Survival of the thickest thinned down to seven as three packets of mince drop out

The survival of the thickest competition, otherwise known as the Tory leadership contest, has claimed its first victims. Thick as mince, but clearly not thick enough, three candidates have passed their sell-by date.

The first of the three is minced turkey voting for Christmas, Esther McVey. If Theresa May was the embodiment of the hostile environment, then McVey was its pretty face. Her latest attempt at being truly thick came when she failed to learn the backstory for an airheaded tale about an airport built using the aid budget. Where was it? A continent somewhere… abroad… somewhere foreign, anyway, why let facts cloud a good bit of charity bashing?

Then there is mutton dressed as lamb mince, Andrea Leadsom. Leadsom is like a pale caricature of May, but without the charisma. Not even the fact that she had dropped sprogs could preserve her from the lamb chop this time.

Finally, sucking it up, extra strong mince, Mark Harper. Out of place on the meat shelves, like Mother Superior at a wife-swapping party, Harper is so anonymous his own family doesn’t know who he is. He is clearly the most acceptable of the ten, so therefore not nearly thick enough to continue. An immediate sweet return to the backbench confectionery aisle.

But who will be the shortest of the two short planks? Who will be the thickest of the thieves? Separating the sheep from the goats is LCD Views’ Thy Kingdom Come correspondent, Wilby Dunn.

“Clearly, they are all sheep,” said Dunn, literally. “The sheep are on the right, and inherit the kingdom of Brexit. The goats are on the left, and are ignored for ever and ever, amen.”

Dunn paused on this metaphor, wondering who the shepherd of all these brainless sheep could be. “A Jesus figure? A flawless, benevolent lord? You must be kidding!” laughed Dunn. “We are looking at an antichrist, a puppet-master pulling Pinocchio’s strings behind the curtain. Not Farage, not Trump, not even Murdoch. So I cast my mind to the mysterious East, to Moscow maybe, and to… ouch… I don’t feel too good… eurggghhhh…”

And he dropped down dead from Novichok poisoning.

The plot thickens.

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