Category: Governing the people

New airport security measures concerning families with two names had an unexpected hiccup last night when Jacob Rees-Mogg was taken away for questioning by guards.

The new regulations, intended to reduce people trafficking, require families with two surnames to bring birth certificates or adoption papers to clarify their relationship.

As such, when Mr Rees-Mogg and his family were heading out on holiday yesterday, they found themselves facing a lot of questions from the border guards.

One of the security squad on duty last night, Luke Afterham, explained things thusly:

“This guy comes through with two surnames, so naturally my boys and I stopped him for questioning. He got all snooty, asking, ‘don’t you know who I am?’ – as it happens, we did, but rules is rules, and two names means extra questioning, so we had to haul him away. He protested that rules were only in place for poor people, but we explained that as we were the enforcers and we were poor too, we were just doing our jobs correctly.”

The security guards escorted Mr Rees-Mogg away, much to the excitement of his wife and children. Assistant security chief Ann Sermy picks up the story:

“I asked him all the standard questions about whether he could prove he’s their biological father, and he looked down his nose at me, told me to shut up and get back in the kitchen. For that I put the rubber gloves on straight away. He protested that he was a Conservative MP, so I responded that he must be used to doing this sort of thing for fun then.”

Eventually, they had to release Mr Rees-Mogg, when his children took to passing the time by reciting their Latin verbs, thus proving beyond all doubt he was their biological father.

Still, bravo to the airport staff for doing their job so diligently. That rectal examination must have been unpleasant.

“Well, technically it’s not part of the procedure for people-trafficking,” Miss Sermy admitted, “but we figured a smug bastard like that must have something to hide so we checked him for drugs as well while we had the chance. You know how much cocaine his lot get through.”

Mr Rees-Mogg himself has declined to comment on the incident. He was last seen boarding the plane with a complexion that could be described as resembling Count Dracula, if that esteemed Transylvanian noble will forgive me for such a comparison.

What follows is a work of imagination and fiction...

“Hip hip hooray!” cried Arron. “Time for our hols! Let’s get the chaps together.” Nigel ran around excitedly, as though he knew what was going on, even though he was a dog.

Soon the Infamous Five were all assembled: Arron, Jacob, Terry and Arlene (not forgetting Nigel the dog).

“Where are going?” asked Arlene. “I hear Northern Ireland is jolly nice.”

“We are going to Uncle Donald’s place, More-a-Lager,” said Arron.

“Hooray! I love Uncle Donald!” exclaimed Terry. Terry was a girl who wanted to be a boy. Her real name was Theresa, but everyone always called her Terry.

Jacob’s nanny had packed a picnic with piles of ham sandwiches and lashings of ginger beer. They piled into the Mystery Machine and set off. In no time at all they reached More-a-Lager.

A policeman stood outside. “Well, I say, this is jolly queer,” said Jacob.

“Evening all!” said the policeman. “Awfully sorry chaps, but you can’t go in. There’s been an insinuation of money laundering!”

“But we are guests of Uncle Donald’s, my good man,” said Arlene.

“Sorry miss, my mistake, do come in,” replied the contrite policeman. “Only doing my job, my lady.”

“What’s money laundering?” whispered Terry, anxious to keep on top of things as always.

“It’s when an absolute rotter makes heaps of cash by being very naughty,” Arron explained. “He then invests it in genuine assets.”

I never knew that you could make money running through wheat fields, thought Terry.

It was dark inside, but they could hear muffled grunts and the sound of water splashing. They headed straight for the kitchen. There, sitting gagged and bound, was Uncle Donald!

Terry fainted. Arlene crossed herself. Arron and Jacob found themselves standing unusually erect. Only Nigel took action, bounding across the kitchen to where the other man stood, bent over a basin. Distracted from his work, he looked up suddenly.

“Uncle Vladimir!” they all cried at once.

“Who’s a good boy then? You haven’t changed a bit!” said Uncle Vladimir to Nigel, who was happily humping his leg. “Here, have a Scooby Snack!”

“What’s going on?” asked Jacob, still feeling strangely uplifted.

