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These crazed ideologues will not stop until Boris has been tarred, feathered, blinded and neutered

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who believes democracy has failed and it’s time to move on

WILL they not stop? Is no humilation enough until Boris is a tramp on the streets going through the bins for supper? 

Today’s privileges committee report is just the final kick to the ribs from the jackbooted guards who’ve spent months working him over, demanding a confession. 

First they took his dignity, making him apologise for parties which were work events, did not take place, should have been legal anyway and everyone was doing the same. Need I say cake? In a room? 

Then they took his job. The role he was born to. The greatest prime minister of this or any other era, defenestrated and jeered out of Downing Street, smeared in human dung. 

And now they’ve taken his very livelihood. A kangaroo court of methamphetamine-crazed vultures, nudists and old-school Soviets tortured him, tattooed ‘arsehole’ on his forehead, forced a live squirrel between his buttocks and beat his tits with a wooden ruler. 

On Monday, the Commons will vote. They will vote on whether Boris Johnson should be exiled to an uninhabited Atlantic islet or whether he is to be flayed alive, rolled in salt, set on fire and dismembered by wild, irradiated dogs. And I fear they’ll vote for the latter. 

Their vindictive vengeance is driven by their own inadequacy, the inescapable knowledge that none of them could handle a pandemic with Johnson’s grace, aplomb and savoir faire. They will castrate him, blind him and cut out his tongue. 

Why? Not Partygate, which never existed except in the deranged minds of the Westminster bubble. No, this is all retribution for a single crime: Brexit. 

Why else? Why else would Boris be decapitated, live on The One Show, while Alex Scott catches his head in a little basket? Because he refuses to recant his foundational belief. 

Boris, like Jesus, suffers for us. For the 52 per cent. For those who dared to dream. He is the Brexit martyr that they will never, ever break. 

Do what you like to Boris. Turn him inside out. Extinguish his line. Fire him into the sun. Put a firework up his cock if you must. He’ll still be Britain’s hero. 

A confused Millennial tries to… have a nuanced opinion

by Josh Gardner, who gets his information via TikTok dancers sponsored by Invisalign

IT’S important to have an opinion. Otherwise how could you properly engage with a listicle ranking every Marvel movie from worst to best?

But not every view is as clear-cut as Black Panther above Captain Marvel. With some things – especially political stuff, not so much ranking 100 Gets tracks – actually neither view can be entirely right or entirely wrong. I know, mind-blown emoji.

When you’re used to thinking in memes, that’s tricky. Apparently neither ‘are we the baddies’ or two Spider-Men pointing at each other fully encompasses the contradictory nature of the human experience.

I came across this first-hand when my Dad was reminiscing, insensitively, about taking me to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Talk about a major red flag.

‘Yeah, like Merry Terfmas Dad,’ I hit out. ‘Don’t you realise what that author spends her millions on? When we went to see that play we were funding hate. We should film a YouTube apology.’

‘Ah, she’s said some stuff, but we had a lovely day,’ he blunders, like the 70s Boomer he is. ‘Your face, honestly, you couldn’t have been more delighted. And whatever you think now, she wrote some good stories.’

I pick up my phone, obviously, as a reflex defensive action but before Insta’s even open I realise that, incredibly, he has a point. Goblet of Fire fucking slaps, and Deathly Hallows isn’t far behind. ‘How?’ I blurt out.

‘Well, you separate the art from the artist, son,’ he drones, while I read Succession recaps to calm myself. Never seen it but I like to go in prepared. ‘And that’s far from the only one.’

‘Just Stop Oil? Great cause and posh twats,’ he continues, puffing his vape. ‘Churchill? Racist who stopped Hitler. Your mate Marvin? Means well but he’s a total arsehole.’

Exhaling lemon-and-lime flavoured wisdom, he adds: ‘Perhaps, when you’re older, you’ll develop contradictory opinions of your own. Or just any opinion that isn’t off your bloody hive mind.’

My anxiety manifested and I fled to my safe space, watching Twitch streams in the safe space of my bedroom. What if he was right? What if my dislike of Taylor Swift wasn’t because of internalised misogyny but because her music’s crap?

I think that will be my first and last dalliance with a nuanced opinion. I don’t want to get hooked and end up having my own intricate, multi-faceted views. Though he is 100 per cent right about Marvin.

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