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UK diagnosed as suffering from Long Boris

MEDICAL authorities have warned that the Boris Johnson that Britain suffered from 2020-22 is not over and could yet cause immense damage. 

Despite the public perception that Boris is in the past, epidemologists fear that the chronic problems he caused have persisted and may recur fatally.

Dr Helen Archer said: “The body politic may have beaten the infection for now, but it’s still out there looking for a way in. This is far from over.

“The country’s immune system is so weak it struggles to fight off morality-free politicians. The Lords is close to rupture. The legal system is badly in need of resuscitation.

“And traces of Boris are circling in the media landscape. We’re still susceptible to letting him go on panels, write newspaper columns, and go around borrowing money from literally every f**ker he knows.

“We’re seeing it attempt to mutate into a form that will bypass our defences and once again fully infect the UK. Everyone should cover their faces the moment they’re exposed, but too many have got complacent and lazy.

“They think just because they survived last time they’ll be fine. I fear many more will die because they did not take the twat seriously.”

Five films so long, serious or foreign your partner might give up and shag you

CHASING a shag? There’s no better way than boring your partner into desperate measures with a three-hour subtitled movie about weighty matters, like these: 

The Irishman (Martin Scorcese, 2019)

On paper seems viable, a Mafia plotline and a powerful cast, and if you click in quick enough she’ll never spot that it’s 209 minutes long. Half an hour in you’ve laughed all you can at doddering young De Niro. Two hours in you’ve ploughed through two bottles of rosé and f**k on the couch without even turning it off.

127 Hours (Danny Boyle, 2010)

For the hopeful shagger on a tighter timeline, this movie is a swift 93 minutes but still convinces even even the most responsive boyfriend to once again look at you like a viable sexual alternative. When a man’s hacking his own arm off in a Utah canyon this is getting paused and you’ll never go back. Now’s the time to make your move.

Hiroshima mon amour (Alan Resnais, 1959) 

Again short but so intensely French, with so many longing glances and silent scenes, your girlfriend will tire of waiting for them to start boning and give up and initiate foreplay herself. Helps that it’s black and white and penetratingly dull.

The Godfather Part III (Francis Ford Coppola, 1990) 

This is playing the long game. First you hit your boyfriend with Parts I and II, leading them to believe a crowning cinematic experience is forthcoming. Then you stick this on. Poleaxed by how shit it is, he’ll be desperate to stop the film nobody has ever finished by making love to you. It’s the perfect crime. Don Corleone would approve.

Das Boot (Wolfgang Peterson, 1981) 

Long, grim, serious and subtitled, this is the ultimate Netflix and chill movie. Sell it as a war epic, up periscope, man the torpedoes and strap in. An hour of this and your clumsy caresses will be welcomed like you’re Casanova, not a fat bloke who had microwave garlic chicken an hour and a half ago.

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