“Uncle Donald and I had a few vodkas, then went for a jolly nice walk,” explained Uncle Vladimir. “Unfortunately, we fell into some puddles, which were jolly muddy, so I am washing all our notes and coins.”

“And why is Uncle Donald gagged and bound?” asked Terry. “He looks like he is about to burst!”

“It’s OK, I’ve burst already,” laughed Uncle Donald, releasing himself from bondage. “Seeing you always makes me jolly well burst!”

“Oh, Uncle Donald!” tittered Terry, blushing.

“I’ve finished too,” said Uncle Vladimir. “Let’s go before the plods start nosing around again.”

“Come with us!” said Arron.

On the way out, they encountered the faithful policeman again. “I say, good evening, my good fellow,” said Jacob amiably. “We’ve sorted everything out, just a little misunderstanding, don’t you know. Why don’t you toddle off to the food bank?”

“Much obliged, I’m sure, my lord,” he replied, toddling off.

“I say, it was jolly good luck you turned up just then!” said Uncle Vladimir. “I have gotten away with it, thanks to you meddling kids!”

They all piled into the Mystery Machine, where they found enough ham sandwiches and ginger beer left to have a jolly good feast.

The NHS is set for a record cash windfall as the opinions of Iain Duncan Smith and other ERG members are to replace GP consultations in a move saving NHS billions.

”The initiative was Jacob Rees-mogg’s idea,” an aide to Irritable Duncan Smith told our health correspondent,

“they were having a WhatsApp group discussion over what’s the desired, mandatory rate of birth to compel women by law to meet after Brexit, to make Britain great again, when someone decided they should call an expert in the field of reproduction,

”No one wanted to talk to Boris though, so they decided to set the birth rate at the level decided by whoever had the strongest opinion.”

This breakthrough in future governance of the United Kingdom led to a light bulb moment.

”It’s already been trialled successfully on Radio 4 news programmes for the last couple of years anyway. Whenever some politically motivated, so called expert bangs on opining over the field they’ve spent decades working in, Sarah Sands ensures some objectively focused, non-political blowhard from the ERG is on for “balance”. You know to scream project fear and deny reality.”

NHS bosses are yet to give their opinion on the move.

”Whatever they say will be less qualified than Iain anyway,” the aide said, “so what’s it matter what they say? Just think of the money saved? It’s an end to NHS austerity right now.”

The opinions will be available on prescription. Just phone Iain up and describe what is ailing you and he’ll tell you what he thinks it is. We can have a fire sale of all that over hyped medical equipment now.”

But what if Iain says you need an operation? That your condition is life threatening?

”It won’t happen. Iain doesn’t do Project Fear. He sticks solely to project whatever he thinks the backers of Brexit want to hear.”

The Conservative Party became the newest left of centre political party in the U.K. today, and the largest, as their membership topped 10 million after everyone told to “fuck off and join the Tories then” by a Momentum activist did.

”We expect to top twenty million by the end of the day,” Phillip Davies, MP for not protecting his constituency but favouring chipboard thinking, told LCD Views.

We spoke to Phillip during a tour of a timber mill, where he was shopping for a new head.

”I don’t mind telling you the 1922 committee is in absolute meltdown. There’s pressure to change our entire policy platform and rename the committee the 2018 committee. It’s blood curdling. If we can’t get a handle on events we will end up being the party that stops Brexit. Our soul will burn and we’ll just be ash.”

It seems the boost is solely down to the unique campaigning style of diehard supporters of Jeremy Corbyn.

”They’ve been advising anyone who raises a concern over the screaming disconnect in the thinking of a politician who claims to be a social democrat, but supports the worst hard right agenda currently going, to join us for the last couple of years. And people are, seeing no other way out. It’s horrible. They’re coming in such numbers they’ll change all our policies. How will rail privatisation succeed now?

”We’re suppose to be a nasty little clique who redirects the anger of the people we exploit. But now. I’m trembling.”

Corbyn supporters themselves were enraged by the unfolding events too.

