Hammond’s budget consists of placing a money bag on the table and saying when it’s gone, it’s gone

LCD Views has the inside track on the latest budget. Philip Hammond has no more idea of the impact of Brexit than anyone else. So instead he said, here is what’s left in the kitty, there’s no more before next April, sort yourselves out, it’s what people on Universal Credit have to do.

As for borrowing, options are now limited. Hammond himself shrugs his shoulders when confronted with the question. “Nobody will lend us money any more,” he complains. “The IMF just laughs, and our fall-back option, Wonga, went bust after we defaulted the last time.”

So you are effectively washing your hands of the whole affair? “Too right!” he says. “Let them squabble among themselves for what little is left, before the UK files for bankruptcy. Budget means budget!”

What about the fabled magic money tree? “It’s autumn,” observed Hammond. “Its leaves have fallen, all the magic money has been harvested and squirreled away offshore somewhere. I think it’s dying too. There is no sign of the green shoots of recovery.”

But couldn’t you raise taxes to make up the shortfall? “Most people will pay more than they earn after Brexit anyway,” he replied. “Except for the people who can afford it. They will pay less.”

That’s a scandal, surely? “Yes, but think of the headlines,” Hammond counters. “If we make Rupert Murdoch pay one penny more in taxation, his papers will make sure they bring down this government and replace it with an even more incompetent one.”

He who pays the piper calls the tune. This particular tune must be Money For Nothing.

The country is more divided than ever. The old call of ‘no taxation without representation’ has been updated. People now have one or the other. That’s the true Brexit Dividend.

As the UK sinks into self-imposed oblivion, at least we can comfort ourselves with the thought that we took back control of our destiny.

Large sea monster appearing off Blackpool coast is nothing to do with fracking, confirms Cuadrilla

Blackpool is bracing for an exciting short term future after a large sea monster appeared off the coast on Monday.

“Shortly after breakfast, but before morning tea break on Monday, a large lizard rose out of the sea and began shouting obscenities at the town of Blackpool,” our large sea monster correspondent, Mr Magoo, reports, “at first it seemed the gigantic lizard was drunk and trying to get directions back to the Sea of Japan, but it soon became clear it was after other matters when it didn’t order an Uber.”

People standing on the famous seafront, and some running away screaming, reported the sea monster was more legible in its speech than it appeared at first.

”After it had cleared its throat it was quite civil really,” Doris, up for the day and present at the time commented, “mostly he was about getting the fcuking fracking stopped. You know, the environmentalists in government have encouraged their chums to smash endocrine destroying chemicals into the water table in Lancashire so they can make a quick buck before we all die from climate change. Which is nice, to look after your friends in business like that.”

But a spokesman for Environmental Secretary Michael Gove’s office was having none of it.

”It’s not the fracking that’s causing all the fracking earthquakes,” the spokesman said, “it’s the bloody hippies jumping up and down in protest what’s doing it. We’re going to arrest the lot so modern Britain can go on being part of the race to the bottom in all notable categories. Like the sea. Our good friends in Cuadrilla are very distressed to be blamed when it’s clearly nothing whatsoever to do with blasting the shit under pressure out of the rocks in the ground.”

The sea monster is expected to make land later today. Michael Gove is expected to accompany the owners of Cuadrilla in running far, far away.

Queen to abdicate so she can start meddling in UK politics

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.

Government to use nano-technology when designing new coins so they devalue in real time

Great news for lovers of money today with the announcement from Her Majesty’s Government that they are to use nano-technology when designing new coins and notes from now on.

”It’s so people can see their money devaluing in real time,” Mrs Bi Metal, a spokesman for the Royal Mint, said, “although at first we were a little dubious, when the design spec came down from the treasury, but we soon realised tiny, tiny robots can do anything. Just look at how they’ve been used to replace the brains of Brexit Tory MPs like Chope and Bone on the Executing the U.K. select committee? Just one nanobot for the two of them!”

The trial of the revolutionary technology will be run with the release of the celebratory Brexit 50 pence pieces, planned for release next year.

