Category: Brexit

Britain’s mouldy cheese wheel, Iain Duncan Smith, has rolled himself out of the fridge and proposed a solution to the Irish Border problem, which until now, had seemed unresolvable.

“A seamless Irish border solution is readily available,” Irritable Duncan Syndrome droned, “people just have to show a little imagination and patriotism and get behind the country.”

But what is the solution Iain? Is it a construction of a physical manifestation of universal credit on the Irish Border?

“That sort of talk will get you into trouble. Traitor,” Irrational Debt Spend retorted, “you just have to look no further than the solution adopted by our good friends and neighbours on the Korean Peninsula.”

You do know they’re still technically at war, don’t you Iain?

“Getting lost in soundbites won’t help anyone,” Imagine Doing Something hit back, “The border between North and South Korea is a seamless border that utilities tried and test technology that has been in use for decades now.”

So you’re saying two armies facing off with thousands of artillery pieces ready to fire at a moment’s notice, and a massive aerial bombardment from the United States also constantly ready to fall from the sky?

“Oh, I don’t know if we need to involve the United States,” I Doom Spectre replied, “well, not at least until it’s time to start arms smuggling again.”

Thanks IDS, we don’t know what we’ll do if you ever get locked out of the BBC radio studios.

“Probably shout less at the radio while making your eggs in the morning.”

Wow. He actually said something provable and true.

Construction of the Road to Brexit, which goes from… somewhere… to… somewhere else, has apparently ceased. The reason is that costs have gone way over budget.

The illustrations are impressive, at least. They show a wide, sweeping expanse of glittering tarmac, elegant junctions, and hundreds of happy people in their cars. The only snag is that the route has not been defined. The map simply shows two dots, one marked “Here” and the other “Brexit”, and the Road, drawn freehand in crayon, more or less joins the two.

LCD’s Single Track Roads correspondent tracked down the construction headquarters with some difficulty. It turned out to be a shabby Portakabin in a field in the middle of nowhere. Cows munched the grass solemnly. There was no sign of the Road anywhere.

An old chap with an old spade and mucky wellingtons was in front of the Portakabin, digging a border. His name turned out to be Bill Droads.

Where is the Road to Brexit? we asked.

“It should be here,” replied Droads. “The first roundabout should be in the next field, and the main carriageway should be where you are standing.”

Should be? Should be? But this Road needs to be built immediately, doesn’t it?

“That’s right,” Droads confirmed. ”But construction has had to be halted before it has even started, because of cost overruns.”

How come? Nothing has been built yet.

“There has been a lot of money spent,” Droads said icily. “There’s the Managing Director, Finance Director, Marketing Director, a whole load of architects and management consultants, fancy offices in the heart of London, the works. There have been meetings, lunches, and a huge launch gala. All this has to be paid for. Unfortunately, nobody thought to plan a route or employ anyone to construct the Road.”

So it’s just you, in a Portakabin in a field?

“Yes. I even brought my own spade,” Bill confirmed. “They were too chicken to ask Carillion. I once tarmacked David Davis’ front drive so they asked me to do the job. But with no budget left I couldn’t do much. I can’t even ring up some mates to lend a hand as there’s no bloody signal out here!”

We decided to leave Bill to his border.

“Don’t tell them about the border!” he warned. “They will transfer me to Ireland!”

Rumour now has it that the Road will be orbital, like the M25. It doesn’t matter how far you drive, you always come back to where you started, sooner or later.

A woman and “the” boy were left struggling today to answer if “a” racism is now the only reason left for “the” Brexit?

Both individuals are currently surprisingly influential in shaping “a” future of “the” United Kingdom.

They’re certainly surprised.

”It’s great isn’t it!” “the” man told LCD Views,

“for years I shouted from the sidelines about injustice and progressive social values and then one day I found myself “the” boss.

It  was supposed to be “a” prank to keep some children of Tony Blair happy, or something. I never really got to the bottom of it, but I’m still laughing now.”

It seems both have been centre stage over the last nineteen months or so in the public discussion over what to do about “the” Brexit.

”It’s a bloody ride, I’ll tell you that for nothing,” “A” woman commented, “hair raising stuff. Mostly on the back of my neck, hitchhiker who turns out to be a serial killer kind of ride, but still, when I was just a girl learning to distrust people who looked different, I never dreamed one day I’d get to drive an entire national agenda on that basis.”

But it seems, even though both have reached giddier heights than anyone expected, they’re now struggling with how to go forward.

”I’ll keep supporting “the” woman in “a” parliament,” “the” man advised, “she can’t do anything without my help.