”See! Yellow Tory Blairite backstabbing scum! When we screamed fuck off and join the Tories we thought they’d flock to us,

“You can’t trust these neocon stooges and their determination to resist the asset stripping of the U.K. by resisting the fascist agenda of Brexit. They’re supposed to drive Brexit forward with us, ruin the lives of tens of millions of people, so we get a revolution that will make anyone left alive after join hands in solidarity and red lentils,

“We should have deselected the Blairite MPs much earlier. Having scores less MPs wouldn’t have weakened us as those constituencies would have voted for whichever pure Corbyn fan we put forward for them. It’s just so obvious.”

Quite how Corbyn and his activists ever expected to gain power by alienating millions and millions of centre and left of centre voters is still unclear, by ignoring and/or supporting Brexit, but now it seems completely unobtainable.

”Which is just how we want it,” one told us on the quiet, “that way we can forever infight until we achieve purity. And we get to stay victims. We don’t understand power. Not a bit of it. It’s how we like it.”

Quite how the U.K. seems so far up shit creek without a paddle to this point, is anyone’s guess.

”It’s nothing to do with the leaders of both main political parties having committed to a brazen lie for ideological ends,” Davies clarified, “now, if you wouldn’t mind? I’d like a few kilograms of that oak stump for a head.”

The government declared the teetering NHS fit for Brexit today as plans were revealed to stockpile pieces of wood in advance of any Brexit.

The wood will be supplied by the head of David Davis after application of a chisel, and also the mass purchase of recently redundant Swedish forests, made available by forces that have no link whatsoever with global warming.

Speaking exclusively to LCD Views, recently upcycled plank Matt Hand-Cock MP gave details of the reassuring measures.

”We’re measuring the pieces of wood in inches,” Hand-Cock said, his hands under the table for the entirety of the interview, “and we’re bringing traditional pain relief back to the National Health Service, which I don’t mind saying lost its way under the last Labour government.”

It’s unclear if the pieces of wood will be single or multi-use.

”Definitely multi-use,” Matt Hand-Cock interrupted, “that’s one of the benefits of Brexit. The burning of the pernicious, nanny state red tape that stopped people contracting easily preventable diseases. That was no good. Immune systems need to stay in training, just like athletes.”

The pieces of wood will be multi-use, the Department for Health has very recently clarified, which will lead to the sort of cost savings that could buy say, seven luxury flats to forget about.

”And furthermore, people won’t even need to visit a pharmacy for pain relief after this measure comes into play,” Matt Hand-Cock said. “all they will need to do is search their local woods for suitable timber and then you can even amputate that post Brexit, pus filled, diabetes ravaged limb in the comfort of your own home.”

The navy is said to be especially excited, as endless cuts to defence have left them wondering how they’re supposed to supply all those shiny new boats.

”Not having to buy painkillers for the ship surgery is a total boon of Brexit,” said an admiral speaking from the early 19th century, where Brexiters live.

Medical groups have voiced some concerns over the measures, but as Gove would say, the people have had enough of experts.

”Just mind the splinters,” Hand-Cock advised, “as there won’t be anymore dentists. Now get ready to embrace the feeling of woody sovereignty that will come with Brexit.”

The man nominally in charge at the DExEU now has extra responsibilities. One, obviously, is accumulating moderate amounts of food in the increasingly likely instance of a no deal Brexit.

It takes a small amount of judgement to decide what passes as ‘adequate’, but any old fool can stockpile groceries. Raab is ideally qualified.

He is also charged with doing an outstandingly poor job in order to make his predecessor seem competent.

Any old fool can also make David Davis look like a lazy, over-promoted buffoon. This, by way of contrast, makes Raab’s job almost impossible.

Raab, however, has already made an outstanding start. In issuing empty threats to the EU and having his role as chief negotiator taken away from him, Davis’ old dunce’s cap is fitting very nicely. And if the cap fits…

“Dominic hash filled my clown shoes admirably,” Davis hiccupped from amidst a pile of empty bottles in a wine cellar somewhere in France.

“I pulled rank by losing rank to make a more junior Tory look like a fucking idiot and make myself look good.”

Davis paused to knock back another bottle.

“Tell young Dominic it’sh a job for life,” he slurred, gesticulating vaguely.

“Eashy peashy. Shit around doing shod all and shounding shtrong. Shtrong and shtable.”

