I ran as fast as I could, but could see little, the corn rising forty feet and trees so lofty I could make no computation of their altitude. I was endeavouring to find shelter when I discovered a colossal man advancing, a Rees-Mogg
as tall as an ordinary spire steeple, with thirty grouse shooting Tory donors. I hid myself in a pile of redundant manifestos and heard this tofflofty speak many degrees louder than a Mike Fabricant anecdote ‘Perficite exitus Britanniarum’, I believe Get Brexit Done. Although
it may also mean ‘Achieve the destruction of the regions of Britain’. This summoned forth lobby-fodder runts Lee Anderson, Andrea Jenkyns, Dehenna Davison and Ben Bradley. The tweedy grandees sneered and sniggered at these forelock tugging frothers, which might have elicited
sympathy had they not been race-baiting fear-mongers intent on destroying the economy after subscribing to the Channel Five Christmas schedule version of history. To demonstrate their compliance Alabaster Capitalist Mogg called ‘Discessus significat discessum’ (Leave means leave)
compelling them to bark like dogs, scurry around on all fours, sniff each other’s bottoms, and fight over a large bone on which he’d written ‘Recipite imperium’, I believe 'Take back control'. Being quite dispirited with the thunderous vibrations of Ben Bradley chasing a stick
the size of an Airbus A380 that Lee Anderson had just cocked his leg on, and wholly overcome by grief and despair, I lay down and hearkened unto to the humiliation of those who didn’t realise they suffered it, lamenting my own folly and willfulness in attempting a career in
politics against the advice of all my relations and friend, when I might otherwise have done well as a lettings agent, or cowboy builder. In this terrible agitation of mind, I could not forbear thinking of Lilliput, whose inhabitants looked upon me as the greatest
prodigy that ever appeared in the world; where unlike in British Government, I was able to perform actions which will be recorded for ever in the chronicles of that empire, while posterity shall hardly believe them, although attested by millions. I reflected what a mortification
it must prove, to appear as inconsiderable in this nation as one single Lilliputian would be among us. Undoubtedly Sarah is right, when she tells me that nothing is great or little otherwise than by comparison. And as Andrew Bridgen arrived late and rolled on his back
to allow Rees-Mogg to inspect his matted belly hair with an ivory cane, I reflected that even this prodigious race of mortals might be equally overmatched in some distant part of the world, whereof we have yet no discovery. Thus, Mogg spake
‘Amplectamur syndicatum mercaturae mundanae’ or 'Lets go WTO'. And they left.
With many thanks to @MrJunkerBarlow for locating this beautiful watercolour of the training session.
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
’Twas the night before Sunak, when all thro' the House,
Not a Gullis was stirring, not even a mouse;
Order papers were hung by the Speaker’s own chair,
In hopes that Asylum Bill soon would be there;
🧵
The Tories were huddled, immersed in their threads,
While visions of boat people danc'd in their heads,
Suella in her 'kerchief, Jenrick with his stab,
Had just settled our brains for debating crap –
When out on the Green there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bench to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
Moon shone on the Press, in Rwanda’s shit show,
Gave lustre of day on objections below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
7am - Breakfast of Sugar Puffs made with a can of Monster
7.05am - Count and remove the nine bagged dogshits local youths posted through my letterbox last night
7.06am - Convene Star Chamber of Rayleigh and Wickford Neighbourhood Watch
🧵👇
8.15am - Star Chamber conclude that plan to deport local delinquents to Leyton is full of holes
9am - Open door and step in the pork pie I left on my doorstep for the unknown soldier last night
9.05am - change my Bertulli elevator heel shoes for pair of combat boots
9.10am - Climb into my ice white Range Rover Evoque with appearance package, put the Dambusters March on the integrated Bose sound system, and head for Westminster
11am - Arrive Whitehall in 1hr 50. Only three road rages, two Ginsters stops and a dislodged cyclist. A good run
Has spent the last decade trying to infiltrate and restructure the RNLI so that they will only launch for people with 98% Saxon DNA.
He makes a supplementary income from an illegal puppy farm.
Robert Jenrick
Retrained as a painter and decorator, specialising in making childcare facilities for vulnerable youngsters as foreboding as possible.
Jacob Rees-Mogg
Died in a freak Tridentine Mass accident when one of the black silage polybags of gold florins he insisted his hedge fund dividends were paid out in was struck by an incense thurible and landed on his head.
It has been a decade since the Conservative Party imploded at the 2024 general election (now you feel old), and you'll never guess what Boris's babies have been up to since the franchise ended!
Scroll down to find out...
Therese Coffey
Since losing her seat, the former environment secretary has been keeping busy with her pop-up abattoir, roaming provincial city-centres armed with nothing but a bolt gun and an packed trailer of distressed livestock.
Jonathan Gullis
After a stint as Kidsgrove’s lollypop man (sacked for bellowing at dawdling children), the ex-Stoke North MP found his true vocation in pest control. “I can read a cockroach” he said after winning Rentokil’s coveted July 2015 Exterminator of The Month award.