Category: Democracy

A shady character who sought asylum six years ago is going stir crazy. Tired of his luxurious imprisonment, he is now blaming his jailers for his suffering, and demanding a higher class of sparkling wine to lighten his torment.

Julian Assange – for it is he – has tired of being out-leaked by corrupt governments on both sides of the Atlantic, who no longer care what people think of them. In a desperate attempt to salvage column inches, he has blamed the Ecuadorians for his predicament. To soothe his savage breast, he has indicated that, henceforth, only the best Champagne will be acceptable to him.

Ecuador, which has accepted his citizenship and protected him from extradition, is naturally the enemy. Who else can Assange blame? Gaslighting is the order of the day.

LCD Views, concerned about Assange’s mental state, sought the opinion of brain doctor Maddus A. Laurie. “Julian is clearly going slowly insane,” opined Dr Laurie. “Stuck in a small apartment with only his own company. It’s known in the trade as Bunker Hunkering.”

Dr Laurie described the symptoms. “Being delusional, creating a fantasy world, tilting at windmills,” he said. “Sufferers become convinced that they are the only sane person in the world. Their ego inflates as their grasp on reality diminishes. Assange sees himself as a victim of ‘the system’, when in reality he is a sad little man avoiding the harsh realities of life.”

Most political leaders suffer from Bunker Hunkering, claims Dr Laurie. “They become more and more convinced that everyone is out to get them,” he claims. “Often correctly, of course. Their policies become increasingly extreme, in accordance with Thatcher’s Law, which states that a leader’s compassion is in inverse proportion to their self-importance.”

So a man whose existence has been reduced to enforced idleness, taking working holidays in the bedroom and refusing to empty the cat’s litter tray because it looked at him funny, is now down to his last few marbles.

The cat, incidentally, summed up the situation perfectly. “I don’t want to be here,” she mewed, “but I also don’t want to leave.”

Robot Strictly winner Maybot2.0© has developed a new dance. She is in the process of perfecting the permanent limbo.

This dance has been described to LCD Views by ‘dancepert’ Corrie O’Graphy. “Traditional limbo involves being able to pass under a bar,” O’Graphy explained. “It requires a high degree of flexibility. Permanent limbo is the same, except that it uses an invisible, indeed non-existent bar.”

Political commentator Ben Dover-Backwoods went further. “May is bending over backwards all the time,” he clarified. “She has a lot to live down to. The bar has been set, it is a very low bar indeed, and it is getting lower all the time.”

Indeed, the bar has now been lowered so far that it is difficult to perform even the permanent limbo. Nonetheless, May is attempting this feat of backbreaking impossibility. If she goes forward or backwards, the precariously balanced bar will topple. Trapped in this eternal nether world, she is quite literally in limbo.

“This is the static permanent limbo,” said O’Graphy. “You move neither forwards or backwards, but remain in the same position indefinitely. It’s an endurance act really, but it can leave a dancer bitter and twisted.”

“The realities of Brexit are closing in,” commented Dover-Backwoods. “May is being squeezed between the EU rock and the ERG hard place. She is caught in her own trap, hoping that she doesn’t break before the final whistle blows.”

With the EU pulling May one way, and the ERG dragging her the other, while the DUP snipes from the sidelines, the UK PM must be heartily sick of all the acronyms.

Instead, the country is left with a conundrum. Like all riddles, the answer is obvious, and simple once you see it. And the question is this:

When is a backstop not a backstop? When it’s an Irish backstop.

Andrew Bridgen MP (NW Brexitshire) is to be replaced as an MP after a recent broadcast interview in which he confusingly claimed he could be king of Ireland if he pleased.

“Because I’m an Englishman,” Mr Bridgen asserted, “and English men are the natural rulers of Irish men.”

Whether or not Mr Bridgen is also the natural ruler of Irish women he is yet to confirm, but the staggering assertion has led to the triggering of a little known parliamentary instrument called “cheddar powers”.

“Cheddar powers are only ever triggered when a sitting MP proves himself far less intelligent than a cheese sandwich,” John Bercow MP, Speaker HoC told LCD, shortly before fending off the latest Conservative Party attempt to oust him because he tells them off sometimes.

“So Mr Bridgen will be replaced by a cheese sandwich,” Mr Bercow continued, “by chance it’s made of Irish cheddar. This will probably rub a bit of salt in the wound for Mr Bridgen (here Mr Bercow fell off his chair laughing. We waited for him to climb back on to carry on) and so while Andrew “thick as mince like all ERG” Bridgen can’t claim an Irish passport, the cheddar sandwich that replaces him can and potentially thus become King of Ireland. But only after its reunification in a year or two thanks to the efforts of idiots like Bridgen. It’s all very straightforward. One would have thought Bridgen would have understood the rules of cheddar.”