He collapsed gently, lovingly caressing his bottle.

“Shtrong and shtable, shtrong and shtable!”

Back at the Department for Exiting The Department for Exiting the EU, Raab was glowing with pride.

“Look!” he said, pointing to a selection of shopping bags.

“I’ve been shopping! Who knew that Tesco had shops in London? And it’s so much cheaper than Harrod’s! Did you know they do baked beans with sausages in? It’s a whole new world!”

“It will make the budget stretch that much further, Raab continued.

“Every little helps. I need enough food to last 50 years. This is going to be easy!”

And with that, he summoned the departmental limo to take him to the nearest Aldi.

The government advises everyone to go out panic buying so they can get a feel for Brexit Britain even before the glorious reality happens.

LCD Views can report today that this week’s parliamentary pairing scandal has lead to an identification of the web the government is caught within.

”It’s great to finally have clarity,” Tory party chief whip Mr Dishonest told LCD Views, “hey! Do you think they can make me my own Mister Men book? A record of my challenge each day to not bullshit while smiling through my teeth and threatening backbench MPs with having their heads shoved inside Boris Johnson’s toilet?”

The scandal, which has succeeded in rocking a parliament already overflowing with scandals, came about after Conservative Party chairman Brandon Lewis and Chief Whip Mr Dishonest allegedly colluded to deceive Liberal Democrat Jo Swinson MP on the matter of pairing. This is where MPs votes are paired if one can’t be there to vote, to ensure the outcome of the vote is unaffected by an MP’s unavoidable absence.

”It’s great to trick a Libdem again,” Lewis chortled, “we played them like fiddles for five years in the parliament of 2010-2015. It was a laugh a minute. I mean, who trusts a Tory? Ha!”

The timing of the scandal is important too, as parliament is currently promoting women in parliament, to try and encourage more women to enter politics.

”We don’t want that really!” Lewis went on, “I’d like to thank Jo for giving me the opportunity to trick a new mother on maternity leave. Perfect bloody opportunity that was. Too good to miss.”

It’s also useful for showing everyone that just when you thought this current Conservative party of government had hit rock bottom when it comes to duplicity, they had further to go.

”We’re digging a basement under rock bottom,” Lewis said, “and we’re not done digging yet.”

Alrhough the scandal has called into question pairing for future votes, being that trust is key.

”Let’s hope the Lords react to this by turfing the affected legislation back to parliament and then we can pair off again! Don’t you love a functioning democracy!”

We used to…yes.

Hopefully next pairing will just be Tory with Tory so we can correctly label it a pair of cocks.

The new quality offering from Boris Johnson will be supplemented by contributions from the mysterious Mystic Mogg.

LCD Views has received a draft copy, which we publish in full:

Well hello and confimbulations to my old chums at the Telegraph. I’m starting the Boriscopes with Cancer because reasons. Once more unto the breach…

Cancer: Crabby, moves sideways and lives under a stone. Cancers are bloody difficult women and don’t say I didn’t warn you. Angela Merkel and Arlene Foster are typical of the breed. You will meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger and tell him to *#@% off.

Leo: Does nothing for ages then suddenly pounces on the undeserving. Leos lie in the Sun, The Mail and the Express. Big pussycats include Barack Obama and Robert Mueller. You will discover a whole load of so-called truths and shout about them on social media.

Virgo: Upright, uptight and never caught with their pants down. Virgos relieve their pent-up passions by shafting their friends and international trade, like Michael Gove and Liam Fox do. Today is a good day to keep your head down, which is a nice way to remain pristine.

Libra: Chip on both shoulders, and holds the balance of power. Strong, stable and thoroughly decent, like Theresa May and Vladimir Putin. One of you will lose a penny and find a pound, the other will do the opposite.

Scorpio: Hidden depths, sting in the tail – or just overrated arachnids? Hillary Clinton and Jeremy C. Hunt are Scorpios, so you decide. Find a hole to hide in.

Sagittarius: Mythical creature firing mythical arrows, like Jean-Claude Juncker and Anna Soubry. Nothing to see here. Enjoy the unicorns.

