Thread by @mrhenrymorris

Goveller’s Travels

Thursday 17th September

I apprehended that I should be squashed to death by the feet of the grouse slayers, so screamed as loud as fear could make me, whereupon the motley of giant Tories trod short. Led by a Boris the size of an HS2 contractor’s pocket,

they were amazed to see a six inch Mike Gove. Their minds I later learned, were devoid of imagination, barren infertile plots, unable to visualise the difficulties of feeding a family on a pittance; conceive of helping people before they made mistakes; or, being unable to

comprehend motivations beyond their own, envisage that a dinghy-delivered immigrant could be intent on anything other than harm. They had been combing the island for covid tests, almost as rare as a Dodo Harding, and considered me with the caution of an animal that might bite,

as you would a rat, or delingpole. Therese Coffey shouted ‘stamp on the fucker I’ve got tenants to evict’ but luckily an Olympian Matt Hancock ventured to take me between his fore-finger and thumb to behold my shape more perfectly. I resolved not to struggle as he held me

above sixty feet from the ground, although he grievously pinched my sides which most unsettled that morning’s victual of Sugar Puffs made with Monster. I ventured to place my hands in a supplicating posture and squeaked “I’m a little Michael Gove, do me no harm, the hopes

of a generation of racist pensioners are laid in me”, apprehending every moment that he would dash me against the ground, as any Tory would do a kitten, puppy, duckling or constituent he had a mind to destroy. But my good star would have it, that he appeared pleased with me,

and looked upon me as a curiosity, much wondering to hear me pronounce articulate words like “Lets', 'go” and “WTO”. Convinced I must be a rational creature he spoke; “I’m Matt Hancock, but my friends call me the Wet Nurse”. The sound of his voice pierced my ears like that

of Sarah’s Kawasaki Ninja or Rishi after two WKDs, and caked me in his mouth spaff. He cleaned me with an earwax encrusted cotton bud from his pocket and called Liz Truss to show me her; but she screamed as people do at the sight of toads and Bill Cash. At this time, we saw

on the horizon Angela Rayner twenty ‘Edstones’ high. Dominic Raab shouted ‘Scrutiny! Hide!’ and the Tufton of Tories hid in a frenzy of world-beating cowardice. Lifting up the lappet of his coat Hancock put me in, and there, I found myself face to face: with another Michael Gove.

Many thanks to @Michelangela75 for locating this original work of colossal Tories!