Where to even start?!
Like a turd that just wouldn’t flush…
It took the resignations of more than 50 Cabinet Members, Ministers and Parliamentary Private Secretaries, one desperate firing of a slimy pob-faced cokehead, and a lot of ultimatums from the few that were left (with the notable exception of Nadine Dorries, for which there is absolutely no explanation. Not just for this, but for her whole existence) before Boris Alexander De Pfeffel Johnson finally gave in to the fact that everyone hates him and he didn’t even have enough friends left to fill the cabinet, and he did the ‘honourable thing’, resigning from the circus he created.
I jest – it wasn’t exactly honourable.
His resignation speech – which I watched, hoping to glimpse an ounce of humility (or, if I’m honest, to see him puffy eyed through lack of sleep, or even better, crying big fat tears) – was essentially an exercise in how to blame other people for one’s shortcomings. It was delivered without a genuine expression of sadness or regret for his behaviour or a single acknowledgement of wrongdoing on his part.
‘They’re all sneks, hun’ I assume Nads repeated as she stroked his matted scarecrow mop in a soothing manner; ‘They’re all just jealous’.
All the keywords were shoehorned in there; I wish I’d played Boris Shots Bingo, but I’d be way too drunk to write this. Getting Brexit Done (and what a treat that’s been for all of us, am I right), the fastest vaccine roll out, something to do with wars – but it’s everyone else who wants him out. Them’s the breaks, he said.
Also, it wasn’t really resigning.
He’s not flushed, so much as half way round the u-bend.
‘Resigned’, to me, implies the leaving of the job and he’s gone nowhere yet. He is still fucking there; clinging on to his house and his fancy wallpaper, still ‘caretaking’ – and planning a big summer do – while a suitable alternative is decided upon.
And who will that be, I wonder?
Trying to pick my favourite Tory MP is a bit like trying to pick my favourite STD – or, as I saw on Twitter earlier – trying to pick a toilet at Glastonbury. Although Johnson, an entitled man with the morals of a desperate drug addict and steadfast belief that he is special and above the rules, brushing off scandal after scandal, has to be the syphilis of the list; the toilet that has seen the most bouts of IBS, what at first felt like a celebratory occasion (I have had a bottle of fizz chilling since yesterday afternoon) has instead filled me with the fear of the unknown.
Dominic Raab has said he won’t be standing, implying that somewhere within his two brain cells there was a spark of self awareness there, maybe, that he’d be really shit at it.
It wouldn’t surprise me at all if billionaire’s husband and US citizen Rishi Sunak threw his hat in; after showing us all what a Man Of The People he truly is I think he’s fucked it, but I’m continually surprised by Tories and their brazen lack of self reflection or shame.
My old MP, Tom Tugendhat – who bears a striking resemblance to Mr Tumble – has also had his name bandied about. So too has Ben Wallace, the defence secretary, who seems to have done well enough to fly under the radar of late (comparatively) and therefore about whom I have nothing exciting or snarky to say except that his voting record shows him to be an enormous homophobe, but that’s not a surprise – he’s a Tory.
Liz Truss and Sajid Javid have also intimated that they’re interested in the top job.
Liz apparently because she could up her personal photographer’s contract to full time; just think of the ‘grammable moments that being the PM would come with!
There are probably plenty of others, but at the end of the day they’re all Tories, so I can’t get excited about it.
I’d take Larry the Cat over this shower of bastards any day.
I will kind of miss comedy Nads a little though when the cabinet is inevitably dissolved by the new incomer. Her Blossom Hill-fuelled sycophantic tweets have been the highlight of my week. She makes satire utterly impossible. I wish her well; I heard she’s looking at starting up a work from home business selling wax melts.
Anyway, back to Mr Johnson.
Boris Johnson: Father to too many to count, husband to quite a few, and demonstrably the least popular Prime Minister the UK has ever had. A philanderer, a compulsive liar, a man so entitled, so entirely devoid of shame or morals, who believes entirely that he is above us all and amswerable to no-one. A man who has run our country into the ground, making the poorest poorer; a man with the blood of hundreds of thousands of people on his hands. A man who doesn’t care about anything but Boris Johnson; who was allowed to get away with too much, who has made the country a worse place for so many and whose legacy will be felt for many many years to come.
I can’t see him going quietly; I fear we may have some kind of ego-driven Trump situation when they finally decide it’s time for him to move out. I hope I’m wrong, although it would be good for comedy value I guess.
Sigh.
I wanted chaos with Ed Milliband.
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