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Johnson breaking manifesto promise on principle

BORIS Johnson is breaking his manifesto promise not to raise taxes to prove his commitment to breaking promises, he has confirmed. 

The prime minister is adding 2p to National Insurance contributions so everyone, even his most ardent supporters, are left in no doubt that he nothing he says can be trusted for even an instant.

He said: “It should not be necessary, at this stage, for me to prove I am a liar and breaker of promises. Look at my record, for God’s sake. It goes back almost 40 years.

“But still there are those, even in my own party, who believe there are oaths I will keep. Who believe that I won’t raise taxes to make myself popular simply because I’m a Tory.

“Those people are fools. The manifesto means as little to me as a marriage vow, as an EU Withdrawal Agreement, as an employment contract. In all cases I will put myself first.

“Tax is going up. I’m going to hand out free shit to Northerners like I was Jeremy Corbyn. Northern Ireland can f**k off back to and if the Queen doesn’t like it so what.

“I’m Boris Johnson. I lie, I cheat, I betray. No vow will be kept. No pledge will be honoured. And that, my friends, is a promise.”

Garden now full of useless summer shit

WITH the weather starting to turn as autumn arrives, all British gardens are now clogged up with pointless summer shit.

Paddling pools, swingball sets and tasteful garden furniture with the cushions removed will spend the next eight months getting wet and rusting to pieces.

Garden-owner Martin Bishop said: “The garden is brilliant for the six weeks we can use it during the summer, but for the rest of the year it’s a bleak, windy patch of mud that requires endless maintenance.

“I’m going to watch from inside the house as all the money we spent on fun garden stuff is slowly wasted as it gets covered in dead leaves, goes mouldy and then emerges next spring as a broken piece of crap that will go straight to the tip.

“The pizza oven is the most painful. We used it once in May before it spent the rest of the summer as an elaborate, hideously expensive storage container for the badminton racquets.

“Having been an insufferably smug twat about having a garden over the last year, I now wish I was one of those people who live in a flat with just a tiny balcony. How the tables have turned.”

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