The fear of losing “the” youthquake makes me “a” bit jittery though, I may have to change “a” position or turn from hero to villain. Only “a” Lansman isn’t so keen on that. He wants “the” Lexit.”

So an endless pickle festival then?

”Yes. But focus on “the” woman would you please? Not on me. I’m trying to get “a” giant fencepost out of “the” backside.”

Okay.

”So what are you going to do now about “the” Brexit?” we asked “a” woman.

”Oh gosh. It’s very difficult. I admitted during “a” speech last Friday that it will make us poorer, it will lose us control, there’s not much left of “the” cake, I’m afraid. Even “the” official leader of “a” opposition can only vaguely promise to try make everyone a bit less poor, in the dreamscape of unicorns where he gets to do “the” negotiations.”

Well, what is left? There must be something? Still one reason?

”Yes,” they said as “a” chorus, “there is still “the” elephant in “the” Brexit room.”

Which is?

”The reason it all started to begin with. Can’t you see it? It’s staring you in the face?”

Prime Minister Theresa May is due to publish her gamblers’ guide any day now. She explains how to bluff your way to victory despite holding the two of diamonds and the seven of clubs.

This comes on the back of another great Brexit speech, in which she sets out her vision for Brexit as only a blind woman can.

LCD’’s Dubious Gambling Strategies correspondent took a cursory look through the book.

“It’s quite an unusual book, in many respects,” he said, in mystified tones. “For example, Chapter One, Call My Bluff, commences with a paragraph on basic bluffing. There follows a number of blank pages, presumably for David Davis to doodle on. It concludes with the words, ‘Repeat as necessary’.”

The book continues in similar vein, with an alarming lack of detail, and a determination to reinvent the rules of poker along the way. Of particular interest is the appendix, titled “Emergency Procedures”. This has red, white and blue-edged pages for ease of reference, and each page contains one of Theresa’s catchphrases.

Poker expert Tex Oldham was equally scathing. “Poker is a game of thrust and counter-thrust,” he stated. “Yes, there is an element of bluff, but a good player knows when he has had his chips and folds early on.”

Poker-faced May is playing for ever-increasing stakes. £1bn for the DUP? Done. The NHS? No problem. More crayons for David Davis? You bet. Has the Lady gone Gaga?

“She’s a busted flush,” opines Tex. “May is the gambler waiting in vain for that one big win to clear her debts. Who does she think she is, the queen of hearts? Off with her head!”

May is certainly determined to play her cards close to her chest. Does she have an ace up her sleeve? Or is it just a joker? Boris, the BoJoker, maybe?

Stick or twist? Like the knife in her back, it’s twist every time.

“One dose of Brexlax will allow you to take back control of your bowels and your borders,” Michael Gove claimed, as he fronted the ad campaign for Brelax Brexit laxatives, but now a shitstorm is brewing.

“It appears there was virtually no testing in either clinical trials or on monkeys,” LCD Views’ bathroom attendant said, “they just cooked up the recipe in Michael’s kitchen and made millions of batches. These were distributed by bus, and free with tabloids, all over the United Kingdom.”

But now it appears the government has had to step in and order an immediate recall of the claims accompanying Brexlax.

“People are reporting atrocious side affects,” our bathroom attendant continued, “one of my colleagues at Conservative central office said most ministers visiting spend the entire time in the WC groaning and more often than not praying for deliverance.”

It’s not known exactly what in the recipe is causing the liquid calamity in people using Brexlax, but it’s likely to be all the bullshit that went into the tablets.

“They’re about 99% bullshit actually,” our attendant added, “the other 1% is just pure racist spite. I wouldn’t take a Brexlax even if I were in danger of dying the death of Elvis.”

We did approach Michael Gove for comment on the viral furore, and he issued the following statement,

“This is proof of Brexlax’s effectiveness,” Mr Gove responded, “people are supposed to spend time on the toilet after taking my pills. It’s the signature touch of my involvement.”

But what should you do if you have some Brexlax in the home, or if a family member has some and is considering ingesting it?

“Burn them,” our toilet attendant said, “whatever you do do not let a reader of The Express take one. They’ve got it bad enough verbally as it is.”

LCD Views applauds the swift measures taken by Michael Gove to reassure the public over Brexlax.

We further advise that this laxative product is entirely unnecessary, because if you’re not already shitting yourself over Brexit, you soon will be.

“Just take one Brexlax a day and relax,” added Michael Gove, but he would, wouldn’t he.

LCD Views’ political games correspondent is thrilled to have been selected to announce Fudge-it Spinners have been chosen as official toy for Brexit.

“When David Davis cornered me in the Fudge ‘n Fiddle pub this morning I was initially concerned.

