Category: Brexit

Number 10 announced that the Prime Minister (there but for the grace of God…) was unilaterally retracting Article 50. In its place, May was confidently demanding that the EU recognise her Article 50+++.

Downing Street spokesman Rhett O’Rick was on hand to demystify the latest Brexit nonsense.

“It’s really simple,” stated O’Rick. “Article 50 has not given us what we wanted, so we have gone back to the EU to demand an upgraded Article 50. To avoid any confusion, we have called this new Article 50 Article 50+++.”

The original Article 50 was clear to the point of brutality. What makes this Article 50+++ better?

“All the plus signs, of course,” joked O’Rick. “But seriously, there is a little more wriggle room in the new Article. It now reads, ‘The EU treaties shall cease to apply to the State in question at an unspecified time after the notification.’ I think that’s something we can all get behind.”

This is just a load more fudge, isn’t it? It is surely just another way to kick the can down the road.

“Certainly not,” declared O’Rick. “It means that now the country can Brexit at a suitable time decided by Parliament. It’s taking back control.”

And will the EU accept it? After all, their latest position was ‘No more negotiations’.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” said Rhett, turning scarlet. “They need us more than we need them. Take it or leave it. The ball’s in their court.”

But, but… If the original Article 50 has been retracted by May, that means the PM has acted impulsively and unilaterally, and without forethought, again. And it means that we remain in the EU.

“Look, you clearly don’t understand these difficult and complicated matters,” said a flustered O’Rick. “So why don’t you run along and remoan at someone else?”

Fair point.

Meanwhile Theresa May has nor been seen in public recently because she has had extensive dental work. Too much fudge rots the teeth.

The four horsemen of the apocalypse – Death, War, Pestilence, and the other one – have been joined by a fifth. The newcomer, in a class of his own, is Brexit.

It is hard to argue with the choice. Brexit brings chaos where there is order, dearth where there is plenty, and general pissed-off-ness in place of harmony.

In fact, Brexit has already spread so much confusion that his horse is insisting that the spot on his nose is actually a vestigial horn from a unicorn.

The other horsemen, after initially celebrating, are now regretting the decision. “Brexit will be the cause of many a death,” complained Death. “Bloody newcomers, putting me out of a job!”

“Yeah, Brexit is about to start a civil war out of nothing more than name-calling,” remoaned War. “I’ve been trying to do that for years. Not even Hitler fell for that one!”

“Brexit is causing a shortage of medicines,” observed Pestilence. “Who needs pestilence, when Brexit can reverse hundreds of years of progress in  a matter of months?”

“It’s all a bit shit, innit,” agreed the other one. “Whatever I do, Brexit does it better. Or worse, depending on your point of view. What’s the point in being a horseman of the apocalypse if this bloody usurper breezes along and completely takes over?”

It is only reasonable to reflect upon how Brexit gatecrashed the liberal elite and shat on their poncy table. Some tawdry talent show – The Brex Factor, or Brexit’s Got Talent, one of those – invited auditions and put the vote to the public. In this lottery. 52% voted for Brexit, which was instantly accepted as the fifth horseman.

Subsequent revelations have shown that the vote was both illegally fought and fraudulently won. The Director General of the Talentless Show, David Camelot, resigned on the spot. This admission of guilt appeased the horseman, which enabled Brexit to dominate the original four.

Unfortunately, Brexit has become too big for his boots. His horse, now his unicorn, is demanding special privileges and refusing to bear him further. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

“Yes! We have no bananas!” has got to the top of the charts. The BBC, true to form, has refused to play it, citing political influence.

The nonsense song has come into vogue periodically. Principally when bananas were rationed after world war 2.

We turned to pop music expert Melody Lynes for an explanation.

“Novelty songs are always popular,” she stated. “However, they sell better when outside events influence buyers. It’s like when Mrs Thatcher died, sales of “Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead” went through the roof.”

The BBC banned that, too.

“I can’t speak for our broadcasters,” said Lynes. “But the public mood was certainty encapsulated in that song, whatever your opinion about Thatcher.”

Clearly the news that, in the event of a no deal Brexit, bananas will become scarce, had prompted sales.

‘Brexpert’ Terry Bulplan had his defence ready. “I can’t understand why anyone would want to listen to that tiresome drivel,” he said. “The title is nonsense, and nobody is suggesting that there will be a shortage of bananas!”

