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Elephant produces document with more detail than government No Deal Brexit contingency plans 

Mrs Tusk, a twelve year old fictional elephant currently residing in a make believe Dover safari park, is being hailed as the next bright hope for promotion to service in May’s cabinet. The development comes as the government scouts for talent to run a soon to be created ministry for intentional disasters.

”It’s because of the elephant’s deliberate creation of a document with more detail than any government No Deal contingency yet produced,” an insider in the prime minister’s office told us, while we helped burn papers relating to scandals still to come.

“Thanks for helping burn these documents. It’s a great relief most of MSM British media is so pro-Tory and blithely disinterested in all the crime relating to the advisory referendum. It’s almost like an establishment stitch-up. But that couldn’t be the case, as the official opposition leaders are disinterested in the crimes too.”

We don’t mind burning stuff. May might really be in the poop if everything she did as Home Office Chief Executioner 2010-2016 were to come out in a rush. Best it’s drip fed, one scandal of poor governance after another.

But whether or not Mrs Tusk is willing to serve in May’s cabinet is yet to be ascertained.

”We’ve made noises that ivory trade bad. Elephant good,” the insider commented, “why wouldn’t the elephant serve? After we arrange a by-election, get her parachuted in as a candidate and elected with a majority equivalent to her weight.”

Maybe she would be worried that the intensity of line work and attention to detail, so evident in her work to date relative to government work, would be dismissed out of hand by Ms May?

”Well, that would only happen if it contradicted the government’s chosen policy agendas.”

So you mean to say if the papers Mrs Tusk produced were evidence based, rather than complete insanity solely designed to further neocon economics and normalise alt-right politics?

”Precisely. Wow. You’ve got a grasp. You fancy coming to work for us?”

I’d rather watch ‘Love Island’ all year without a toilet break.

”So that’s a yes?”

No. But good luck recruiting Mrs Tusk.

”Thanks. It would be lovely to have a real elephant in the cabinet. It might distract attention from the herd of metaphorical ones that are making it almost impossible to get any magical thinking done.”

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MP for 19th century says refighting the Boer War will cure rickets in the poor

“I think you would find that for the very poorest children experiencing military combat at an early age, they will find it rather uplifting,” Hacob Reeks-smogg, MP for the 19th century, told LCD Views (well, we think he did, he spoke only in porcine latin and we had to translate),

“one could simply refight the Boer War. I would suggest also the Opium Wars, as there is more than sufficient sunshine in the Orient, but my colleague Gavin Williamson appears to already have that in hand,

“I trust Ms May to have her eye on a total conquest of the Hindu Kush, which even in winter has sufficient sunlight, due to the elevation of the mountains. Once conquered, newly subject territories will be more than ready to sign a free trade deal. Thus eliminating the need for any further negotiations with the tyranny in Brussels.”

The MP was speaking after the publication of a Huffpost article which addressed the growing problem of the return of 19th century diseases in 21st century Britain.

“You should link to the Huffpost article at the end of your exhaustive examination of my diatribe. That way your readers can see how effective in changing living standards, for the most vulnerable, nine years of Conservative rule has been.”

While refighting the Boer War may initially seem controversial, LCD Views has it on good authority that there is still sufficient mineral wealth in southern Africa to ensure the enterprise pays for itself in the long run.

“It would also address the issue of insufficient carpentry skills in the indigenous English population,” JRM continued,

“once enough young fellows from the slums of London have strengthened their bones with days in the sunshine and meals of antelope, they can set to work building humanitarian camps for the relief of the local population, who will be only too willing to move house and experience the civilising touch of Brexit Britain in their previously wilderness homeland. As was the case in the earlier Boer War, as I explained on the television recently.”

This is genius. It will also help with the social cleansing of London estates and end the need for food banks.

“Imagine the espirit de corps amongst the poor? It’s, if you don’t mind me saying so, a good colonial war will be a cure all. Pith helmets for all. Veni, Vidi, Bonorum meorum non movetur ad Dublin ante bellum.”

https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/rickets-symptoms-and-treatment_uk_5c751e8ae4b0bf16620310a8

 

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Article 50 delay and play likely as UK doesn’t have political leaders necessary to kill Brexit outright

“We’re going to need to hide in the back room of a pub for a long time and summon up the courage with the door barricaded,” an MP, who wished to remain imaginary, told us today, “it’s going to need to be a herd mentality when we go out to kill the Brexit zombie, as there’s not one amongst us who individually has the leadership skills to just get it done clean.”

By get it done clean do you mean without the bedwetting and pants soiling experience of locking yourself away in the back room of a pub, while the monster rages outside groaning ‘brains, brains’?