I could barely breathe in the mixture of whiskey fumes, testosterone and bs wafting off him in clouds,” Green Searchlight said,

“but once I realised that if I just didn’t breathe I could survive, things improved and I interpreted what he was saying.”

Apparently the decision to gift the announcement to LCD Views was made last minute, but that is standard for government policy in first the May administration, and now the Cummings’ government, and does not detract from the honour.

”Schools across Britain will be forced to distribute the fudge-it spinners to all children and lessons will be given in the main tricks. Diversion. Evasion. Outright lying. Retracting outright lies on twitter.

And finally, managing expectations of a country you intend to impoverish, partly to make Russian oligarch money laundering easier, partly for the imperial ambitions of US libertarians, but also to keep racists feeling less challenged by the way the world is changing with Brexit.”

Green managed to get the few legible words Davis said down in print and they are reproduced here, paraphrased, so as to be understandable.

”It’s to get the younger demographics signed up to Brexit. The fudge-it spinners are another tangible benefit and more than make up for a future devoid of freedom to move around an entire continent at all.

Also, they are more than sufficient to soothe any hurt feelings over not being able to take advantage of the various youth programmes the EU wastes money on in the hope of fostering a sense of ‘let’s not have another world war start in Europe’.”

Mr Davis had to go after he delivered the message. Apparently to steal a snowplow  and drive it into the pumps of a petrol station in Stevenage.

We asked six year old Emma Barnet what she thought of getting a free fudge-it spinner from the government.

”That seals it,” Emma said, “at the next general election I’m voting Conservative. Unless Labour respond with the offer of a slightly less crap Brexit, that still ensures my future options are pants.”

Episode 1: The Fellowship of the Wrong

The story begins in a hole. A big, deep, dark hole. And in the hole dwelt a bad Habbit named Nigel Faragollum. His mind was completely enslaved by his Magic Wrong.

The Wrong did not belong to Faragollum. It was the property of the dark lord Sauwrong, but it had been lost for years. Many believed that it would lie buried forever.

However the Wrong was found and taken underground by Faragollum. It was discovered in bizarre fashion by another Habbit, presented to the civilised Shires, and made respectable.

In time, though, minds became poisoned. Faragollum emerged to recover the Wrong. Sauwrong sent his chief lieutenant, the deadly Witch-King Dacre, to retrieve it.

Willbo, of the People of the Shires, was entrusted with the Wrong. He set off, pursued by the phantoms of xenophobia and sovereignty, to get beyond the Mounting Mistakes.

Accompanied by a motley band of wizards, dwarves and other mythical figures, Willbo managed to pass through the Mounting Mistakes. Unfortunately, he lost his most ardent supporter, who fell into a chasm of his own making.

Willbo was also pursued by trolls, unintelligent troglodytes parroting inane slogans. Unexpected relief came when the Lady Theresa and her ineffective husband gave the Wrong a break. Willbo emerged refreshed, and the Lady distributed gifts worth £10bn.

He then had to take the Wrong up the river without a paddle.

Faragollum followed Willbo wherever he went, desperately trying to recover his precious Wrong, but without success.

Eventually, and at his wits’ end, Willbo decided to do the right thing. He abandoned his illusory friends, and set off to destroy the Great Wrong with which he had been entrusted.

We remember the words of the prophet Camewrong echoing down the ages:

One vote to rule them all, one vote to bind them

One vote to bring them all and in the darkness bind them

In the land of Westminster where the ministers lie.

 

Episode Two: The Two Powers to follow…

“pssst, pssst Liam over here…………”

“What is it Boris, i’ve got to catch another flight to sign a fictitious trade deal with Narnia. So i don’t have much time. You know how big T wants daily trade deal success reports and things have been a bit thin on the ground of late”

“Look, look ! Look what i have bought. I saw one in Farage’s gaff and i said at the time……oh, how… i want one of those.”

“What is it Boris?”

“It’s a Brexit bed, Liam.”

“Well that’s what the picture on the front of the box shows and now all we have to do is put it together….you and me. You said you could sign a trade deal in two weeks and being a doctor, you will have the qualifications to be able to have this made up in a jiffy.”

“Where did you get it from Boris?”

“From Idea out on the outskirts of the EU. They have loadsa stuff when you walk around their massive shop. Except this one seems to have arrived in a big cardboard box.”

“Are their any instructions Boris?”

“Pah!….we don’t need instructions Liam. Look, we have the picture on the front, how hard can it be? Ah, here comes Jacob he can give us hand”

“What oh…..what are you up to Johson minor and friend? You do know the big T can give you a detention for fraternising in groups of two or more. Big T has become a bit paranoid of late, with thoughts of fellow Westminster MPs hatching ideas of a coup.”

