive disorder called by physicians, The Brussels Cramps.]

“Control British Fish!” was another robust slogan to keep spirits high. Ideologically so pure it glistened. The men responded well to it. Shouting about fish always stiffened spines. It said everything about who we are. A maritime superpower! An industrial powerhouse! A job exporting titan! A country that valued its fish above all else and wanted the world to know it.

When I was far from home, when I was bruised and bloodied, when I was burying my brothers in arms in haste in some sodden Surrey field, knowing we had seized back control of British fish kept me digging graves.

The good women of Raylee and Wick River Crossing*, where my regiment was raised, were loyal and sent us what food they could spare. Stout of frame. Round of hip. Busting of bosom. Rosy cheeked. Women you could rely on to be pregnant year on year when it was time to repopulate Brexitannia. When it was time to leave the office jobs, leave the mills and fulfill a woman’s Great British destiny to produce as many Great Britons as they could.

My wife, Mrs French, was prominent in village circles. There was no scandal, no indiscretion she was unable to ignore. She could patch your torn skin as easily as split trousers. Whenever the Government composed a new song for school children to sing you could be certain she would have the Raylee youth drilled within days.

“Make do and mend,” she’d say to the other women. “Here, let me show you how to make that one sock into two.”

If the traitors ever did breach the defences and capture Raylee you could be certain my wife would lead the resistance.

“Starve yourself so that I may eat,” I ordered her on the day we past out of town, headed for that cesspit of traitors. London. “Victory will see us feast!”

It was late in the afternoon. A glorious day, if you ignored the blowflies, if you shouldered past the dark clouds on the horizon, if you blocked your ears to the cries of the widows and orphans. A godly day. The sun sinking its inflamed buttock into the bank of clouds to the west, but enough rays to reflect off the bakelite buttons on my replica TA Catering Corp uniform. A sight to mist the eyes.

My hearty wife stood twisting a damp dish cloth in her firm hands. I wager it was soaked with her tears. She knew the moment had arrived when she must raise that sodden fabric and wave farewell.

“We will meet again,” I reassured her. “I don’t know where. I don’t know when. But we’ll meet again some sunny day.”

“Get War Done,” she replied, lowering her gaze and shaking her head.

“Control British Fish.”

She nodded. I suspect she could not trust herself to say the words she wanted to.

“Don’t beg me to stay,” I ordered her.

“I won’t,” she replied, her voice cracked. “Control British Fish.”

“I have to go. It’s my duty.”

“Go,” she agreed. “Please go.”

She hid her face in her dish cloth and sobbed.

“You did not fully understand the blazing star I was born under,” I told her. “I will uphold the will of the people.”

“Oh Mark, you fool.”

“Shush now. Only speak in three word sentences while I am away,” I ordered her. I moved in close to hold her hands, but she retreated. She would crumble at my touch.

“I will do,” she whispered. Good woman. God’s own.

“I am going to fulfil the will of the people.” I saluted her.

“Don’t miss me,” she muttered.

“I won’t! I will look after myself.”

I was following my destiny.

Destiny is all.

With courage and Union Flag branded munitions I could not fail.

*Raylee and Wick River Crossing was the birthplace of Private Mark French. In the 2016 EU Referendum it voted 98% to Leave the EU Tyranny. A source of great pride to Mark. A percentage confirmed in the Official Records of Brexitannia.

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COBRA meetings to be renamed “Champagne and Wallpaper hour” to ensure PM attends

FOLLOWING THE SCIENCE OF LAZINESS : It’s not just the BBC that needs a good, old fashioned shake up to ensure it is unfit for tomorrow. COBRA, the emergency committee that meets in times of national crisis, is also in the firing line after coming in for severe criticism.

“It’s a boring talking shop at the moment,” a 10 Downing Street source tells LCD Views. “Just grey men naysaying. There’s some nasty coffee and some stale sandwiches provided. You’d be lucky to get Svalbardi or even fffing Evian. It’s no wonder the PM can’t be bothered to turn up half the time. If you have to listen to a bunch of gloomsters talk the country down. The least you can expect is some good catering.”

Happily for the Prime Minister Tory Party donors are currently being canvassed to see who is prepared to chip in and save the nation.

“We are confident that the food and drink on offer at COBRA will be more in line with the Prime Minister’s expectations in future. Although having meetings in the morning is a dead cert fail. Disasters really need to be scheduled for after lunch. Sometime in the late afternoon, before dinner. COBRA only has itself to blame. And you can make a good case that the pandemic has been a bloody sight worse than it needed to be. Imagine if there was caviar, champagne and some girls dressed as old school Playboy bunnies on hand as waitresses? He wouldn’t have missed a meeting.”

Clearly if COBRA can’t lift its game, just like the BBC, it will have to be outsourced to private contractors, but it does have a chance if a donor can be found.

“We’ll be renaming it ‘The Champagne and Wallpaper Hour’. That way we’ll get both Boris and Carrie along and after the nibbles we can get down to the serious business of something like Montrachet 1978 from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti? You’ll see. Attendance will skyrocket. We’ll probably get the entire cabinet!”

Make COBRA Fun! – that might help too. There’s nothing that can’t be improved with a snappy slogan, not even a national crisis. Just think of “Get Brexit Done” if you doubt us!

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Downing Street refuse to confirm who Boris Johnson will marry in 2022

DEAD CAT RUNNING : Downbeat faces in 10 Downing Street this morning after the realisation that they’ve thrown the wedding dead cat onto the news cycle table a couple of days early.

The announcement of the future perfect event that Boris Johnson will have married again mid 2022 was planned to have happened this coming Wednesday just as Dom revealed everything about the pandemic bungling that we all already know. Classic.

“Someone leaked the news of the nuptials early,” a 10 Downing Street source told LCD Views. “Or maybe one of the planning notes was thrown out in the trash with some very expensive takeaway boxes? Either way it’s a problem. He may have to call the whole thing off. Which is actually his preference anyway now that his current partner has delivered.”

But there is still some fur to fly because although they announced Mr Johnson intends to wed again, careful reading of the press release shows they haven’t said to who.

“That’s some consolation. We can announce that on Wednesday. He hasn’t decided yet. It’s unlikely to be Carrie as that’s pushing the upper limit of credibility. Maybe Margaret Thatcher? If a spiritualist is prepared to take on the task of contacting her in Hell. Maybe Winston Churchill’s statue to completely own the woke. Maybe some new girl altogether. The suspense is great.”

Critics have suggested that Mr Johnson should marry the fishing industry as he’s already screwed it senseless. Now he “should make an honest industry of it.”

Other voices are urging the self-obsessed, country trashing, viral ripping sociopath to just get it over and done with and finally marry the love of his life. Namely “himself”.