Unfortunately, that is exactly what Brexiters are suggesting. The blockades at our ports and the absence of trade deals will prevent bananas from getting to the UK.

“And a jolly good job too,” grumbles Bulplan. “Too many foreign fruits coming into the country, taking up space in the fruit bowl that could be filled with British fruits, like elderberries and crab apples!”

So, you are saying that Britain is a fruit basket case? A bendy banana republic?

“Nothing of the sort!” retorted Bulplan. “In any case, we need to be singing from the same hymn sheet. And yes, we have no bananas!”

And that’s Brexit in a nutshell. Or a banana skin. A cheerful affirmation that everything will be the same, whilst acknowledging that everything will be dreadful, in one simple sentence.

The country has gone bananas.

Downing Street is in need of a stiff upper lip this morning after its plan to replace viagra supplies, threatened by a no deal Brexit, with adult movie workers has been slammed as half hard.

”It’s just sensible contingency planning,” a French maid working in the corridors of 10 Downing Street told us in a voice that was dangerously husky, “I’m not really French, this is just a costume. Do you like it? Would you like me to dust those high shelves?”

Alongside the adult movie specialists, free copies of the entire back catalogue of ‘Carry On’ films will be made available on a new government funded, streaming TV service, called ‘Bonking’.

”We’ll keep Britain shagging,” Mr Monee Schott, Tory MP for Knee Tremblers, declared, “the great British public will not be screwed senseless by Brexit.”

A debatable statement.

Additional plans include placing rousing imagery in town squares and city centres.

”Who isn’t going to feel something with a thirty foot high poster of Maggie in her prime glowering down at you as you go for a pint?” Mr Schott said with half closed eyes, “erect that next to a poster of a steam train entering a tunnel and off we go!”

Rockets blasting off and fireworks exploding are also planned.

But controversy has hit the scheme early after it was revealed a stockpile of actual viagra is being built for government ministers.

”Do you want your elected officials down in the dumps over the natural consequences of ageing on the mortal male? That would be reckless at a time of natural crisis.”

Plans to make the stockpile available to paid up members of the Conservative Party have also raised eyebrows.

”We’re just seeing to the needs of our natural supporters. Keep their resolve to make a success of Brexit firm.”

On the plus side, the dressers and drawers of the U.K. will be getting a proper seeing to with the old feather duster as the legions of fluffers are set to work across Little England.

But critics will take convincing that this isn’t just another example of the government making a fluff of Brexit.

Chris Grayling has zero chance of screwing up No Deal Brexit transport and supply lines with the launch of ‘Tug for Britain’, an initiative as ambitious as the Transport Secretary himself.

“It really should have been Damian Green’s brief,” a surprisingly modest Chris told a poorly attended press conference, held to launch the scheme, “what with all the tugging. But I guess I can man up and see it to completion.”

Under the scheme, also known as TUB (“It’s for thumping!” – interjects Grayling), a fleet of powerful British built tug boats will push on the western coast of England to eradicate the possibility of long lorry queues at Dover and Calais.

”Once all of England is a land border with France then lorries will be able to cross wherever they like and there’s nothing the French can do to stop us. I’ve already awarded seventy, million, billion pounds to a tug boat company without tug boats.”

But the launch of the bold plan is not without controversy, as noted humanitarians within the Tory Party are livid at how easy it will make the crossing into the U.K. for people at the sharp end of British munition exports.

”Theresa can mollify them by pointing out how fun it will be to deport them all straight back over the border again.”

But further concerns have been raised regarding the safety of islanders on the many islands between the two land masses.

”They will be given plenty of warning in order to tug themselves out of the way,” the transport secretary reassured.

Asked what Labour thought about tugging for Britain, a spokesman said, “a long as we get to create a state controlled utopia in which all 65 million British citizens are stripped of FOM and forced to work to fulfil their quotas daily we don’t care what the wankers get up to.”

Tug for Britain. Then get behind it, get your feet wet and push.

The woman alleged to be the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom is taking some well-earned time out. The rumour mill says that she is building a shed in her back garden.