“Yes. I wish we had enough to go around of those too. Alongside courage. I’m not sure you shouldn’t be writing this up as a ‘Wizard of Oz’ piece and not seeing a still in your mind from ‘Shaun of the Dead’ as you do it?”

‘I Am Legend’ maybe more appropriate, because Brexit will devour pretty much everyone if it happens. But how will you get this time to hide and get up the guts to go out and attack the zombie together? The days are flicking past faster and faster now. Brexit is almost here.

“An Article 50 delay it will have to be. Buy time. Wait for a hero to arise, or wait for us all to finally face the inevitable moment of taking responsibility together to do what has to be done to safeguard our constituents.”

You’re not filling me with hope. If Cooper/Boles doesn’t pass tomorrow May will have you all right where she wants you.

“Where’s that?”

Barricaded in the back room of a pub while she feasts on the bodies outside and summons up the energy needed to tear the barricade down and go inside and eat the lot of you.

“We’re going to need to take our shovels inside with us, aren’t we?”

And a few shotguns and a Mad Max car if I were you.

“We’re going to need a bigger backroom.”

Get it done. The future of our children relies on you.

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Crowdfunder to send Nigel Farage on holiday during second EU ref raises £350m first week

Fantastic news for amateur and professional fundraisers today with the notice that the crowdfunder set up to give Nigel Farage his dream come true, a dream holiday during a second EU ref, has raised £350m in its first week.

“I need to clarify a couple of points right from the top,” our Prats Go Away correspondent says, “technically its the NF can FO’s crowdfunder’s first week, but it’s only been live for an hour. Also, it’s not really a second EU referendum, but a third, as the first was held in the 1970’s. The second, the advisory one riddled with dark money, criminality, foreign interference and bullshit promises was the second one.”

That’s all very well and good, here at LCD Views we are dedicated to checking our facts, but aren’t we missing the point of the overwhelming level of support for Nigel Farage following his latest interview on Sky?

“Yes, support for Nigel Farage to leave the country appears to be at an all time high,” our correspondent agrees, “perhaps the largest public mandate of all time.”

So where is he likely to be sent with all that money?

“There’s a lot of preferred destinations from people donating, although Nigel himself would presumably prefer Moscow. Or any country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the USA.”

What’s top of the list?

“Hell. But no travel agency or web based sales agent appears to know how to get there. Fair to say though, given how many near death experiences Mr Farage has somehow survived, he is certainly expected down below.”

Okay, so it’s on Earth. Where?

“The Bermuda Triangle appears to be top of the list. He can go by plane. Preferably a 1940’s design.”

Maybe he can go by bus?

“He could. We can all gather and launch him on his way at Beachy Head.”

Bon voyage Nigel! You don’t want to be in town when the walls of Brexit come tumbling down and the public enquiries begin.

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Hard Brexiter Guide to Negotiating a Bank Robbery goes on sale

Great news for people planning a big job today with the long awaited release of the ‘Hard Brexiter Guide to Negotiating a Bank Robbery’.

The easy to read, big font, crayon printed, non-spellchecked booklet has been written by handpicked members of the now famous research group, The ERG, and is printed on toilet paper so it can be easily recycled once you’ve gotten away with the loot.

There’s also a lot of blank pages at the back in case you get caught on the hop, or wish to mark-make while waiting for the security guard to go for his lunch break at your chosen branch for the heist.

There is a foreword by noted Latin scholar Jacob Rees-mogg, in which he demonstrates just what you can do if you lock yourself away in a toilet and use google translate to convert english phrases into Latin.

Pictures are included throughout the booklet, hand drawn by David Davis with his own edible pencils, with Nadine Dorries ensuring that most of the colouring stays within the lines.

It’s believed the book is to be part of a weekly series, should it be well received, which will be available at selected newsagents and booksellers for only £350m each.

We know you’re busy stockpiling just now and may not have the time to go and get a copy, so we’ve taken the liberty of ripping off the advice in the booklet and present it below in a more complex form than the emoji strewn text itself.

1. Enter bank

2. Take off trousers

3. Take off shirt

4. Point gun at head

5. Threaten to blow your own brains out if your demands aren’t met

6. Don’t stop threatening yourself until they hand over the loot

The last line in the booklet is some handy investment advice for people who want to give it a go, “Remember, shift a lot of your assets to tax havens first, so you can buy the NHS on the cheap once the con is complete”.

Those who fail to prepare, prepare to fail, with the ‘Hard Brexiter Guide to Negotiating a Bank Robbery’ you’re certain of only one outcome. Grab a copy today and be ready to say stick ’em up or I gets it!

