Soul prices soar
Jack Straw, the retired liar and swivel-eyed ingrate, has come out in favour of the recent hike in the price of souls. “Years ago, when I sold mine, they weren’t worth much” he told us, “the going rate was a hill of beans and a job for life. Nowadays its literally millions, with people queuing up to fatten your after-dinner speaking wallet for a few bits of bullshit your secretary cobbled together off the internet. I’m gutted really. Now that everyone knows I will say absolutely anything as long as it furthers my ambitions, I’m a busted flush”. Mr. Straw is available for weddings, bar mitzvahs and after-show parties and is willing to change his opinion at the drop of a cheque. He can be contacted at his castle on Hampstead Heath, during the hours of darkness.
President elect Trump, whose tarnished brand is so toxic in the UK that even stupid people don’t like him, has vowed to “learn English” in time for his inauguration. This is what he had to say after his historic post-election meeting with Obama, “We discussed a lot of situations, some of them wonderful, and some difficulty”. Good luck with the syntax Donald, maybe you can pick up some manners too?
Cast not a clout
Theresa May thinks she can go to India and impress Brexit Britain with shiny new trade deals. She offers this pledge to our former colonial friends; “we want your money but not your people coming here”. She must think Indians are as thick as we are.
Following Nigel Farage’s brown- tongued pilgrimage to Trump Towers, Cardiac-free MP Amber Rudd has endeared herself to the nation by agreeing to extradite Lauri Love, the Asperger’s sufferer accused of hacking federal government agencies, to the USA. Here the lucky lad will be subject to the whims of mad-as-a- hatter demigod Trumpius Caeser. Rumour has it that the big-haired blusterer is straining his tiny hands trying to get that “thumbs down” signal just right.
Enemies of the people – or the death of journalism?
It is pointless to keep stating the obvious about the pitiful state of political discourse, and the shoddy, adolescent scribblers who write what they are told to by the billionaire barons of our “free press”, but am I detecting a pattern here? If the radio phone lines are anything to go by, all of the livid, foaming at the mouth brexiteers appear to be in what might be described as the autumn of their years. By the time the inevitable and collossal shit/fan collision occurs, they will all be enjoying the big snooze. Are they just injecting a bit of excitement into their lives, a bit of youth- nostalgia mischief before the grim reaper calls it a day? Without exception, these suddenly politicised, over-excited silver surfers appear to have not the slightest grasp of the meaning of the parliamentary democracy they claim to find so precious, and to care even less about the ugly, intractable, socially divisive legacy that, thanks to them, younger generations will be saddled with for the foreseeable future.