Capricorn: Fights like a goat, looks like a goat, brains of a goat. Michel Barnier and David Davis are perfect examples of the breed. Quit while you are behind.

Aquarius: Aquarians have an air of competence and modernity, like Sarah Palin and Dan Quayle. Seriously folks, if your birthday is in February, avoid politics. Leave it to the experts!! Enjoy your extra day every four years.

Pisces: Slippery, fishy, goggle-eyed. Think Recep Erdogan and Dominic Raab. Bollocks, February again. Yeah, bored now, so see Aquarius.

Aries: Sheepish fools, like Chris Grayling and Nigel Farage. They like to say ‘slam in the lamb’. Mint sauce is your mortal enemy.

Taurus: Bullies in a china shop. Just ask Justine Greening or Tony Blair. Can easily be brought down by a red rag, like the Mirror. Don’t have a cow, man.

Gemini: Saving the best ‘til last!!! The reputation for being two-faced, weak and unreliable could not be more wrong. I offer as evidence Mystic Mogg, Donald Trump, Jeremy Corbyn and of course yours truly. Have a good day!

See what I did there? I offer you my most explicitious feliciporations.

The now world famous Brexit Industries are thrilled to inform the great British public that their new novelty line, ‘Plastic Patriot’ key rings have sold out on day one, just like the men they’re modelled on.

”It must be the accuracy with which our design team in Moscow captured the facial expressions and avarice, greed, bigotry and insecurity of the men we took our inspiration from,” lead designer, Mr Knott Astooge, told our nativist toy correspondent.

The key rings are designed eventually to hold the great offices of state, but like all crazes they start with luring you in with collectibles to get a taste for it.

”We’ve cross pollinated the key rings with charm bracelets so people can benchmark their progress as they collect the full set and completely sell out,” Knott explained.

”You start with classic symbols and tropes from fascism in the first half of the twentieth century, build up to numerous offshore tax avoiding holdings, and after that level you’re really away to being a fully fledged plastic patriot, as you have serious personal losses to worry about should anyone attempt to enfranchise the plebs and make things fairer.”

Brexit Industries says they intend to continue their successful strategy of automated social media marketing to promote their product.

”Right now we’ve commissioned the cloning of thousands of middle aged British profiles to deploy as brand ambassadors. And more than a few hot, tattooed, bikini wearing girls in their twenties.”

You can begin collecting today but Astooge has some useful advice for the beginner.

”You really need to be a deeply unpleasant human being, devoid of empathy and most importantly, if possible begin all your statements of opinion with the classic signifier ‘Now I’m not a racist, but.”

Theresa May made an unexpected intervention into the ‘Today’ programme on BBC radio 4 this morning when she phoned up to interrupt the Justine Greening interview.

”Considering May’s job title we had to put her through and make the conflab a three way,” a radio producer told LCD Views, “it made for some variety anyway. Listening to Justine attempt to discover intelligent life on the dark moon Humphrys is a bit of a yawn.”

Once forcibly inserted into the live broadcast, Theresa May set about setting the record straight, as it pertains to her personal feelings on the last week of government.

”John you do backing vocals now while Justine and I talk,” Ms May ordered.

John Humphrys duly settled in to hum the “will of the people” as a fitting backdrop to the continuing discussion.

”Justine you were one of the first to resign from our government,” May stated, “did I look boovered?”

Ms Greening duly confirmed that “you looked like the same constipated, terror struck loser you always look like.”

This led to a lengthy pause, as it was disrespectful not only to the office of prime minister, but the individual.

”Hum hostile environment John,” Ms Greening said next, just in case anyone was thinking of pitying Ms May and/or taking her side.

”I’ll have your job,” Ms Greening followed up in what felt like a one two.

”And did I look boovered when Damien Green resigned? Or Priti Patel?”

Ms May carried on, listing the resignations, keeping firmly in her predetermined mental construct, unaffected by external stimulus.

”I am not boovered by the daily ministerial resignations as I want to govern alone,” the prime minister finished, although the others had already left the room, “all by myself. Just how I like it. Who’s the boss now? Let’s sign something mean into law.”