Goveller’s Travels

Wednesday 11th November

The governors of Brobdingnag were struck with horror at the thought of a plague vaccine, for it meant the time of bung in cheek government handing out remarkable sums of public money to friends and admirers was drawing to an
end. Sensing their despair, I explained that in my own realm, instead of the much maligned ‘vaccines’, which were in fact nano-technologies used by Bill Gates to microchip recipients into believing the lamestream media, we offered enema’s of despair, which proved very
effective inoculations against unrealistic expectations of competent rule; hence the etymology of the venerable name Tory, from suppository. But Humpty Dumpty understudy Matt Hancock expressed amazement that an impotent and grovelling insect as myself could entertain
such inhuman ideas and remain “wholly unmoved by all the scenes of shit and desolation that must surely be the common effect of this destructive behaviour” and the frog-voiced Minister for Cheeky Nandos observed that “some evil genius, some enemy to mankind, must surely have
been the first contriver of this notion”, to which I explained that in our kingdom we called them superforecasters. But as the prospect of sprinkling their in-laws and school friends with the leaves of the magic money tree, always with extraordinary care taken of their
having absolutely no education in arts or arms to qualify them, receded beneath the vaccine’s long shadow, Boris went for one last nepotistic throw of the dice and shouted: “Assembled Tories. I’ve listened to the miniscule CEO for World of Slugs and I believe he is correct. We
must inject hope into the arms of our citizens. And while they're distracted, we must then inject eye-watering sums of public money into the alms of our cronies.”

With many thanks to @MrJunkerBarlow for locating this promotional picture from World of Slugs.

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More from @mikegove12

10 Nov
Goveller’s Travels

Tuesday 10th November

With the fall of Trump, Brobdingnag sprung back to life, revising its existential threat level down from nuclear winter, to the more familiar and summery, global warming. With an IRA sympathiser like the one he had just put in the
House Lords now President of the United States, King Boris’s rock solid Broxit trade plans had taken a hit, as if they were based on nothing but a flooded Kent lorry park, John Redwood's fish fetish, and Liz Truss’s emoji hustle. Concerned that being a bit dishevelled and
knowing some Latin weren’t going to be enough to see him to the end of his reign, and with conspirators gathering like self-styled libertarians on flawed science or red wall Tories around a scapegoat, he asked me to satisfy how I myself “Did so succesfully plead causes
Read 8 tweets
9 Nov
Goveller’s Travels

Monday 9th November

There were many notable monuments to the ingenuity of the citizens of Brobdingnag: The Coliseum, The Parthenon, and of course, the back carpark of the Four Seasons landscaping and garden centre. It was here, between the

1/6
stiff competition of the crematorium and the sex shop, that Governor Trump notified the world his dream of attaining sub-Mr Blobby levels of dignity was still alive. The star of his own excruciating hidden camera show, Agent Orange had been culled by voters prioritising
hopers over gropers, and his term was ending as it had begun, on the platform of lawn and order. The downfall had been occasioned in no small part by the postal ballots of sensible people who did not want to go to a polling station during a pandemic; and while the Oranguman’s
Read 8 tweets
4 Nov
Goveller’s Travels

Wednesday 4th November

To the west of Brobdingnag was a kingdom in psychic disarray. Americans as they were known, voting to choose between a misogynistic, racist, bully and coward, and somebody who wasn’t. The former, Trump, who made his money in

1/6
the cut and thrust world of being born, when not sacrificing citizens on the altar of his own stupidity, undermining the fabric of the world’s loudest democracy, getting impeached, praising neo-Nazis, batting away 26 incidents of unwanted sexual contact and 43 instances of
inappropriate behaviour, or getting nostalgic about happy times spent with leading paedophile Jeffrey Epstein, was much salivated over by the Bad Boys of Broxit, Banks, Wigmore, Twice and Farage. Seeing much of themselves in this renaissanonce, these caitiffs sought his company
Read 9 tweets
3 Nov
Goveller’s Travels

Tuesday 3rd November

It was the time of Lockdown 2.0 in Brobdingnag, a disappointing sequel to the original, but a necessary bridge to spring’s much anticipated Lockdown With A Vengeance. As the plague was having two days off before it premiered, the giant
people rushed out to get last jobs done such as spreading the virus, setting up shell PPE companies, relaunching anti freedom of movement parties as pro freedom of movement parties, and getting their hair cut. I attended King Boris’s levee, where in the barber’s hand, his
majesty’s Hanlon’s razor was a sight to behold. According to the custom of the realm Boris was shaved always three weeks after he needed one, something to do with limiting parental DNA samples, and it put me in mind of an amusement wherein I spent many of my leisure hours.
Read 8 tweets
2 Nov
Once more unto the bleach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wards up with our English dead.
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man
As armchair epidemiology:
But when data galore blow in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the ostrich;

1/6
Ignore science, sink in the sand our heads,
Disdain fair logic or hard-favour'd Sage;
Don’t lend the facts legitimate aspect
That fly from the portage of the head
Like the brash gammon; disavow, o'erwhelm them
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now shut up shop, and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath, and call up every bigot
From his dull plight. On, on, you noblest Tories,
Whose intellect from science and judgement
Read 8 tweets
27 Oct
Goveller’s Travels

Tuesday 27th October

My nurse Therese Coffey being at the chamber pot, the window was open and I saw in the great Brobdingnag Channel a vessel the size of Parliament Hill doing donuts in the water. We knew straightway this clandestine channel threat was
serious when local MP Bob Seeley immediately left one of his lockdown breaking Wight Power BBQs to assess it. Seven impoverished and presumably desperate stowaways had turned on the unfortunate crew, but luckily for the armchair Rambos of Brobdingnag, this rather sad narrative
wasn’t going to get in the way of the nation’s broadcasters getting a collective SBS fuelled hardon at the thought of trained killers fast-roping from Chinooks under cover of darkness to neutralising the threat. They occasionally walked the narrative back to the actual facts,
Read 9 tweets

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