Category: Governing the people

The Chronicles Of Narnia have been on many a child’s reading list for over half a century, and there have been many adaptions of them in film, TV and radio, but the latest version has put a decidedly contemporary twist on the tales.

A new modern version of The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe has commenced production, made by a Swedish production company.

Instead of four British children being evacuated during World War II, the action occurs on a family day out to IKEA, where the four Lindstrom children, on the run from a security guard they have angered, happen across a self-assembly wardrobe that has is ready-made on display in the store.

Jumping into the wardrobe, the four children, renamed Bjorn, Benny, Agnetha and Frida, find themselves magically transported to the frozen wastelands of a strange country called Britannia, where it is always Brexit Winter but never Brexit Dividend Christmas.

It then proceeds pretty much as it does in the book, they meet all the familiar characters, including the White Witch, played in this adaption by Theresa May.

“Theresa was just perfect for the part,” film producer Lars Chance explained at the press conference. “There really was nobody else we were even looking at to play this role.”

There is however one stumbling block. The role of Aslan, the noble lion who defeats the witch in battle, has still not been cast.

“We just can’t find anybody with the right gravitas to play the role,” Mr Chance explained. “Actually Jeremy Corbyn auditioned for the part at first, but while he does has a lot of good qualities, he just rolled over in front of the witch, so instead we gave him the role of Mr Tumnus the faun, who has a good heart and knows that what the witch is doing is wrong, but lacks the conviction to truly stand up and actively oppose her.”

The script of this film looks very promising, and could be the best adaption of C.S. Lewis yet, if that crucial part can be cast. We sincerely hope they find their Aslan soon.

In a stark warning, the government has decided not to repeat past mistakes. It will no longer pick up the tab for failures due to rash overspending. The government is no longer willing to bail out Banks.

The £8m payment made by Banks out of Russian deposits is under investigation by the NCA. Although it isn’t entirely clear, the rotten roubles seem to have been freshly laundered, starched and ironed, and delivered to Leave.EU as squeaky-clean sterling. This crisp, clean cash was then used to pay for dirty tricks.

We all know what happened next. Enough of the general public was conned into buying the pig in a poke that is Brexit. With Banks ducking the issue, the crows are coming home to roost, and a martyr is being thrown to the wolves.

The economy is hanging on slender threads. However, a bail out of Banks this time would admit the illegality of Brexit, and the unreliability of the government. The government will not bring itself down, it will wait for due process to do it for them. By which time, current MPs will have stepped down into cushy jobs as non-executive directors of whatever blue-chip companies remain.

Financial services spokesman, Robin Banks, was not a happy bunny. “It is deeply unfair that this has happened,” he grumbled from his cell in Pentonville. “Normally, a little misdemeanour like this can be sorted out with a shake of the magic money tree. Bail-out means bail-out. If the government will no longer underwrite irresponsible swindlers, then civilisation as we know it is at an end.”

Standard & Poor’s have downgraded Arron Banks from a useful idiot to a useless idiot. His Russian connections (allegedly, every Saturday night, and occasionally midweek if Mrs Banks is in the mood) are working against him. Russian wife, Russian money? Incidentally, there is no truth in the rumour that Mrs Banks’ maiden name is Novichok.

However, Banks has categorically stated that he has no immediate plans to visit Salisbury Cathedral.

Internationally renowned arboreal children’s fantasy character “The Singing Ringing Tree” Tuesday moved to deny reports that it was behind the sudden unexplained ending to UK austerity, as evidenced by the autumn budget published Monday by chancellor Philip Hammond.

A spokesman for The Singing Ringing Tree -or “SRT” as it is known to it’s inner circle, Herr Hurleburlebutz,  confirmed to LCD views that while the legendary East German TV star had accrued considerable personal wealth from her 60 year TV career, she was some way from having the means to fund tax cuts for rich Brits.

“True, SRT, is the owner of an offshore hedge fund, with branches in several major European forests but that doesn’t means he has the funds to replace the tax billions lost to offshore retailers such as the Amazon Rainforest, or Starbuckthorn,” he explained.