“Jacob, we have the magic Brexit bed and we need a hand to put it together, perhaps if you read the instructions, as you are such a stickler for checking Hansard.”

“Oh i don’t do instructions dear boy, I have a man to do that. But I am intrigued with the Brexit bed. It looks big enough for all of us to lie in it. Boris what are you doing?”

“Quick, quick, here comes Anna Soubry and Dominic Grieve. Everyone quick, stand in front of it. I don’t want her and Dominic to get sight of our special prize.”

Hello boys, what do you have there?

“Nothing that you would understand Anna,” said Jacob, “this is male talk.”

“Dominic, that looks like the Brexit bed that Barnier was talking about. Remember, he said that there was a manufacturing problem and that Brussels could not give it a CE mark as it was inherently faulty. Something about when you lie in it, you can’t stop yourself from lying.”

“I am already drafting an amendment to make Boris stay in this bed forever,” reassured Dominic.

“Oh, Boris…..you have to go and buy one of them, didn’t you? As I recall, Farage had one and he passed it on to Donald Trump as a presidential inauguration present.”

Popcorn corns have been a popping overtime in the popcorn production facilities.

Finally the time has come to find out the details of what is meant by a seamless border, the boundary of no boundaries.

Politicians have taken to trawling epic tomes of Quantum Mechanics literature to ascertain the true nature of Schrödinger’s border; a simultaneously entangled superposition of no a border and no border.

Zen masters, who hold the secrets of one hand clapping and unseen trees falling have been asked to solve the ultimate koan riddle, how many checkpoints makes a seamless border?

The answer to the great unanswered of how to peel away Northern Ireland from the South, leaving one in Europe the other in the U.K., without a border.

The great logician Boris Johnson managed to hint at a solution, with just cameras, something akin to the London congestion charge scheme.

But hopes were dashed when the word “border” dropped out of those hapless lips towards the end of his meditation.

With the religious extremist DUP propping up May’s government vehemently opposed to Northern Ireland having any status other than that of the brexited U.K. and Sinn Fein remembering the troubles again at the thought of a split Ireland the situation appears entirely intractable.

So here we are, at the stage in Brexit negotiations, where it’s time for politicians to stop with the empty PR speak and nail the solution down in precision legalese.

Embittered and disenfranchised ‘remoaners’ across the country have stocked up on the poppy stuff in anticipation of the rush of schadenfreude from watching the whole edifice collapse like the 1937 Hindenburg zeppelin disaster, engulfing is all in one great conflagration.

It won’t be pretty, but hey when you’re handcuffed to a bus careering off a cliff, you may as well enjoy the ride.

*grabs first handful of popcorn* 🍿

An announcement was made today that the symbol, mascot and emblem of Brexit shall be a unicorn. Members from across the Brexit spectrum, or “Brextrum”, hailed the decision as a momentous breakthrough.

LCD’s Mythical Beasts correspondent spoke to committee member Izzy Teck.

“This is the greatest breakthrough since the announcement of blue passports!” she boasted. “Unicorns will form the basis of all our marketing, publicity and policy-making.”

Ms Teck disclosed that the decision had been unanimous, with 52% voting in favour and 48% against. The committee has spoken, and the will of the committee shall be carried out regardless.

“In the name of unity, committee members were drawn from all major parties,” Ms Teck continued. “Conservatives, DUP, and Nigel Farage. Oh, and a random Labour chappie to fulfil some positive discrimination bollocks.”

Surely, though, other suitable candidates for the symbol of Brexit were discussed?

“Well, yes, we had to consider all options,” mused Ms Teck. “Dragons were rejected as being too Welsh, leprechauns too Irish, and Nessie too Scottish. We had to find a British beast.”

Surprisingly, the chimera was also rejected. An unlikely mish-mash of a creature representing implausibility, its appearance is an omen of natural disaster.

“The description ‘natural’ disaster was the reason,” stated Ms Teck. “Brexit is a wholly artificial disaster.”

So, the unicorn, beloved of teenage girls and other fantasists, was chosen.

“Who doesn’t love a unicorn? They are hard and yet soft, strong and stable-dwelling, have magical properties, and are completely fictitious,” she said, counting off the points on her fingers. “A perfect Brexit emblem!”

We await St George, riding upon a unicorn, to utterly defeat Johnny Foreigner and get our country back.

It only remains for a moaning remoaner to point out that the unicorn is in fact a heraldic emblem of Scotland. Scotland, which is considering secession from the UK in order to remain part of the EU. But why let facts get in the way of a good story?