hitting G-force. There are a lot more cheap cracks that can be made about his appearance but I won’t be making them. Not after the trouble the last Down’s syndrome joke got me in.
It was announced that Ed had won and then the next day David made a speech, then the day after Ed’s speech David held a press conference – this is basically the political version of repeating everything your little brother says in a mocking voice. David was the first politician to resign so he can spend less time with his family. He looks like Mathew Horne being slapped in the face with a hammer. As do most of my fantasies. Ed now faces the huge challenge of trying not to look smug in front of his brother. Which won’t be easy, as it will mean having plastic surgery.
Diane Abbott said there was a plot to get rid of Ed Miliband, but I hardly think you can call the next election a plot. Miliband is now so invisible NATO wants to use his skin to cover stealth planes. Embarrassingly, he polled lower than Nick Clegg. That must be like your wife telling you she’s leaving you for an occasional table. Miliband’s approval rating would have been even lower if people had recognised his name.
The Scottish Nationalists had a huge result at the Holyrood elections. If we go independent all the beggars in London will have to be reclassified as refugees. The most persuasive argument for independence is that ‘We’ve got all the oil.’ Have you seen what happens to small countries that have oil? We might get independence but that will quickly be followed by pilotless US drones attacking Edinburgh Castle, being captured by the locals and reprogrammed to find Neil Lennon. Within six months, Alex Salmond will be hanging on a gibbet as David Cameron announces a plan to introduce democracy to Scotland.
We’ll finally have our own customs officers to check that we haven’t brought more than our personal allowance of 18,000 litres of alcohol into the country. Even if we did go independent, what’s the biggest change going to be? There will still be dog shite in the streets. Scottish dog shite. Our pubs will still be full of pricks. Scottish pricks. The only difference I can envisage is that on Saturday nights we’ll watch a TV show called Scotland’s Got Talent. And the winner will be a lassie who can mark a bingo card while having a heart attack.
The population of Britain is projected to grow by almost half a million people every year until 2032. Most of them will be immigrants from Eastern Europe, and a good thing too, as I can’t see anyone from here wanting to give me blanket baths and change my adult diapers for a few pounds an hour. Actually, I’m not talking about the future. That’s just what I’m into.
Iain Duncan Smith gave a speech demanding British jobs for British people. Where did he deliver this speech? From a balcony in a sports stadium shortly before Jesse Owens ran the 100 metres. Asking employers to consider British people for British jobs contravenes EU human-rights laws. Which has upset many Tories. Listen, when your policies are the direct opposite of human rights, it might be time to take a long, hard look at your soul. I confess I sometimes employ foreign labour to write for me and they do a great job. OK, some of the references may be a little off, but if you don’t like it, go whistle at the clay mountain, dragon shoes!
Theresa May says she’s going to cut immigration by 5 per cent, by standing on the cliffs of Dover with no bra on. In future, applicants will have to have a degree, private health insurance and a sponsor, or be able to do at least 50 keepy uppies in front of officers at Heathrow. There will be no restrictions on highly skilled professionals who create wealth, such as entrepreneurs and employees of multinational companies. That’s a weird one, isn’t it? Entrepreneurs are allowed in, but teachers and nurses aren’t. So, if you can work an X-ray machine, it’s a ‘no’, but if you’ve got an idea for Dragons’ Den about a biodegradable chair made out of cheddar, it’s a ‘yes’.
May is also cracking down on foreign students. Because we don’t want intelligent immigrants coming here, just the ones willing to sell us chips and sex. She also hopes to have more police out on the streets. Bad news for muggers, car thieves and blokes not in the best of health who’ve had a few pints and are wandering past a march.
Every time I see Theresa May I can’t help thinking that she looks like a woman going out on the town the first night after she has just finalised her divorce. She’s made way too much of an effort and there’s the very real sense that in two hours’ time she’s going to be crying in a toilet and wearing only one shoe. She admits that tackling immigration is her toughest challenge. Really? I’d have thought her toughest challenge was finding a foundation to match her skin tone that wasn’t solely available for wholesale to funeral parlours.
The BNP have voted to allow non-whites to join. They now look set to have their first Sikh member. What’s he going to do? Move house because he doesn’t want to live in a street with him on it? At least the turban will soften the blows to his head. He said that joining the BNP won’t change him. Although he’s stopped using the toilet and now craps into his own letterbox. Yes, I find myself forced to agree that ‘There ain’t no black in the Union Jack.’ But to highlight the counter-argument for a moment, there aren’t that many red or blue people.
I’ve finally worked out why Nick Griffin is so hated. It’s not just his policies, it’s his face. In particular, the big, mad eye. It makes him look evil. Like a bogus caller as viewed through a pensioner’s security peephole. Simply put, Griffin permanently looks like he wants to steal your granny’s pension and beat her to a pulp with a tin of soup. Look at him closely and you’ll see that he wanders around as if he’s gawping through an invisible magnifying glass – as if looking for clues that might lead him to an Asian’s lair.
After his piss-poor appearance on Question Time I suspect he’ll receive sack loads of hate mail, which will be delivered sometime around Easter. Host David Dimbleby tried to assure the audience it would ‘not just be the Nick Griffin show’. Although I’d love to see The Nick Griffin Show. ‘Tonight’s guests are Carol Thatcher, Ron Atkinson and the restless spirit of Jade Goody.’
Griffin’s political ideology is so confused I can’t wait for the next party political broadcast. He associates so closely with Churchill but is far more in tune with Hitler. Picture the scene. Griffin is made up as Adolf but he screams his speech in a Cockney accent, while thousands of Chelsea pensioners goose-step down the Mall singing ‘Knees Up Eva Braun’. There are Spitfires overhead, emblazoned with swastikas. Finally, we see Griffin, made up now as Churchill, talking to a young Jewish girl. Churchill takes a deep puff of his cigar and says with a terrible German accent, ‘Madam, I might be drunk. But you are ugly. However, in the morning I’ll be sober. You, however … will be dead.’
After Griffin compared Britain’s military generals to Nazi war criminals, he said that the party’s website attracted 77,000 unique visitors. Not that unique, I suspect. I’m willing to bet they all had a couple of things in common. Like the IQ of cat shit and a very scared black neighbour.
A British Muslim who wants to enter Miss Universe has received threats. Perhaps she could just compromise and ask if she can appear once in an evening dress, and once under a big pile of stones.
It turns out we’re all eating Halal meat without realising it. Basically, the animal has its throat cut with a sharp knife. Either by a butcher or, if it lives in South London, it might just have popped out for fags. It can’t be stunned, as followers of Islam are forbidden to consume blood. A revelation that’s pissed off the Daily Express, just as they were about to run their ‘Dracula Was a Muslim’ headline. The advice seems to be if you’re not sure about your meat’s origins, ask supermarket staff. That’ll work. ‘Erm … I’m usually on bread … Mr Richards. Mr Richards! There’s a man here don’t like sausages or somefin’.’
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