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Big kids set to decide if they should burn everyone’s toys to get away with peeing on them

Rumours are swirling about this morning that a room full of the biggest kids in the United Kingdom may soon be faced with a very difficult decision to prove just how much they’ve grown up lately.

“They’ve peed on all the toys,” our developmental correspondent says, “like, all the toys, everyone’s toys. An entire country worth of toys. Now they’ve done that they’ve started to worry they may get the blame for what they’ve done. So it’s decision time.”

It seems the decision is about how best to get away with what they’ve done.

“No one really wants to take responsibility. I don’t know how many bloody high energy drinks they’d gotten hold of before they went on the peeing party, but it must have been epic. A whole off licence worth is my guess.”

Couldn’t they just turn to the adults, confess, apologise, get a scolding and then ask for help to wash off everyone’s toys?

“Oh, you’re a comedian now are you? Have you seen they way they carry on when they’re together? There’s as much chance of that as the moon actually being made of cheese. No. They need to duck and cover or destroy the evidence.”

So what’s duck and cover?

“Ask the country if they want to wash the pee off their toys. Put it to the people. Pretend you don’t know how the toys got into the state they’re in, but offer to help with the clean up.”

And what’s destroying the evidence?

“Burning all the toys. Before anyone can see what they’re really up to. That way everyone will be too busy crying over the destruction of the things they love initially to hold the big kids to account. The big kids can scarper in that moment, mostly to non-exec boards on private companies or Nice. Or both.”

The big kids sound like they’ve still some growing up to do.

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Leave means leave the job destroying old Brexit parties and save Britain

“It’s amazing what a few splitters can achieve in just a few short days,” LCD Views Crystal Balls says, “although I’d prefer a baker’s dozen by midday today. Another rocket into the bunkers of the old Brexit parties to see the old men and women stumble out from their well padded holes in the ground, faces smeared with the soot of more defections.”

Will eleven departures from Labour and Tory, and a bonus Austin, be enough to force the captains of the Global Titanic Britain to change course, even as the bows of the once great ship of state scrape along the unrelenting iceberg?

”The stinking shit of state is more accurate, currently,” Crystal Balls replies, “bobbing on top of the filth swells on the sea of despair.”

That’s a smelly situation to find yourself in. It’s no way to run a country, unless you want to run it into the ground. As a few seem to want to do, based on the last few years.

”Yes indeed. But looking at what lies outside the bunker. The bot armies. The rent a gob fascists on the street. The tribal political groupings furious and baffled. That’s why more rats haven’t jumped off the ship yet,” Balls rolls on, not forgetting we’re mixing it up with bunker, ships and shits,

“they’re looking at the waters so full already of the wreckage of jobs and lives caused by the duopoly at Westminster pursuing Brexit and thinking, I don’t want to bob about in there.”

Well they may need to. Leave means leave. Get out of the old parties and take a dip.

”I want them too. Another handful leave each and we can watch as Tragic Grandpa and the Maybot begin to fight one another to turn the big wheel to starboard before the Brexitberg tears a giant hole in the hull of all we hold dear.”

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Brexit car-nage as Morgan relocates to Germany

Brexit is driving business away. Morgan, the epitome of British eccentricity on four wheels, is moving its base of operations to Germany, along with both employees and the company dog.

Brexit advocates claiming the haemorrhage of motor manufacturers is down to reduced demand for diesels are clutching at straws. It’s all a load of hot airbags.

The loss of Morgan could not have come at a worse time. The economy is (fuel) tanking, and Britain is closing down.

Morgan boss Morgan le Fay explained the situation. “We have been based in Camelot, like, forever,” she stated. “But our market is worldwide these days, and we can’t wait for Jacob Rees-Fucking-Mogg or whoever to build a wall around the country’s wealth before we consider the impact. I call it thinking outside the gearbox.”

What we don’t understand is, why go to Germany of all places.

“Want me to spell it out for you?” demanded le Fay, waving her wand in a threatening manner. “They are the best engineers in the world. I am tyred of arrogant, untalented Brits who need to get a grip.”

You could go to Ireland?

“I suppose we have the green credentials,” mused le Fay. “But we don’t like the backstop. We call it a handbrake.”

After all other options had been exhausted, Morgan is opting for Germany. “A real advantage is that our best customers are relocating from Britain to the EU,” explained le Fay. “The smart money is getting away from Brexit, so the smart cars are leaving too.”