And so the stellar parliamentary career of the hard right ERG boofhead Mr Bridgen draws to a sudden close and the career of a sandwich begins.

We will miss Mr Bridgen for all his work. The highlight of which was organising the parliamentary rebellion that stopped British military intervention in Syria in 2013, and thus arguably helped allow an entire catalogue of genocide to play out more forcefully than it may otherwise have, oh and also allowed that cheerful Russian chap his way back onto the world stage to wage merry havoc all over and puts us all back at risk of WW3. Well done Mr Bridgen. You must be proud.

But all is not lost. A colleague has a new venture for Andrew.

“I’m going to rebuild him as a proper bridge,” Boris Johnson took a break from bonking young blondes to tell us, “And re-name him Adraw Bridge-n. Whacko! Woof!”

Potatoes, turnips, cabbages and other great British vegetables were in a celebratory mood today with the reassuring announcement that Nigel Farage’s EU pension will be paid from the BBC license fee.

”Only if no deal is reached between the completely trustworthy U.K. government and the rule stifled EU tyranny in Brussels,” a very unbiased Nigel Farage MEP told the collection of Russian algorithms and British born idiots who listen to his LBC show ‘Lord Haw-Haw’s half hour’.

”I’m personally happy to pay extra on top of the reasonable levy to fund the Conservative Party press release machine,” A (patriotic) Potato told LCD Views, “£350M a week if need be? I’ll phone Nigel up personally and tell him.”

Root vegetables such as carrots and turnips also said they are happy to weigh in with clods of cash.

”Since the evil empire across the channel docked Nigel’s salary for all that fraud, which he totally didn’t commit, I’ve been worrying how he’ll afford another ticket to ride in Trump’s magic ‘gold of the people’ lift. I’m happy if my entire BBC license fee is diverted straight into Nigel’s account in Panama.”

When asked for comment the Director General of the BBC, also a Lord Haw-Haw, gave confirmation of the Beeb’s willingness to divert its funding to Britain’s greatest patriot since Profumo.

”We already buy him a mansion a year for providing most of our political output,” Lord Haw-Haw confirmed, “what’s another eighty odd grand a year, indexed to rise with inflation on top of it?”

Indeed.

And in so doing so the state broadcaster can finally put to rest all those allegations of being biased to left wing politics. Everyone will be pleased. Keep Nigel warm this winter just by being forced by law to pay for the totally unbiased BBC.

In the grim and scat covered halls of UKIP HQ peals of laughter were heard ringing out today as one of the men who would be king, John McDonnell, confirmed that the first Labour job to go in Labour’s jobs first Brexit is the job of fighting UKIP, and more generally, in reality if that’s his position, the hard right, given Brexit is all about a win for the hard right.

Speaking to the press John McDonnell said that Labour will go along with the broken sewer wall of Brexit, the loosed contents of which are currently flooding every home and street, because not to let the hard right win this one would only encourage the hard right.

This is apparently supposed to be logical, as the hard right are well known, indeed famous, for subsiding once they have gained a foothold in a country’s politics.

”It’s perverse I can tell you,” a long suffering political psychologist commented exclusively to LCD Views,

“the left has a proud tradition of combating the nasty right. Rightfully proud of combatting the right. But apparently when it comes to Brexit, in spite of the racism in the campaign, the proven illegalities, the clear risk to millions of jobs and livelihoods from Brexit, the obvious danger of break up of the U.K., the total absence of any plan, the broken promises, the U.K. now being a vulnerable laughing stock, the potential to use opposition to Brexit to tear out May’s toxic and inhuman government, the fact we’re isolating ourselves and staking ourselves out as a lamb amongst the wolves of international statecraft, the fact Brexit Tories are betting on the pound crashing to enrich themselves even more, none of this matters because John McDonnell is worried Nigel Farage might nick a few Labour votes again by banging his racist drum? What the actual?”

Given Labour’s recent farcical infighting over a canine metaphor, it’s with a deep sense of tiredness and disdain that we are moved to say when it comes to fascist Farage, and old dog McDonnell, it seems Nigel really can teach an old dog a new trick, that of lie down and roll over.

Either that or McDonnell wants the Tories to trash the country so he can stride over a nation of broken eggs to glory?

Because for whatever reason the old dogs running Labour are supporting Brexit, it’s clear as fuck now it’s not out of respect for democratic legitimacy of a gerrymandered, illegally financed, foreign influenced, lie fuelled opinion poll masquerading as a mandate for complete and total change.

