TODAY’S FAKE NEWS ABOUT EU ELECTION HARMONISATION
There’s a sort of vaguely medical theme to things today, although there’s nothing of any great significance to that….beyond the observation that when things are a little odd, one goes to see the doctor. Most of the people featured here never did: as a result, we’re stuck with them as they are.
Take Ms Thearse May, for example. She is obviously suffering from the worst case of post nasal depression I’ve ever come across. As these tragic pictures show only too well, she is in the tertiary stages of this mentally debilitating illness.
Rafe Roydian-Slippe of the London School of Conkology comments that “it is a rare condition in which the victim becomes convinced that her nose is growing. After many years of looking down their noses at people, sufferers keep catching sight of the hooter and becoming increasingly disturbed. In the last three shots, we can see how poor Thearse will now do anything rather than look at her nose. Sadly, the obsession is incurable”.
So then, not the happiest of endings, but then a lot of medical work ends up like that. I often wonder if those engaged in longevity research really have thought its consequences through fully. Supposing they come up with a stem cell that extends human life to over a thousand years: I mean it’s not the sort of formula you’d want getting into the wrong hands, is it? I’ve had fifty years of Rupert Murdoch, but twenty times that amount of cunning psychopathy is impossible to imagine.
Well, gossip has crossed my desk suggesting that for three weeks now, a research team in the Guy’s Hospital Lifespan Enhancement Division has been holed up in its office suite, held under siege by the crack BUPA Commando Unit that protects Health Secretary Mr Jeremander Cnut (left) round the clock, round in circles, and right round Hampstead Heath if necessary.
I understand that the LED team has come up with an astonishing elixir, and Cnut – having got wind fbbbrrr of the breakthrough – ordered his henchmen into action. Sources close to Mr Cnut tell me the Wealth Secretary has been heard muttering “the painting in the attic can’t go on much longer, we’ll just have to rush the bastards if necessary”.
Across the Channel, European Union medical researchers seem to have cracked the problem of human cloning. I’m not sure exactly whose genes were used to produce French Presidential ‘candidate’ Emmanuel Macron, but observation suggests that hair of Blair, eye of Cameron, heart of Sarkozy and toenail of Clinton might well have been involved along the way.
The clues are suggested in phrases like “third way”, “tough on crime and the causes of crime”, “cracking down on terrorism” and “the great European project”. Monsieur Maclone’s occasional inpromptu faces (left) also suggest a bit of Dolly the Sheep crept in along the way. It really doesn’t matter anyway: he is almost certainly glissante comme une anguille and a couille molle (a slippery eel and a spineless wimp) but Brussels, NATO and George Soros demand such things.
In his new book I am made of Money, the next President explains how he got from being nonentity married to ageing lycée teacher crumpet to the Elysée Palace all on his own in nine months flat. It should be a rattling good zzzzzzzzz sorry about that, nodded off for a second there.
A much greater divide than the Channel is the aisle in the House of Commons these days, and it is there we find comeback kid Jeremy Corbyn – seen left with close friend in happier times. JC is the only pol among this lot not in need of medical assistance, being very clearly an inoperable case. Yesterday Mr Cuban’s Tooting Liberation Front set out a 20-point plan, which oddly enough wasn’t the blueprint for wiping out a 20-point Tory lead in the Fakelection. This is a shame, as polls earlier in the day had shown that Thearse May’s lead had indeed “been slashed”, as The Indepungent put it, from 18 to 12 points.
“I am absolutely delighted,” said Mr Dustbin, “that in just one week we have turned a Tory avalanche into little more than a landslide”.
Peccable sources at the Daily Telegraph assured me last night that ‘the 20 point plan’ has lots of hidden clues in it as to the bearded Lady Lieber’s real intentions once he is swept to power on a tidal wave of multiple registrations. One of the pledges (I’m serious) is ‘Introduce four new bank holidays’, but ace Torygraph reporter Ronnie Barkray tells me this is code for ‘nationalise all the banks within four days’, while ‘Use public spending power to drive up standards’ is code for ‘ban German Rover imports and relaunch British Leyland’.
The one that has me baffled is “Pass a law tomorrow right saying that all racist fattism jokes about public school hypocrisy will incur the death penalty for any scumbigot fascist caught spreading such a creed of hate’. For the life of me, I can’t work out how it got in there.