HARRIET Harman and objective truth have had it in for me for years, and now they have wickedly conspired to accuse me of things I definitely have done.
One is the unattractive chair of the privileges committee who hates my very existence. The other is a set of indisputable facts about reality which have been a hindrance to me since birth. And now their kangaroo court has delivered its laughable verdict on me, a helpless innocent.
It should come as no surprise. ‘Harriet Harperson’ has long been jealous of my wit, universal popularity and athletic physique. And my playful habit of ignoring facts is a nuisance to egghead boffins who get hung up on that sort of thing.
Like two envious, runtish oppidans plotting against their Eton College superiors, they have dashed off a worthless, peer-reviewed report after a cursory one-year investigation, the findings of which are patently tripe, bollocks and flim-flam.
Could I, the brave Ulysses who triumphantly guided this fearful nation through the rocks of Brexit and Covid, really intentionally lie to parliament? According to the facts of my own deranged reality, I could never do such a thing, therefore I didn’t.
Instead, you will have to believe my own account: I was acting in the best interests of the nation, outsmarting the coronavirus with my Machiavellian genius by doing what it least expected: getting shitfaced in close proximity to other people.
And that, not the feverish imaginings of Harpie Harman or boring old facts, is the only explanation that makes any sense.