But it’s a rocky road. Some promising trade deals have stalled, and others never got out of first gear. For example, le Fay pointed the finger at her reckless nephew, Sir Gawain Williamson. Sir Gawain, despite his heroism, recently blew a head gasket by destroying a potential deal with Japan by calling them ‘slant-eyed Nips’.

Not such a big wheel after all.

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Country shoots itself but doesn’t realise until 3 years later

LCD Views can report today on the broken news that an entire country has acted like the infamous ‘Florida Man’ after shooting itself in the economy but failing to realise until almost three years later.

”Reports indicate that the United Kingdom was in the process of changing the scat covered pants of the governing Tory Party in 2016 when it accidentally shot itself through the economy, the dignity, the credibility, the humanity and even the official opposition party, but didn’t realise.”

The United Kingdom says it fell down after the changing of the pants, or EU ref 2016, but didn’t notice it had shot itself as it was on a high dose of dark money funded propaganda.

”It didn’t help that both the governing party and the leader of the official opposition failed to realise the country had shot itself,” the story continues, “and even after noticing the blood draining from investment and jobs both main sides of the U.K.’s politics then denied it was shot.

”It’s only when the UK’s main parties went through a sudden change of number of MPs that they seemed to notice the bullet holes in both of the country’s knees.”

Whether or not noticing that the country has shot itself will cause either party to credibly change again is open for speculation.

”The politics of the U.K. is averse to seekinf medical attention however,” the story continues, “as they’re is just so much friggin’ corruption and crime involving major political forces, it’s feared any attempt to dress the gaping wounds could lead to arrest.”

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Donald Trump hosts own awards ceremony, gives everything to himself

As the Oscars were handed out last night, away from the glitz and glamour of the red carpet, another awards ceremony was taking place, at the White House.

As Donald Trump walked up to the podium with his penis-substitute red tie doing a creditable impression of a red carpet, I wondered from the back of the room what I’d done to be covering this instead of the Oscars. What had I said wrong to my editor? Oh well, it was too late to worry about that now, so I buckled down with the task in hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the assemblificated press,” he began. “Welcome to the the inaudible – uh, no, inedible – uh, first, that’ll do, first annual Trumpet Awards Ceremony.”

Indeed the letters TAC were behind him on the wall, and I couldn’t help but wish this was taking place in Kentucky, thus giving them reason to put KY at the end. It would have been more accurate.

“I have with me the envelopes containing the winners’ names,” Trump went on. “And I will read them all out to you one at a time.”

Well I wasn’t expecting him to do them all at once, although as it turned out, that would have been perfectly possible and saved a lot of time.

“The first award,” he announced, “for Best President, goes to . . . Donald Trump!” he said in mock surprise as he opened the envelope and read out the name on it. He handed himself a trophy from one side of the podium and put it on the other.

“You know, some people say the Oscars go to the wrong movies,” Trump said as a form of acceptance speech, “but there’s no danger of that here. Justice has been done today.”

There was a shower of cheers and laughter from his supporters in the front seats, and it didn’t take long for everyone to guess where all this was going. I looked knowingly at my colleagues, who had all guessed the exact same thing.
Sure enough, the second envelope was opened, and Trump announced, “the second award, for bigliest brain, goes to . . . Donald Trump!”

And so it continued for the next four hours. Every award, he gave to himself, another trophy got moved from one side of the podium to the other, he made another joking acceptance speech about how clever the people voting for these awards were, and the self-satisfied grin that is always present on his face when he talks about himself was there in full force.

There were times he wasn’t even looking to see which trophy he was handling. But then why should he? He knew they were all going to the same person, nobody else was close enough to read any inscriptions, so it hardly mattered.

Until finally we got to the final award. Given that he’d already started with best president, and mispronounced his way through most inspirational leader, I wondered what it could be. I was in for a shock, but so too, it turned out, was the Donald.

“And the final category, for sexiest person of all time,” he announced, grin still in place, as he opened the envelope and read out it contents, “goes to . . . Don-what? Ivanka Trump?”

I don’t know who tampered with the contents of that envelope, or how – probably Ivanka herself judging by the speed at which she came up to the podium, shake her father’s hand, say, “oh daddy, thank-you!” and retreat back into the audience before the shocked expression on Donald’s face could resolve itself into anything – but it was the highlight of the evening.

Seeing the shocked expression still there, one of his advisors rushed up and whispered something in his ear. Trump nodded, turned back to us, and said, “she gets it from her dad, you know.”

That got a laugh from the crowd, but also a shudder.

He quickly wrapped things up after that, and we left, still bemused at what had happened.

The Trumpet Awards are set to become an annual event, although doubtless Donald will be blowing his own trumpet every chance he gets. However wildly out of tune it may be.