Like me, you probably can’t BELIEVE that after pride comes the nemesis. If only there had been a clue about it in all that ancient Greek stuff Boris Johnson kept telling.
Anyway. The Prime Minister woke up this morning to a pre-title sequence set in a silent chamber. We see the rubbish from many abandoned lateral flow tests. You can see something nasty on the sheets. (Less than a horse’s head, more of a Kendall Roy special.) We see a few rats coming out of her hair and thinking: Lord, if that’s what’s facing forward, the photo in her attic must now be technically classified as a biological weapon. Suddenly, the disturbing silence is broken. Ambulance sirens tear the air outside, while in the room several telephones start ringing. Somewhere in the house, a baby starts to cry, while the frozen expression on the Prime Minister’s face simply says, “What just happened ?!”
Cut to black. LEGEND: “45 DAYS PLUS TT …”
On November 2, the bubbly British Prime Minister Boris Johnson returned from Cop26 in a private plane, mocking the globally high Covid transmission rates at a time when light interventions would have reduced them, and well prepared for dinner with the influencer mid-Mesozoic Charles Moore at the all-male Garrick Club. During that fateful meal with his former boss, the columnist for the newspaper that runs Britain cemented a plot to stop Owen Paterson – Revolutionary MP for ultra-secure North Shropshire – to have to serve a simple 30-day suspension from Parliament, apparently on the basis that Johnson’s people can do whatever they want.
This morning, North Shropshire fell into Liberal Democrats with the third biggest blow to the Tories since 1945, the many illegal Christmas parties held last year by Johnson residents turned out to be a problem nuclear at the door. What can you say I highly recommend laughing over the spilled milk.
Unable to pass legislation on the biggest problem of his post as prime minister and the era without Labor backing, Johnson lost control to voters who voted to regain control, let alone his backbenchers d ‘backbench. His Downing Street desk reads “Get boosted now”, but might as well say “HERE IS YOUR LOW KING”. During a briefing in Downing Street this week, the chief medical officer explained: “What we have are two epidemics on top of each other.” Yes, and two press conferences on top of each other. One is owned by Chris Whitty; the other is flouted by a forgery of Richard II, surrounded by useless friends and unsuccessfully begging parliament for money. (Put that in your Shakespeare book, mate.) âDon’t mix with people you don’t have to,â advised Whitty, who is to mingle with Boris Johnson.
When it comes to the aforementioned backbenchers, of course, all free-talk tory nuts are now demanding Whitty is silenced, while refusing to believe the NHS is under the kind of significant pressure that might even require Plan B. When they become the last to know about Omicron’s mind-boggling numbers, cancer departments and the like. get fucked up even more for the coming year, don’t forget to thank Steve Baker for their endless “vision”. The rest of us will watch in moderation as the Conservative Party is once again under the control of its bastards. Apart from the interregnum of New Labor, the conservative party has been chained to these madmen and their political ancestors since the beginning of the 90s. And therefore, by extension, has the country.
But listen: don’t worry. Because of course – OK SR – there is new chatter about a leadership race. In a report notable to me this week, Rishi Sunak “quietly told Conservative MPs that he opposes the introduction of Plan B at this point.” Presumably, he made it known from California, where the chancellor of the “business party” is babbling as the hospitality trade crumbles. Meanwhile, Foreign Secretary Liz Truss “is hosting cocktails for potential supporters at a low-key private club in Mayfair.”
Adorable. What’s not to love about this traditional moment in the conservative snuff movie cycle? All you need to remember is that no matter how terrible the horrors that befall the nation, the party will always find time to have some fun, in the form of a leadership race. . We could be standing in the post-apocalyptic ruins of our country, with said very apocalypse caused by the last ruler they decided had a “special sauce”, and people like Liz Truss would always host receptions for supporters during discreet clearances in the rubble. . “If you want to drink you will have to distill your own urine – and all i will say about the sofas is you need to grab them first. Anyway: MY VISION.
Speaking of sofas, the Prime Minister was again this week alongside his staff allegedly in violation of the rules, defending them on the grounds that they “have worked blindingly for a very long time in cooperation with people around the government and in the world. the whole country. utilities to do our best to ensure the safety of people â.
What pity bullshit. Is there anything more pathetic than the idea that office workers in Westminster work harder than anyone else in this country? Do me a favor. It doesn’t go down a mine, does it? It’s not about evacuating people from Afghanistan. Specifically, it barely works in an intensive care unit. In fact, you don’t need to wash the public service with cheese and wine when no one else is allowed to. Honestly, they all want to be in the room it’s in, and when they are, they complain for hours. As we seemingly watch the barrel of another dark and restrictive winter – in which no one has done more than themselves to undermine their own public health message – staff in Downing Street, from Prime Minister down, are reminded that there is a very simple solution to all of this. Other jobs are available, why not start looking?