”I don’t mind saying the design process was challenging,” Mrs Bi Metal admitted, “at first we were supposed to design a celebratory pound coin, but then May kept talking and the pound losing value and the goal posts narrowed to 50p. We feared by the time we had chosen a slogan for the coins it would be ten or five pences, and that’s when the robotics idea hit.”

But it won’t just be the actual denomination that will fluctuate in your pocket or purse, the message on the coin will also change daily.

”You lost get over it. We won we can’t get over it. Should I be a rouble? All the classics will be up on the coin. They’ll change each time the value changes.”

This sounds like warnings of a cashless society were over rated, with such exciting new coins coming down the line?

”Oh, I wouldn’t say that, it’s doubtful by the time we’ve crashed out of the EU that anyone much will be able to hoard something as impressive as a fifty pence piece! We’ll be well on our way to being a cashless society by then!”

Hammond to read all of ‘Ulysses’ out at budget launch as it makes way more sense than a Brexit budget

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?

Arlene Foster pledges to build a wall and make Westminster pay for it

The one person willing to ‘just get on with it’, Arlene Foster, has put forward her solution to the Irish border problem. Quite simply, she will construct a wall – and force Westminster to foot the bill.

In all other respects, Brexit and the no-deal preparations have stalled. It is as if the elephant in the room has got fed up and decided to sit down in the way for a while.

“This is my one big chance to make a mark,” remarked Foster candidly. “Because after this shambles nobody will elect any of us ever again. If elections are still a thing, that is. Since democracy ended on 23 June 2016, there might not be a need for any more.”

Taking a leaf from the Donald Trump playbook is one thing, but getting your own government to pay is different. “Yeah but no,” Arlene clarified. “It’s them and us. Northern Ireland is a special case. And anyway can you imagine Varadkar forking out? Feckin Irish tightwads.”

Who would actually build the wall? “Simple,” claims Foster. “There are thousands of filthy migrants in the UK, coming over here and showing us what hard work looks like. They could build it in no time at all, cash in hand, no questions asked. Afterwards we could stick them all in a big old boat and tell them to clear off back to the EU that they love so much.”

It’s gratifying that Foster actually has a plan, however ridiculous. It puts her head and shoulders over all the other Brexiters.

Critics from the Republic were swift to point out that a wall is, de facto, a hard border. They took their concerns directly to Foster. “Unfortunately I couldn’t understand a word they said,” she remarked sadly. “It sounded like a bunch of old men shouting ‘Drink! Girls! Arse! Feck!’ to me.”

The Westminster dog with the Irish tail was later seen sneaking into the secret room containing the magic money tree.

Government minister married to drug dealer

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.

Daily Mail anticipating boom in sales as post Brexit toilet paper shortage bites

News in the soft papers and here at the coarse international news media superpower seems likely to finally wake up stubborn leavers to just how crap their position will be in post No Deal Brexit Britain.

“Pinching one off will not be risk free,” our bathroom specialist, Mr White Tiles, advises, “forget the insulin shortages, forget the lack of radioactive materials for medical procedures, or that your heart medication will be in a customs queue from Calais to Reading, it’s those precious rolls of soft, and sometimes scented, paper that you’re really going to miss.”

The advice comes on the back of the revelation that the United Kingdom holds a stockpile of only one roll per citizen, with the rest imported in a just in time sequence from across the ENGLISH Channel day in and day out.

And in what promises to turn all guts to jelly, transport supremo Chris “failing” Grayling is going to be responsible for keeping your bottom wiped.

”The Daily Mail is of course anticipating a boom in sales,” Mr White Tiles continues, “as remainers stock up on the best alternative to rolls of paper in Labrador puppy packaging.”

The Express and The Sun likewise see a massive surge of sewer journalism turning into actual sewerage as the No Deal goal of the multi-billionaire, tax evading Brexiters comes to fruition.

