WAKING following an especially thunderous evening of conviviality, I notice from my stained pillow I have suffered minor ‘cerebral leakage’.
In layman’s terms, I imbibed so enthusiastically that a portion of my brain has leaked out of my ear. A physician examines the liquid discharge and ascertains that my vital mental faculties are unharmed, but the cells containing memories of the previous evening are lost.
‘And that,’ he says, closing a window, silencing police sirens and the crackle of a blazing Carrefour, ‘is just as well, monsieur.’ Ascending to the first-class carriage of the Eurostar back to London, I order grilled kippers and read Suella Braverman’s plans to send asylum seekers to Rwanda have been declared illegal, a judgement dismissed as disappointing the ‘majority of the British people’.
Boil my holy grey bollocks, are you fucking serious? Did you watch Question Time when they asked if anyone – anyone at all – supported your mad idea? No cunt put their fucking hand up! A fucking Question Time audience, that gaggle of gammon, chutney-bottling cranks and swivel-eyed Faragists, and not one of them! If you’ve lost these people, you are seriously stranded on the planet Loon! A plank of wood dipped in liquid cowshit would make a better home secretary than you. Fire yourself out of a cannon in the general direction of the sun and have fucking done with it, you awful, awful protein shake of quasi-fascist twat!
George Osborne and former Labour chancellor Ed Balls, who have described themselves as ‘frenemies’, are launching a podcast where they will discuss economic matters.
Osborne, the roundly-booed tit whose impact on the economy was that of a human iceberg on the fucking Titanic, followed by the crew’s cry ‘Rich bastards first!’, chatting amiably with the only cunt who aspires to be Piers Morgan! The day I listen to this farrago of smirking smugness from two sex muppets who by rights should spend the remainder of their days in the fucking stocks at Market Harborough being pelted with rotten cabbage and piss-soaked rocks is the day I go down to the crypt, open a tomb and sodomise the remains of Henry IV!
Vladimir Putin survived a coup by Wagner group head Yevgeny Prigozhin, after asking Alexander Lukashenko, president of Belarus, to negotiate on his behalf.
Fucking big tough guy you look now, eh? Scurrying off and getting your mate to fix your problem for you, cowering behind his fucking back, knees a-knocking and bricks a-shitting! The whole world has clocked you for the pathetic little weasel you are! When the moment for leadership came you farted loudly and wetly with terror and you could smell it from Siberia to St Petersburg! Your wretched days are fucking numbered, you horrible, murdering, drinks-weak-tea-from-a-World’s-Worst-Twat-mug of a man!
Finally, Nigel Farage has said he may be forced to leave Britain after his bank closed his accounts. He believes he is the victim of ‘blatant corporate prejudice’ as a result of his campaigning for Brexit.
Is that what it is, is it? The banks, famous for their fucking woke leftism, refusing to handle the money of anyone who lobbied to leave the fucking EU? Which is why to this day, Rupert Murdoch and Jacob Rees-Mogg have to cart around their money in huge fucking wheelbarrows because no bank will do business with them? Mate, there is something fishy going on here. You are Britain’s leading grifter, named Grifter of the Year by Hot Grift magazine six years running, and this happens? This is as fishy as Billingsgate market in a fucking heatwave! Leave the country? Maybe we can crowdfund £169,000 and get you on a one-way flight to Rwanda, you frogmouthed, odious cunt!