Theresa May is following the lead of her un-esteemed predecessor, David Cameron. Cameron, lest we forget, gambled the country’s future on a referendum designed to silence Eurosceptic critics. As we know, the plan backfired magnificently. Instead of hanging around to clear up his mess, Cameron promptly resigned to build a shed.

“I call it the rag shed,” Cameron admitted cheerfully. “I retreat to it whenever the lovely Samantha is on the rag, or loses her rag. A man needs his own space to escape from the harsh realities of living with a woman.”

Cameron reveals that he can spend time in his shed with his fantasies, alternatively called ‘writing his memoirs’. Equipped with a sofa, a desk, wifi, and enough gin to last a fortnight, he no longer needs to engage with his family except when slopping out.

Our mole at Number Ten revealed that Theresa May is secretly building a shed. “She is calling it her Brexit Shed,” said the mole, Andi Livin-Ahole. “She is assembling it in an ad-hoc manner. She keeps firing her incompetent project managers and ignores all guidance on construction.”

The rickety, leaking edifice is nearing completion, Livin-Ahole says. “It must be complete by 29 March,” he reveals. “She won’t extend the deadline even if it collapses about her ears. Which it might well do any moment.”

The attraction of the shed is obvious. You can escape from unwelcome attention and have privacy. May’s supporters have pointed out that sleeping in a shed is better than sleeping under a hedge. “Or under a hedge fund manager,” adds Livin-Ahole, acidly.

Shed means shed. But the image persists of our once-proud PM sitting in the rain, amid the remains of the wrecked shed, a plastic bag over her head, repeating over and over again:

Strong and stable… Strong and stable…

One of the great luminaries of the visionary potatriotic society that is reforming Great Britain into an improvised bit of performance art intended to portray emotionally what it is like to live in cellar eating guano and screaming at strangers who occasionally pop their head down to see if you’ve had a wash (the play is best staged in a mothballed abattoir), has generously turned his fierce intellectual light onto the matter of the Titanic and its sinking.

“It was a managed no buoyancy event,” Mr Satan MP said, “it would be a mistake for people to think it was just a calamity, nothing could be further from the truth.”

The clarity Mr Satan has brought to one of the most resonant events in 21st Century history has been welcomed by people who feared that the similarities between Brexit UK and the loss of the Titanic weren’t a good thing.

“No, this simply isn’t true,” Mr Satan continues, “numerous people managed to survive by sitting in life boats until a buoyancy event rescued them. Of course, very many lifeboats weren’t found until the occupants had frozen to death, but it’s best not to mention them. At least they were continuing to experience buoyancy, which just shows that buoyancy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Or the mass of people who drowned, look the other way out of respect. Or the fact that the whole tragedy could arguably have been avoided with a little less hubris. Hubris is a dynamic force within the spirit of man. It should be embraced.”

Text books will have to be rewritten now to correct what are potentially un-potatriotic perspectives on the Titanic catastrophe?

“The very fact you insist on calling one of the most famous events in the history of modern Britain a catastrophe shows how much work is still to be done.”

And what about a no deal Brexit? To turn for a moment to today’s big issue?

“A managed no deal will be best,” Mr Satan MP smiled, “it’s all just a matter of the words you use. Convince everyone to go along with you and you’re a success.”

A woman is celebrating today with the news she gets to  keep her well paid job of moving money out of the pockets of poor people into the pockets of rich ones.

“I’m giddy,” power crazed, person hating f-wit Ms May told us, shortly after the result of a vote over her fate was announced, “I can continue to offer strong and stable degradation of everything that makes the U.K. worthwhile, while my husband conveniently works in a field where political drama and exchange rate fluctuations coincide to produce a golden goose. This is not a conflict of interest,

“This has nothing to do with Brexit, or my role in managing the process with the same xenophobia and small minded control freakery that stamped my mark on the Home Office,

”Keeping my job is also convenient, given some think, but I couldn’t possibly comment, that I like to shred evidence of wrong doing and foreign collision and corruption in our politics. That’s nothing to do with Brexit either.”

But how did she manage to win a vote of confidence, allowing her to keep her job, when many thought she might lose it?

”Look, my colleagues are impressively thick and self interested, but they’re not so thick they want to kick me out of my post when I’m still prepared to take the fall for the massive fraud they’re running on the great British public. Oh, and I returned the whip to a sex pest and promised everyone who voted for me  a peerage.”