“In case you haven’t twigged, the UK government alone has been responsible for pruning its public sector budget for the past eight years and it alone can explain how it suddenly has the money to fund tax cuts perhaps – you should speak to “The Magic Money Tree” – whoever he or she is,” he added.

Pressed for further Herr Hurleburlebutz information, suggested enquiries might be better directed a princess Theresa Maple, or any one of a number of evil dwarves by the names of Michael “Hazel” Grove, a Christopher Grayling Willow, or Andrea Linden.

A spokesman for the UK foreign secretary’s office declined to be drawn into any wantonly arboreal pun fun.

“No one gets wood for Jeremy, no matter how wrongly you pronounce his surname,” he snapped.

Confusion is raining cats and dogs today after Lord (not of the dance) Digby Jones advertised in one of the last print media personal columns left in U.K. circulation for a vampire to bite him to ensure he sees a Brexit benefit in 100 years time.

”It was well perplexing when the letter with accompanying advert arrived,” Empti Vessel, editor of ‘Dead Thick and Gooey – Cake and Fudge Quarterly’ told LCD Views, “truth to tell, we don’t get many personal ads of that kind at our quarterly, normally it’s just people trying to offload old mixmasters and worn out maids.”

But the ad placement from Lord Jones, written in blood on vellum, was the real deal.

”Of course we don’t think he wrote in his own blood,” Empti hypothesised, “his kind never do, do they just. But if you’re looking for a vampire, best to wet their appetite I suppose. Still, that’s not the most puzzling part of it all.”

Well what is?

”To discover he’s not already a vampire was a total shock! I mean, just look at him heaving words he doesn’t understand about all over the shop in the hope of draining the life from the country’s young and all. I would have had him down for a vampire no questions. Either that or a zombie, his own brain long since eaten.”

So you will run the ad?

”Of course. The bill is being picked up by the taxpayer, so there’s no worry of having to chase after it. But I think he’s a little optimistic.”

Of finding a vampire?

”Oh no, Blighty is chock full of bloodsuckers. But to think one hundred years will be enough time to see a Brexit benefit? He must be out of his mind.”

Queen Elizabeth II has shocked the pants off no one except the so called BBC political journalists today with her announcement that she will shortly abdicate so she can start meddling in UK politics, like a pro.

”I’m fed up with the whole amateur hour, afternoon matinee full of second rate understudies,” Her Maj told a shocked audience during a surprise appearance on BBC daytime show ‘Politics Live’,

“but I can’t sit this rubbish out any longer. My husband is an EU immigrant, my grandchildren are marrying immigrants who the hostile environment would eat alive if we weren’t so stupendously wealthy, my ancestral background is a smorgasbord of European peoples, and worse of all, Theresa May keeps turning up week in and week out to ignore all my advice. Time’s up. Move aside clowns. We is rolling our sleeves up bro and we is going to get one’s hands quite unregally filthy.”

As part of the change the Queen is going to establish a new, left of centre political party, with a republican undercurrent, to take on the Brexiters.

”Far left and far right are championing a political project birthed in the bowels of the worst fascists on the mortal coil. For what is Brexit? The isolation and reduction of one’s kingdom for the empowerment of men whose hands are so black with dirty, kleptocratic wealth and dreams of feudalism that it makes me want to get the old block out and chop. But instead I’m going to run for election. If that doesn’t force a GE then I don’t know what will? Let’s have at you kippers and Lexiters! I am going to wear your guts for garters!”

What the Queen intends to call her new party wasn’t clear, but is due to be revealed after she installs Prince Andrew on the throne.

”But why Prince Andrew?” a dumbfounded Andrew Neil asked, so shocked he forgot to curtsy.

”Because that’s who you rotten lot deserve!”

At which point she left the studio, leaving the programme’s host to mutter sadly.

”I can’t beleive how bad this is,” Mr Neil stammered, “I thought she was here to offer me a peerage.”

