Category: Governing the people

Environment Secretary Michael Gove has come, blinking, out of the woodwork and into the sunshine. He has claimed that the fabulous sunny weather this Bank Holiday is a Brexit dividend.

“We Brits are used to cold, rainy Bank Holidays,” Gove drooled. “The excellent sunny weather this time coincides with our triumphant exit from the EU. Coincidence? I don’t believe in coincidences!”

Gove continued, after wiping the sweat from his pale, greasy brow. “We promised to Take Back Control!” he oozed. “We have taken back control of our weather. If the EU doesn’t like it, they can lump it. We have already got Proper Winters Like We Used To Have back too!”

Meteorological expert Stormy Daniels was not so sure. “We often have fine weather in May,” she remarked. “Although the snow in March was quite unusual. That was probably due to the climate changes which Mr Gove and his ilk strenuously deny.”

“Experts, pah!” slobbered Gove. “There is now a strong and stable high pressure area permanently above the British Isles. Brexit means eternal sunshine and spotless minds.”

Concerned for Gove’s mental state, LCD Views contacted government shrink Shay Zlong. Dr Zlong revealed that Gove had once had a close relationship with reality, but it had gone horribly wrong. He disclosed that Gove, traumatised and disillusioned, had undertaken a medical procedure to remove all memories of reality.

“Unfortunately, divorcing yourself from reality can mean that delusions take hold,” said Zlong sadly. “Fantasy takes over. Unicorns gallop over the rainbow and paradoxes vanish up their own backsides. This, alas, appears to be the case with Mr Gove.”

Is there anything that can be done for him?

“The real memories are still there,” said Zlong. “The procedure trains the brain to bypass them. In most cases the procedure is reversible. In the dungeons at Westminster there is a cell we call Room 101. An MP is locked in there and Michal Husain bombards them with facts and figures until they relent.”

MPs beware. Big Sister is watching you.

The Prime Minister Theresa May has moved today to deal with the increasing problem of open in and out fighting within the cabinet.

“The first rule of Tory fight club is everyone talks about Tory fight club,” she laid down the first rule in front of the one or two reporters who can still be bothered to listen to her,

“and I want everyone in the Conservative cabinet, who isn’t currently publicly squabbling about how best to destroy the country in the service of asset strippers, to get themselves in front of a journalist and start hitting one of their colleagues in the face with a tightly bunched Tory fist.

It should stop people asking what Gove and Boris had to do with Cambridge Analytica and help out our colleagues at Labour by distracting people from pursuing that little transfer of voter info from the Labour party to Leave EU before the EUref.””

The move will be welcomed by nervous cabinet members, who may mistakenly believe the dirty laundry should be kept behind a door in a party utility room and washed privately.

“Pick a peer and smack them,” May added, “then go home and make some soap with the fat of the poor and have a wash underneath a portrait of Jacob Rees-mogg taking an uplifting moment in a food bank.”

The public reminder of the rule of the game was welcomed by the Labour Party.

“We are currently following the Conservative Party lead on Brexit, while appearing to be fence sitting,” Barry the Gardener told us, “clearly a lot of our younger members have moved from promoting party policies on social media to screaming like idiots at Labour MPs committing thought crime. They’ve even started petitions. Certain to be a vote winner in the face of people worrying about how trot we’re trotting.

You need us more than we need your vote.

That’s the slogan for our next general election campaign written already. We’re giving the older poets a rest this time and going in for modern verse.

The next time Chuka or Yvette says something fruity about not burning manufacturing and services in the United Kingdom to the ground I’m going after them.”

Suggestions that Labour and Conservative MPs might like to start fighting each other from a pro and remain standpoint would be in the public interest have been dismissed as not worth writing down.

“We’re going to keep whipping our party to enable Theresa May to bring about Lexit until she is deposed and Justine Greening installed as a pro-EU Tory MP pointing at Jeremy Brexit Corbyn and demanding a GE on the matter.

The first rule of Labour fight club is to only fight Labour in the fight club.”

“I’m putting on hold my plan to form a militia,” a well known British European, and alleged Kremlin front man, told LCD Views this morning, “at least for the moment. Which is not all bad. Armoured mobility scooters are very expensive.”

The reason for the pause in preparations for an armed insurgency in defence of the right to demolish rights was clear.

“We’ve finally succeeded in my decades long mission to take over the UK government,” he smirked, “and I tell you we had to dig a big hole to do it.

The open pit data mining in particular has made such a scar in the political landscape I expect the opposition too to stop toppling on the edge and fall right in soon and lose even more legitimacy because of their open support for my Brexit project, if reports of that party handing over their entire database on voters to Leave EU prior to the EU ref prove true.”

