WAKING with a morning head that feels as if I have eaten a pair of dead man’s soiled trousers dumped outside the door of a charity shop, I turn on the radio to hear the grimmest of grim news.
With due solemnity, I head to the abbey, there to deliver an impromptu sermon. The occasional is too grave to go unfortified, so I imbibe frequently from a bottle of rum while at the pulpit.
‘Fuck me,’ I orate. ‘Fuck me, fuck my dog, fuck my pet monkey, fuck my dead father. The fucking Yanks have dropped yet another bollock.’ I pause at this point, for dramatic effect but also to vomit, an impressive plume which falls only just short of the front pew.
‘If ever there was a more inappropriate appointment to a position of high responsibility, if any of you cunts can think of anyone doing a job they’re more unsuited for, I’d like to fucking know who. In the name of the father, and of the son and fuck off the lot of you.’
Upon which I hurl my empty bottle in the general direction of the congregation and repair to my chambers, applause ringing in my ears. I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein, I read that Kemi Badenoch, new leader of the Conservative party, has appointed Priti Patel as shadow foreign secretary.
Jumping Joseph on a fucking cockstick, Priti Patel? Is there a more unflushable turd in politics than this twisted-mouthed phial of fucking rodent poison? How on earth has this thick, malignant, grievous she-imp survived in the Tory frontline running on zero wattage and pure spite? How vegetative can the state have been of the other candidates she beat off at every stage of her career? And how can she be shadow anything when she doesn’t have a fucking shadow? Fuck!
Chris Martin of Coldplay hit the headlines when he fell through a trap door during a concert in Melbourne, Australia.
When I read this, I had to take a taxi to Westminster abbey just so I had an aisle to roll around in! At my calculation that pays back about one thousandth of a per cent of the debt you owe humanity for dumping your ashen fucking bilge on us these many years! This’ll do for now but you still owe us about 10,000 whacks in the face from stepping on a garden rake and 200 grand pianos falling on you from the top of a multi-storey building, you cunt!
Former Tory MP Rory Stewart has expressed regret following his prediction that Kamala Harris would win the US Presidential election.
So I should fucking think so, you clueless little runt, but you’ll still take a handsome wage as someone who supposedly has insight into the inside track of politics, as opposed to being a chinless, fatuous wishful thinker! Anyone with an ounce of nous could see that she didn’t stand a chance! I mean, the fact that she’s got a vagina made her dead in the water for a start because as we know, Americans would sooner elect fucking Hitler than a woman as President, but the fact that she ran on Michelle Obama-type smug vibes also sealed the fucking deal!
Finally, Keir Starmer has tweeted ‘Good to speak with President-elect Donald Trump to congratulate him on his historic victory. I look forward to working together. From defence and security to growth and prosperity, the relationship between the UK and US is incredibly strong and will continue to thrive for many years to come.’
See, Keir, you had a choice. Either go grovelling to Brussels and ask if we could please, please have better relations with Europe as some sort of protection from whatever hell the orange fuckwit is ready to wreak, or you could obey your cowardly, craven instincts and make a bee line for the trousers of the new dictator of the USA in the hope of occupying a prize berth halfway up his sphincter! And it’s perfectly fucking obvious which way you’re gonna lean. A polite note would have done but you had to slither along the path of oleaginous bullshit like the wretched, shapeshifting slime you fucking are!