To rub salt into the wound, she left her EU hat on a chair.

The United Kingdom’s penultimate Chancellor of the Exchequer, Phillip Hammond, has announced he is to take a novel approach to the delivery of his last budget, before he scarpers like the rest of this insane, gutless and deluded cabinet, upon the delivery of Brexit.

”I have spent hours scribbling sums on the back of fag packets left over from David Davis’ time as Wrexit Secretary, but alas, there is absolutely no chance of making a coherent noserag budget with Brexit looming,” he will tell the house, while wearing a stove pipe hat with black lace trimming, the better to appear the undertaker, “which is a little perplexing, as whenever Davis wrote on them he was convinced of his own genius.”

So what has Hammond decided to do to make the books balance?

”I even consulted modern monetary theory, but the thought of leaving a penny in the economy that I, as a modern conservative chancellor could screw out, preferably off poor people, was enough to make my blood run even colder than it already does. To solve this impasse I have decided to read out all of James Joyce’s classic post modern, psychoanalytic reaction to evolving understandings of human psychology in a machine age, and so I will be reading ‘Ulysses’ out in full, as it makes a lot more sense than trying to compile a Brexit budget.”

He will then pause dramatically and begin.

”Sing, goddess, the anger of stately, plump Buck Achilles, son Achilleus
who came from St Troyhead, and its devastation plumps buxom woebetide the ground, which put pains thousandfold upon the Brexitannians,
hurled in their multitudes to the house of Tax Evasion strong souls
of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting
of xenophobes, of all birds, and the will of Daedalus was accomplished
since that time when first there stood in division of knickers, [only Ken Clarke is expected to realise the error in Hammond’s composition] turnips, parsley’s and commemorative fifty pence coins.”

“Thanks, old chap,” May will cry briskly, when Hammond is complete, “That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you? Before the DUP realise what’s up?”

You can almost taste it? Can’t you?

The government’s very own drugs minister, Victoria Atkins, has revealed a conflict of interests. Victoria’s secret is out. She is married, handily, to a drug dealer.

The revelation came when she was asked about the government’s drug taking policy. “I ain’t sayin’ nuffin about dat, bruv,” she replied. “Da big man don’t want nobody treadin’ on his turf, know what I mean, innit fam.”

The Speaker glanced up from his lines of white powder to reprimand her for using unparliamentary language, before remarking, “F*ck me, Vix, this shit is the dog’s bollocks!”

Further questioning revealed that what Atkins meant was that she was unable to comment, because it might damage her drug dealing husband’s core business. The suspicion remains that she is distributing some of his supplies.

“Why do you think she got the job?” declared fellow MP Filly Buster. “She’s shagging the biggest dealer in London! Everyone goes to Vix when they want a pick-me-up.”

Buster reveals that Atkins distributes uppers, downers, inners, outers, and shake-it-all-abouters.

Hallucinogenics are also popular. “Mind-altering drugs have been de rigeur in the Cabinet for years,” reveals Buster. “How do you think Brexit got off the ground? Everyone was off their tits. Hard drugs for a hard Brexit. Drugs are the only reason Theresa May manages to survive Brexit negotiations!”

It also explains why nobody has got it together enough to mount a leadership challenge. “I could quit any time,” May claims. “If I wanted to.”

“Look at the evidence!” shouts Buster. “Certain, erm, substances make you brash and overconfident. Look at Liam Fox. Listen to the gibberish spouted by Boris Johnson. The entire ERG is permanently wasted, and Jacob Rees-Mogg insists on a gentleman in an early Victorian doctor’s attire to dispense his laudanum.”

This honesty could be a shot in the arm for a floundering government. Drugs for the many, not the few, is the message.

After all, we could all use a bit of help to get us through the next few years.

News today on the menu the United Kingdom’s governing party is working its way through and it’s quite a feast.