So what’s next for you?

“I’m here to create confusion as a cover to power for other forces. It’s a fun gig. I’ll carry on saying outrageous things to keep my regular gig with the BBC. I’m funded by the public purse to do it. Which is hilarious. What mugs I’ve made of so many millions.”

That’s a reason to celebrate?

“Yes. Think of my movement akin to the black death. We’re very infectious and we eventually get into every bright space of life and cause cysts on the democratic process that if not lanced will..well, I shouldn’t prattle on. Let’s get hammered and crank call some Eurotrash? What do you say?”

Now I understand your celebra-tory pint, even while many are celebrating the demolition of your personal party with its almost total ballot box collapse.

“We’ve been absorbed full into the host now. We’ve won. We haven’t been wiped out. We’ve been absorbed.

The government will be further paralysed with us drilling holes through it’s collective brain. UKIP was always just the vector. The racists are now voting as they should for the policies they should. One of my chaps will soon clear out the Maybot and then the gutters are the limits. Would you like a pint? I’ll put it on expenses.”

No thanks. I’m off to look for the antibiotic that can eliminate democratic Yersinia pestis.

“It’s staring everyone in the face. It’s stopping the isolationist, rights destroying, neocon, tax haven serving, racist fuelled project of Brexit. But you need an official opposition that wants to stop it to do that.”

What did you say?

Ring a ring o’ roses, a pocket full of posies…

The governing Conservative Party were found to be celebrating this morning after they successfully sucked many UKIP voters back to the home of the hostile environment in the local elections, to balance out the ones lost in terror of Brexit.

“It’s giving me a funduggle wuggle wiggle in the pants! The Windrush scandal probably helped us win the kippers back!” Boris Johnson told us this morning, bleary eyed and holding a broken champagne flute, “to see our support firm and steady as she goes with the xenophobes leads me to thinking about a proper bish bosh bash at the leadership.”

But surely the result serves to firm up the ground under Theresa May?

“Ah, that’s where your monocle is fogocle,” the big, bouncy, playful blonde told us, “it shows that we can probably finally push her deep into the quick sand she’s always sinking into and win a general election again.

A bright burst of new life. That’s what I will offer. Fresh ideas. Classical references in your ears. I can trounce the old gardener on the campaign trail. I’ve got a bus! He can’t even get a train seat.”

Do you wish to take control of the Brexit process, even though it looks certain to failure, surely not?

“It’s the only bloody way I’ll survive it,” he boshed back, “if I stay in the passenger seat than I’ll just go through the bally windscreen with the old bird, but if I’m driving, now that’s a different story. You’ve never seen me twist and turn with a rugger ball?”

I’ve seen you barrel through a child.

“See! Nothing stands in my way.”

Is that why you engineered the fall of Rudd? To isolate May in the cabinet?

“She’s in a hostile environment no doubt. And it’s of my making. To see our support steady as she goes leads me to think where I may go.”

An couple of voters, who actually work together towards a shared aim professionally, have spoken to LCD Views this afternoon to explain they are determined to vote for Brexit supporting parties in the local elections tomorrow, in spite of what’s now known about Brexit. 

“We’re a bit stuck in our ways,” the old man said, “I personally have been backing Brexit since the 1970’s, in spite of all the rights now enshrined in EU treaties because you know.

Well. My friend John has a little red book. And Nigel fronted a racist billboard campaign to get votes. I’m a little confused by it all. I just do what I’m told these days.

But I do know we’ll not get the sort of change I desire to the bin collections on my street unless everyone is eating out of them first.”

His female friend was also happy to explain her reasoning.

“Sound bite means sound bite,” she said, looking straight at us, “and I am determined to deliver the best sound bite Farage vote possible for the United Kingdom by delivering sound bite UKIP agenda. That’s why tomorrow I will be voting for sound bite. Sound bite is meant to distract from”

She paused at that point, clearly recognising what she was saying was nonsense and stared fixedly ahead, a rainbow wheel spinning where her irises had previously been.

“It’s okay,” her friend said, “just reach over to the socket will you and pull her plug out of the wall. Count to ten. Put the plug back in. Once she powers back up she’ll be fine.”

Suspicions that neither have been paying much attention to developments, and just how much damage their parties UKIP agenda is doing to the United Kingdom, in terms of jobs, investment, community relations, encouragement of racism by backing Nigel Farage’s vision of the country, the deep anxiety felt by millions of people who stand to become second class citizens if Brexit happens in spite of coming here legally under the current arrangements and then finding themselves bargaining chips for nationalists to our deep shame, the predominate desire of the young to not find themselves suddenly with a blue passport that won’t do sweet f*ck all compared to the burgundy ones that could have been blue all along anyway, and the risk to the peace agreement in Northern Ireland, that the sound bites of Labour and the blithe nostalgic imperialism of the Tories risks, were met with shrugs.

