And That’s About All About That


Dear, constituents, I write to you now with a final personal message from the bottom of my bottom.

Tomorrow you have a monumental decision to make, unless you live in one of almost all of the UK’s constituencies where your vote is utterly meaningless and all will be as it has been before and ever more.

Due to an administrative error I’m calling Cathy at HQ, I can tell you that I will not be taking up my 99% guaranteed seat at the heart of Westminster on Friday.

Neither will I be making a gratuitous speech talking about now being the time to move forward together, about difficult days and decisions to come, about having the support of the majority of the country, about delivering a Brexit for all, where all can prosper, not just those at the top, and about having the strength to say no if the deal is not in the UK’s interest.

I will also not be breaking any manifesto promises, commitments or pledges just days after being elected.

And why not? Because apparently Brighton is divided into three constituencies, and I am a candidate in none of them.

No, in the coming days I will be paying my extortionate bill at the Brexit-sponsoring hall of despair that is the Bright Helm Wetherspoons, without a single soggy chip refundable in tax-payer expenses.

And, with bags packed, I will be heading, without Cathy, to Brighton in New Zealand, to begin my full throttle campaign to become their 175th, and first non-Mauri, town Mayor.

So, thanks go out to my team, Dave Lynn, for hardly being there, my five job centre recruits, for staying true, and off the booze, Nick Cave, for giving up on the legal action, Darren and Denise from the Bright Helm, for never running out of cheesecake, and the homeless man, whose name I never got, but who ensured my campaign didn’t kill anyone. PS who knew terrorism could be so good and so bad for minority groups at the same time? The homeless and hooligans are now heroes of our age. Until they piss everywhere again, I guess.

That’s all, goodbye.


Sex, Die, Children…

Fuck off, just fucking well fuck off

Good lunchtiming, constituents, and, with three days to go, let me make one thing absolutely clear: A vote for me is not just a vote for me. It is not just a vote for me and my team. It is not even just a vote for you. A vote for me on Thursday is a vote for your children. Nay, a vote for your children’s children. Nay nay, a vote for your children’s children’s children. Who will have children. This vote is also a vote for them. And their children. Do you get it? There are a lot of unborn children waiting to grow up, settle down, have sex, raise children, die, have more children, have sex, die, have children, sex, die, children, sex, die, children, sex, die, children, sex, die, children, sex, die, children, sex, die, children… So think about that when you vote for me or Theresa May or Jeremy Corbyn or Dim Farron or Caroline Greenarse, because a vote for us is a vote for millions and billions of unborn children until the world burns.

It’s a pleasure to be your children’s children’s children’s children’s children’s… candidate.



Good lateness, constituents, and only five days left till the big poll, and I’m not talking about my penis. I’m so busy right now that I don’t have much time left to appeal for your vote on the 8, which is unfortunate, and why I want to let you know, before BIG GIVEAWAY FREE STUFF PLUS REDUCTIONS WEEK really kicks off amongst the other lying shits, that everyone who votes for me will get a FREE CURLYWURLY BEST BEFORE 9 JUNE GUARANTEED.

That’s ONE FREE CURLYWURLY BEST BEFORE 9 JUNE GUARANTEED if you vote for me (non-concurrent with current offer of tins for elderly).

It’s a pleasure to be your curlywurly candidate.

Polls Tight As A Bear’s Arse In Bear-Hunting Season? Nah

1-0 to the PM, Paxman to serve

Good daying, constituents, and unless I’m very much mistaken this has now become the most utterly boring general election in general election history, so I won’t be long.

Having heard the news that a woman had been eaten by a lion, I’d immediately thought that human polygraph Jeremy Paxman had literally had the PM for breakfast, but alas, it was nothing to do with the big interview featuring a rather tired-looking executioner and two talking corpses.

In fact, the story about a woman being eaten by a lion was about a woman who had, tragically, and somewhat unsurprisingly for a woman who had once been pictured hugging a cheetah and whose job it was to feed a lion, been eaten by a lion. Except the lion was a tiger.

And so on the utterly tiresome general election goes, with odd half-amusing half-depressing entertainments like Jeremy Corbyn pretending to know, refusing to say and then allowing the female host to tell him the big number she’d been pestering him for live on BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour. God, women can be so annoying! And she wasn’t even his wife. Or his mum. Or your mum.

Which leaves us with tonight’s BBC One special thing with Jeremy Corbyn turning up and Theresa May refusing to appear because she thinks it’s a waste of time, so she sends another woman, Amber Rudd in her place! Weird. What happens if Amber Rudd does well? Can we have her as PM? What happens if she declares war on Scotland? Is it war?

The way I see it is thus. We are in a five stage general election of grief.

Stage 1 – Denial – What the fuck? I thought we were doing Brexit. She can’t have called a general election. Madness.

Stage 2 – Anger – What the fuck? Who does she think she is? Arrogance. She’s only done it cos of Brexit. She knows she can’t lose. She just wants more power.

Stage 3 – Bargaining – Well, Brexit is happening so I suppose if I vote for the PM then at least we can have a good Brexit.

Stage 4 – Depression – This general election is really happening. God, it’s dull. Did she just say strong and stable again?

Stage 5 – Acceptance – Well, I’m in the voting booth and I thought I was going to vote for Jeremy Corbyn but I can’t stop hearing the words strong and stable and yes, that’s what we need. I want to be strong and stable. I’ll vote for that.

I’m bored of being your candidate.