”We’re eating ourselves alive clearly,” David Davis, former cabinet sous chef agreed, “Once we’ve hacked each other to pieces, roasted our limbs over an open fire made of furniture in the cabinet office, basted all that with a slurry made out of leaves from the magic money tree mixed with the liquified aspirations of millions, eaten the lot while belching loudly and singing ‘Rule Britannia’, then whoever is left standing is going on to the next course.”

And the next course is the Labour Party?

”Ha! Not while old Corbyn keeps saying ‘we’re leaving the EU’, no, he’s the one supplying the root vegetables for the feast, grown in his own allotment. We’re doing the meat. Fat of the land.”

Then who?

”All of you of course! Automotive sector, you’re a tasty dish. The rules say the crockery has to be smashed after the course is eaten. So too aerospace and pharmaceuticals. The NHS, and any business really that can’t exist as a rag and bone operation. Gobble. Gobble. Yum.”

But what about financial services? Are you chowing down on those too? Say in between a round of further cuts to welfare allowance and eligibility?”

”Ooo, don’t worry about financial services, most of them will just run off and stay in the category of diners. Which is good as we need them to supply the take-away bags.”

So who is going to clean up after you’ve finished gorging yourself on the country?

”Anyone who has shorted the pound of course! They’ll count their earnings as they wipe their lips and look for dessert. Those dishes are your rights. Those are finger licking good.”

Well, maybe once you’ve eaten yourselves alive you’ll be too stuffed to dine on the rest of us.

”Ha! We’re just wetting our appetites right now. We’re the entree. Sixty five million people and more, your wealth and your rights, they are the main course.”

Bon appetit.

LCD Views has exciting news for informed voters concerned about who will insult their intelligence after Brexit with the announcement that struggling, jobbing, multi-millionaire actor Michael Caine is to deliver the inaugural Brexit sermon, on the mount, dressed as Elizabeth 1st. This will help Britons HOLD FAST as we HUNGRILY CARVE A NEW AND EXCITING FUTURE OUT OF THE BALSA WOOD OF INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS.

“I’ve been preparing for this role since yesterday morning,” Mr Caine told an effervescent John Humphrys, during an interview on BBC R4 flag-up-pole, light entertainment programme ‘Today’,

“yeah, maybe it was the day before yesterday? When did I have that tomato soup? You know the one I had with white bread? Not the sourdough, ghastly foreign tasting stuff, can’t stand it myself,

“Anyway, long enough to know that it’s good to be poor. Virtuous you see. Alfie was virtuous like. A man’s man too. You know the kind. And Britons are naturally virtuous and ONCE WE’RE FREE OF THE TYRANNICAL GRIP OF BRUSSELS WE CAN HAVE ALL THE VIRTUE WE CAN EAT. IT’S BETTER TO DIE STARVING IN THE GUTTER HAVING WATCHED YOUR KIDS FUTURES TURN TO DUST THAN HAVE A VOTE IN BRUSSELS.”

THE LAPSE INTO FULL CAPS LOCK GAMMON BY MICKEY…sorry… our printing press caps lock was stuck…the solid support for the national project from one of the UK’s best loved old, white, male millionaires is timely as Brexit does look like it could do with a dose of viagra.

Mr Caine was good enough to give Mr Humphrys a few snippets of what his sermon will be like.

“Of course I’ll be dressed as Elizabeth 1st,” Mr Caine revealed, “on a horse. Tilbury speech to the cheesemakers. You know the one. When we saved cheddar from the French? Cracking victory. British exceptionalism at its exceptionalist.”

But what will the sermon be?

“I’ll be mixing in a bit of the old gospel. Blessed are the tax exiles, for their children shall dine on the meek. Blessed are they that mourn the brains rotting in old age of John Cleese, Roger Daltrey and that cheeky chap who played Alfie, for they have truly lost their stars. And once I’ve done that I’ll round it off with Elizabethan chatter,

“I know I have the bank account of a filthy rich old man, but I have the political views of complete fcuking gammon. That sort of stuff. It’ll show the cheese eating surrender monkeys what they’re up against. Just like in 1066.”