“I made up my mind based on what I perceive to be best for my own self-interest,” they chorused together, “doesn’t everyone? Anyway local elections are just about who will collect the bins. It’s not like the major parties will interpret the results to be related to their national policies. UKIP taking over government by winning council seats and rising vote share was a one off.”

The old man then offered to make us some jam.

“People say I’m not up to speed with how fast things develop nowadays,” he smiled softly, “but you don’t make jam in a rush. You stir it slowly. You build a movement. Sometimes for so long it seems it’ll never be finished.”

We looked to his colleague for a final comment, but she was just staring out the window with small sparks coming off the bolts keeping her head on her shoulders.

Britain’s Nero, aka Theresa May MP and PM (for a little bit longer) has been told to fiddle her neocon fiddle more loudly so the people can hear her fiddling over the roar of the flames.

“It’s a magic fiddle,” says Jacob Rees-mogg (MP for your favourite historical period), “it spurts flammable liquids onto the flames each time the bow is drawn across the strings. It’s a pre-glorious revolutionary instrument for political music. I’m one of the conductors. There are others. Anyone who photoshops well with a toothbrush moustache can dictate the tune Mayhem plays. Oh, and Arlene Foster.”

The musical mischief making, which has been going on for almost two years now, made a change for Britain’s Nero, as previously her role was more junior and confined to lurking about the shadows, stacking the streets of the cities with crisp tinder that would readily take the flames. The so called, hostile environment concerto which has been played all throughout the United Kingdom (using United loosely) and to energetic reviews across the channel.

“I fancy a go at the fiddle myself,” Jacob continued, “I’m a bit frustrated just conducting from the background. If the winds fanning the flames drop in intensity there may actually be something left to rebuild with.

Whereas my preference is to fulfil the destiny my idea of God whispers in my ears at night when he delivers the next day’s sheet music. A borderless destiny tax wise which fulfils the dreams of crushing and controlling worker’s rights without freedom of movement. A greater song than even fathering endless children to give latin names to.”

We asked our music correspondent for a quick comment on the performance.

“It’s a rebirth of discordant, atonal music so popular in the first half of the 20th century,” they said, “great for marching in time with a high leg lift to. Mind you, I’m not so sure how long Nero can keep fiddling as the country burns, one by one the strings are breaking. It’s just a matter of time now until the Mayhem performance closes. No doubt to rapturous applause.”

LCD Views has learned that the captain of the Titanic, Theresa May, was disturbed late last night by frantic calls from the deck after a deck chair threw itself off the deck and into the turbulent seas.

“Amber Rudd,” the captain told LCD Views, “I name all my deck chairs. That was the one that threw itself off. It’s just as well. It was really squeaky now in the hinges. Both crew and the unwilling passengers were starting to complain. But I found it quite useful to hide behind when passengers wanted to complain about the industrial scale gastro afflicting the voyage.”

Why didn’t you just apologise and take responsibility for the gastro and then get rid of the deck chair yourself?

“Oh, I’m a complete environmentalist. I can’t throw anything away. I prefer to make do and mend. The only problem being whenever I try to mend something I usually just break it more. All thumbs me.”

The deck chair in question is not the only one to have thrown itself overboard. Other chairs have too. Justine Greening being a noteworthy one.

“She’s not overboard though. She’s down below decks. I suspect she’s waiting for us to hit the iceberg I’m steering the ship into. She’ll jump into a life boat or bop back up to the surface of the churning water and float along just fine. Just like some of the other chairs.”

But you must have a full deck of deck chairs or people will think you aren’t in control of the vessel. It’s bad enough you’re full speed ahead towards an iceberg!

“I know. I’m going to shuffle the chairs on the deck about and replace the ruddy deck chair with the Javid one. It’s great at housing. The Javid one I’ll replace with the Brokenshire one, as he’s finished breaking shires in Northern Ireland.”

So deck chair replaces deck chair in a Titanic shuffle?

“It’s not a Titanic shuffle. More a terrified split of the pack and jam it back together and hope nothing falls out in the process before we hit the iceberg and sink.”

“Amber’s mistake was writing her lies down on paper and not on the side of a big, red bus,” professional truth talker Boris Johnson MP (for Ruin) told us this morning over croissants and flat whites so trendy they were served on plates to make them really flat.

“How is one supposed to drink these bally coffees?” Boris wanted to know, “they should serve them with a straw.”

Your mate Gove has banned straws.

“Fracking hell, that’s right. Little sod. He should ban knives. I’d sleep better.”