”Laxative suppliers are downbeat though,” our correspondent continues, “the future is not smelling of roses for everyone, in spite of the pre-referendum assurances from walking, talking, permanently clogged human colons such as Fartage and Bum Buxom Boris. With everyone shitting themselves the moment martial law is imposed in April to ensure the cabinet maintains their own supplies of big roll.”

Best advice we can offer is to start stocking up on tabloid journalism now and probably leaves, lots of big leaves.

”Not nettles though,” Mr White Tiles adds, “unless you want to distract yourself for a while from the shit for brains idicoy of Brexit by rubbing the prickly little bastards on your ring.”

Divided Tories unable to add up

Sums are not the Conservatives’ strongest point. This mean – not to say average – bunch are so divided into different fractions that nothing they say adds up any more.

The least numerate of all the government departments is, naturally, the DExEU. Every impact assessment, every prediction, every confident pronouncement gives the same impression. That of a reluctant eight year old doing his maths homework.

LCD Views sought the opinion of number cruncher Algie Braic. “They really are a few beads short of an abacus,” he sighed. “It’s lies, damned lies, as they say. Most of the time they seem to be picking random numbers out of thin air. It’s a tombola Brexit now.”

This is quite apt, as everyone in the country has effectively bought a ticket, in the expectation of winning the jackpot. Naturally, first prize had already been awarded to the organisers

“The examples of a poor head for figures are many,” Braic continued. “From mythical amounts painted on to the side of a bus, to fantastical trade deals and promises of greater funding for our public services. I’ve got their number!”

Not to mention the “95% complete Brexit”, which, according to Guy Verhofstadt, means “0% complete”.

It’s not just the government. The BBC equated 700,000 People’s Vote protesters with 1,200 Leave Means Leave activists. All those zeros must count for nothing.

Factor in all the crazy economics sponsored by the ERG, and you get the irrational situation in which every negative is a positive. Good news if you have an overdraft, but it does not bode well when the Treasury is scrabbling behind the sofa for loose change.

“I’ve tried to figure it out,” says Braic, scratching his head. “But it boils down to the fact that this government regards zeros simply as placeholders. Like most Tory MPs, in fact.”

Ultimately there is only one fact to bear in mind. 73.9% of all statistics are made up.

Lovechild of Madame Cholet and massive dildo denies support for Tommy Robinson

History and semantics can play cruel tricks.

Forty-five years ago, a steamy affair between Madame Cholet, the grey haired French cook, and diminutive, corpulent female lead in  BBC children’s TV series The Wombles, and a handsome young and athletic self lubricating French dildo, produced a love child.

A child whose very existence was for decadeds denied by both its parents, and BBC executives alike, but whose ethnicity, by a cruel accident of semantics, is now on everyone’s lips.

He is, by his admission, one of very few on the planet who can genuinely identify themselves as an actual bona fide COCKWOMBLE.

And he is angry, very angry.

“Yes, I am a Cockwomble, one of the few on this planet with the right to name myself thus,” he wept, hiding his face and declining to give his name.

“But that doesn’t make me a gammon faced, knob headed, right wing spunk trumpet,” he added pointing out that he didn’t get to choose his parents, but he does get to choose his politics.

“And there’s no way I would ever support that loud mouthed, racist wank puffin Tommeh Robinson – he looks like a cross between a Thunderbirds puppet and the demonic ventriloquist’s doll from classic British horror flick, DEAD OF NIGHT” he added.

A spokesman for the UK society of Spunk Trumpets declined to comment on recent salacious rumours concerning the late British Jazz trumpeter, Kenny “one’s salty, the other’s sweet” Ball.

The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) for its part issued a stern warning against the growing problem of sexual harassment of ciff nesting seabirds.

“This is not only dangerous for the birds, for whom gammon flavoured human secretions are not a normal food source but also, as many species – including puffins – roost on very high cliffs, extremely risky for the sick sadistic shitgibbons who indulge in these disgusting practices,” it said.

LCD views contacted David Attenborough for his views on primatial coprophilia but he (wisely) declined to comment.