The United Kingdom seems set for a winner takes all autumn general election today after a selfless Tory statesman was photographed with combed hair.

”It’s deeply questionable whether or not the U.K. would benefit from a general election right now,” Professor Know One, reader of politics at Thames Airport Estuary University, told us.

We interviewed Know One while waiting for the big, blue ribbon to be cut to open the new Garden Bridge in Central London, brainchild of the statesman who’s found a comb.

“Theresa May has steered a steady course since being elected on a strong and stable platform last year,” the professor went on, “with the successful Brexit negotiations looking likely to produce a slam dunk for the highly professional British negotiators, who have singlejandedly proven that being British is enough to overpower the current global power blocs, it wouldn’t do to put the wind further up the EU now by having a general election. We’ve already rattled them enough.”

But with the flattening of the bird’s nest it seems Boris Johnson is signaling that he’s ready to build on his career best as foreign secretary by relieving Theresa May of the burden of guiding the United Kingdom into the sunny uplands, which incidentally can only be reached by bus.

”It could be Ms May has privately intimated to Mr Johnson that she is ready to hand over the premiership, now the hard work is done, and let him guide the country into the future he has so obviously so carefully planned. Either that or Bannon has threatened to hire some Russian mafia hitmen?”

Whatever the underlying reason, with the official opposition now reconfigured and set to deselect pretty much all its MPs with cross party appeal, the general election is certain to be keenly fought.

”Comb makers are going to cash in, that’s for certain,” Professor Know One added, “they and dodgy, dark money hedge funds will be laughing all the way to the bank.”

The Times is the latest pillar of the establishment to fall. It joins most of the other major titles, and the BBC, in the Hall Of Shame.

The Times must think we are idiots. It has published a piece by Leave.EU overspender Arron Banks which calls for Theresa May’s head and describes her as a traitor. This sort of propaganda is out of place in a respected newspaper. The previously reliable organ has joined the race to the bottom of the barrel.

The determinedly not-mainstream LCD Views spoke to media analyst Newt Rallity about balanced reporting.

“Virtually all the mainstream titles think their readers are fools,” commented Rallity. “The Mail and the Express gave up any pretence of reporting real news years ago, but still present propaganda as fact. The red-tops are even further down that particular road.”

As for the so-called quality press…

“The Telegraph recently threw in the towel and became a Brexit champion,” Rallity claimed. “Now the Times is printing emotive slander and implicitly supporting a right-wing coup. They think they can get away with it because it’s what their readers want to hear. Spoon-feeding them with drivel so they don’t have to think for themselves.”

Isn’t there a watchdog which is there to maintain standards of reportage?

“Yeah, IPSO,” said Rallity. “I call it IPSO facto, because it thinks that if something is in black and white, it must be true.”

Not much use as a watchdog if it doesn’t have any teeth.

“No, it’s like the dog in the village pub,” agreed Rallity. “It growls a bit, until you chuck it a few peanuts and say ‘who’s a good boy then’. Upon which it goes to sleep and lets you do what you like.”

So an allegedly Russian-financed insurance salesman is using the a once respectable member of the British press to undermine the PM, and democracy with it? They must think we are all idiots.

Jeremy Corbyn is toast. Quite literally. An image of the former Messiah’s face has manifested itself on a slice of white toast.

Mrs Trudy Vinity from The North was settling herself down to a nice cup of tea and some hot buttered toast, when she noticed strange markings on it, and realised it was the face of Jeremy Corbyn. “I was about to slap a load of raspberry jam on my toast,” she remarked.

“The seedless stuff, I can’t stand pips. Anyway, it was then I saw the odd marks on the toast. I said to myself, Trudy, I said, the toaster’s on the blink again after Dominic Raab’s face appeared the other day. Well, we all know Raab is a bit of a twonk, but Corbyn? I called the Evening Express straight the way!”

Stranger still, sightings have been reported all over the British Isles. Mrs Marge O’Reen from Ireland saw Corbyn’s face in her colcannon, and Mrs Chelsea Bunne from London noticed Jeremy’s boat race staring back at her out of a portion of smashed avocado.

Nor is the phenomenon confined to food. Welsh farmer Wynn ap Ryze realised that his sheep had formed the face of Jeremy Corbyn on the hillside.

What does it all mean? LCD Views turned to paranormal expert May King-Ittup. “It’s clearly the end of an era,” she said. “It is obviously a sign that the spirit of Jeremy Corbyn is making his final farewells before he finally suffocates in the slough of his own ineptitude.”