So tell us about Amber Rudd’s mistakes?

“Rookie errors really,” Boris says, lifting his plate of coffee up and slurping at the edge, “It’s a question of perspective really. As regards the people you’re lying to. Make it big and bold as brass. And make it vague! Don’t write it down clearly on paper with official letterheads. I’ve no sympathy for her. Pieces of paper are so easily leaked…if you’ve the right person at a big newspaper. A big bus is watertight.”

But your big bus lie was filmed. It’s there forever. Paper can be shredded.

“Written down words are really small. Like ants. You never get them all. But a suggestion, that’s wriggle room, emblazoned on the side of a moving target that will be interpreted as a promise? That’s the magic touch. Class act.”

Amber stuck it out a long time though.

“Wouldn’t you? One step away from the throne? A career of ruined businesses behind her? What’s she going to do? Go back into private enterprise? With her CV?!

Now, must dash, I have to go and prep a close family member to start leaking stuff about Javid to the papers. Got to keep the instability going. This is how I survive. This is how I prosper. One headline after another. Just think of the success he’s made of housing. Record rough sleeping. He’s primed already.”

And the country? What about the country?

“Party before country. We know it. Labour knows it. But me before party. And I am the country now. I am its face to the world.”

That doesn’t help me sleep well at night.

What are you doing about getting Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe out of jail in Iran? That would be a good headline for you.

But he was already gone.

 

A group of foxes have started a parliamentary petition to have International Business Secretary Liam Fox stripped of his surname.

“We can’t stand it any longer,” one told us, while we ran along a high road in south London picking up discarded chicken bones from the gutter, “he’s an embarrassment. He’s neither sleek nor smart nor beautiful, when caught in a headlight like us. Have you ever seen him on the crest of a hill with the setting sun behind him and gone awww?

Although I guess he’ll end his days hunted into a hole in the ground. But that’s as close as the similarity gets.”

The fox went on to explain they actually conceived of the petition back when Liam Fox was fired as defence secretary for hiding that special friend behind curtains while on government business. Dishonesty is supposed to damn you, but it seems Liam was able to rise again.

“I was personally gobsmacked when he returned to the cabinet. But then Brexit, only the deluded and dumb want to be centerstage in Brexit.”

The petition has so far attracted nearly fifty thousand signatures.

“It’s not just foxes signing it,” the fox said, “humans are too. Which is nice. Normally they just chase us about so dogs can rip us to shreds. Or shout at us in the night when we’re screaming like demons and rutting underneath a bedroom window. So it gives me a bit of hope that your lot are throwing in with us on this topic. We’ll get this over one hundred thousand and get it debated in parliament. A group of owls have told me it’s a shoe in.”

But what surname should Doctor Fox have in place of fox?

“That’s not our problem,” he shrugged, “just not something from the animal kingdom. Pick something from your own world.”

You must have an idea?

“I’ll go for double glazed,” the fox suggested, “as that’s what I see when I look in his eyes. Or Liam Airmiles of course. Either one fits.”

 

An enormous quantity of lavatory paper has been requisitioned by the government. Strong, stable, and highly absorbent supplies are needed to clean ministers’ elbows.

In a move guaranteed to enrage the vitriolic press, the production of sanitary products has been outsourced to French company Gemerdeo, rather than British firm De La Pue.

LCD Views’ Whiff Of Bullshit correspondent asked Health Secretary Jeremy C. Hunt to explain.

“Once or twice a day, nature takes its course,” said Hunt patiently. “It is properly hygienic to wipe away any residue that adheres to the elbow.”

But surely you have mixed up two completely different bodily parts?

“You must be some kind of traitor to even think of contradicting a government minister!” bellowed Hunt. “Not even the BBC dares to do that any more! This interview is over.”

We sought a second opinion from the MP for Gotham City, Clarke Kent.

“Yes, Gotham City is part of my Rushcliffe constituency,” Kent confirmed. “But I think you are mistaking me for Batman!”

Easy mistake to make. Could you confirm the current lavatory situation in the House of Commons?

“It’s as if everyone has suddenly got those leather patches on their elbows,” said Kent. “It’s all the polishing they are doing with this new bog roll. But you should see the state of the toilet floor!”

It doesn’t bear thinking about. There is quite a stink arising from Westminster these days.

Are the ladies’ facilities any better, we asked MP Abbie Dianott.

“Fans have been installed in the toilets,” said Diannot, removing a clothes peg from her nose. “So that the shi… well, you know the expression. At least my elbows are so shiny you can see your face in them!”

It seems that our representatives are having difficulty distinguishing the affluent from the effluent. Freedom of movement, my arse.