“Remember last summer?” she asked. “At Glastonbury? When Corbyn appeared in person to wow the crowds? He was unstoppable then, but that day he failed to grasp the simple fact that Glastonbury was his big chance. After flunking that opportunity, he has faded into being an irrelevant Tory enabler. He’s toast, and he knows it.”

Will we witness the Second Coming of JC? Or will he lead us all to crucifixion and a chorus of ‘Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life’?

Confusion! Furore! Disarray at Con (job) HQ today with the revelation that Brandon Lewis has accidentally refused membership to their head of Conservative Party policy.

”I am very sorry, I just forgot who he was,” Lewis fumbled before news cameras, “but I’m sure if Mr Banks can organise to have millions of pounds transferred into an Isle of Mann bank account and refuse to say where it came from, and then donates it all to Tory grass roots campaign groups, we can look again at his application.”

But looking again at the application may prove difficult with suspicions that Mr Banks may have to flee the U.K. around about the time Donald Trump’s criminal empire completely crumbles across the pond.

Labour, under fire themselves for all the easily misinterpreted speeches of their leadership were quick to seize on the divisions and fail to capitalise.

”Mr Banks is one of the father’s of Brexit. Brexit is the hill this government has chosen to die on. We have chosen to die on that hill with them by supporting Ms May at crucial stages. From the vote to trigger article 50, when any sane individual knew that lengthy analysis and preparation was required, given that the timing of the trigger was the only card we held as a country, to right now by refusing to back a democratic vote on whatever deal is achieved,

”Not allowing Mr Banks membership of the Conservative Party, while happy to take his policies, is clear exploitation of a British worker. We won’t stand for it. Mr Banks should be given membership of the party immediately.”

Arron Banks himself seemed less bothered.

”My ranks of the walking dead are joining the Tories en masse. Steve Bannon is guiding Boris and myself on the exact level of racism you need to fuel to takeover an inherently racist party like the “hostile environment” Tories, it will be fine,

”As long as both major parties on the British political landscape are happy to drive forward Brexit, regardless of how clearly it is a hard right and disaster capitalist project promising misery to the many and mass profit to the few, I am fine without a blue rosette on my lapel.”

An everyday tale of Westminster folk.

“’Ere, Boris, you stay out of trouble, d’yer ‘ear me!” shouted Theresa at her wayward son. “And stop draggin’ little Michael into yer dodgy business!”

“I’m goin’ to make you proud of me, mum!” promised Boris, fingers crossed behind his back. He shambled out of the house, with little Michael in his wake. “’Ere, Mikey, let’s see wot Nigel is floggin’ dahn the market today.”

“Sovereignty! Sovereignty! Get yer sovereignty ‘ere!” called wide-boy Nigel, handing out purple-and-yellow flags. “Blue passports, almost as good as the red ones but cheaper! Oi, Mustapha, get yer filthy mockers off my sovereignty! Be off wiv yer!”

“Morning, Nige,” said Boris. “’Ow do yer fancy goin’ into partnership? I’ve been floggin’ dodgy goods for years. It’s the best game in the world, innit!” Michael nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, we could make a killin’!” agreed Nigel. “Let’s frash aht the details over a pint in the King Dick.” Arron, the landlord of the imposing Victorian pub, The King Richard, was just opening up.

“’Ey, Jeremy, mind the stall fer us fer a bit will yer? Ta,” shouted Boris to his loveable loser of a cousin. “Free pints of Bilge please, Arron.”

“Nuffin’ dodgy in this joint today, boys,” warned Arron, pouring the beer. “Not unless yer give me a cut!”

“Yer on!” said Boris. “’Ere, Arron, wot King is this pub named after?”

“The Lion’eart, innit,” replied Arron. “’E went off crusadin’, duffin’ up lots of forriners in the name of Saint George, bless ‘im. Nah, wot’s the plan?”

“I got all this sovereignty, right, and blue passports and stuff dahn the lock-up,” confided Nigel. “I’m sellin’ Ingerland by the paahnd!”

The door burst open. In strode Theresa, hair awry and eyes blazing. “Oi, Boris, wot did I tell yer?” she yelled. “Get back in the ‘ouse right now! Michael, I’m ashamed of yer, ‘angin’ round wiv this bunch of crooks. ‘Ome! Now!”

“Nah, not comin’,” said Boris. “’Ere, missus, ‘ave a flag and some free sovereignty!” added Nigel. “And tell that useless toerag Jeremy to close up the stall for us, ta!”

Theresa stumbled out again, wondering what she had done wrong, raising a couple of villains.

Drums. Theme tune. More of the same every flippin’ night until you believe it’s for real.