by John Ward
Is the coming Labour split much more than a threatened Sextit? Are there any surprises up to but not including one in the Mail on Sunday’s revelations about Husband Comrade Corbyn? When will Theresa May stop looking for a way through Brussels obduracy? At what point will politicobots finally stop saying “Crashing out”? You don’t know and neither do I, so the best bet is to laugh your head off.
There is deadlock this afternoon in the talks between the Labourean Union and the six MPs threatening a Crash-Out Sextit that will devastate This Great Socialist Project of Ours.
Insoluble issues in the talks include:
- No one side wants to talk to the other at all
- The Labourean Commission demands absolute on-message tweets, quotes and interviews should be made and given by the Sextit at all times
- The Sextiteers demand complete independence to look for trade deals elsewhere
- The Labourean Commission President Jésus Corbyno di Camdenuzuela insists on his inalienable right to swing both ways in the cause of unity and power at all costs.
The Mail on Sunday today has a small section, running to some twenty-four pages, designed to persuade readers that the UK Labour leader is Mr Beans incompetently evil older brother Nosforatu Beelezebub. Although most of Westminster gossips and those anywhere near to it have known for decades that Jeremy of Judea is Private Eye’s Dave Spart made flesh – and something of a sex pest – the MoS attempts with not too much subtlety to build upon this thumbnail sketch here and there. Well, here there and everywhere actually.
As Mr Corbyn has had two wives and enjoys a less than harmonious relationship with both of them, it’s not surprising there was a lot for the Ishmailites to go at.
Jeremy is a humourless ideologue, a disloyal husband, a hypocrite, selfish, arrogant, a wham-bam 30-seconds-at-most lover and – behind that likeable facade – utterly ruthless in both his political and private life. Says the Mail.
None of this surprises me in the least – a Labour backbencher from the less severe Left told me thirty years ago, “Jeremy is very choosy about his lovers – they have to have a pulse”, but I do completely disagree with the Mail’s conclusion that, on the bases cited by them, ‘he is utterly unfit to hold high office’: the bloke sounds to me like the classic candidate for high office.
Oddly, on reading some of the lascivious prose, I was reminded of Peter Cook’s wonderful impression of the High Court Judge summing up the Jeremy Thorpe case in the mid 1970s. The hopelessly biased M’lud dismissed one prosecution witness after another purely on the basis of their human frailties. Reading the Corbyn “revelations”, I kept seeing Cookie in his wig and gown…..
“I turn now to the personality of Mr Jeremiah Corkedwine, a man the jury is supposed to take seriously as capable of governing our green and pleasant land, but who seems incapable of attacking a barn the size of Theresa May without missing by a mile. He is, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, a humbug a liar, a premature ejaculator, and an onanist to boot.
Unlike his disgusting colleague of yesteryear Lord Peter Fondlebum, Mr Corkscrew is not a fudge-packing shirt-lifter player of the pink oboe. But he is most definitely batting for the other side.
You may choose to believe the cynical propaganda put about by his supporters in Bibendum, designed to suggest that he is some kind of biblical leader. I am here to tell you that, on the contrary, he is driven by the desire to know every woman he meets in the biblical sense. I shall draw a discreet veil over this side of his life; suffice to say that recipients of his pork sword have even included morbidly obese slatterns from Bongo-Bongo land….”
In a shock development this afternoon, the British Prime Minister Theresa May rushed across the Channel for talks with Madame Frufru Delagare, the owner of a poodle repair shop in the Montmartre district of Paris.
A spokesman later said, “The PM felt that if the EU offered to exclude dog passports from the Irish backstop, there would be solid grounds for expecting not only a breakthrough in the Brexit talks, but also a change of heart in the Westminster Parliament sufficient for her withdrawal plan to be passed”.
Elysée Palace media sources later hotly denied that Frufru Delagare is the alias President Macron chooses when he minces about wearing women’s clothes of a weekend.
But extreme Brexit Far Right Out-Crashing booby Jacob Fleece-Mob said that, while he would look at the canine issue, he did not as yet see it as the breakthrough that might avoid a crashout.
Deputy Labour leader Tom Watson had earlier appeared on TV in a suit far too big for him to tell Andrew Marr that Britain was going to crash out in such a spectacularly out-crashing manner, the British People would finally realise (when it was too late) just what a crashing out loud crash it was going to be.
Number Ten sources later still confirmed that tomorrow Mrs May will fly to Uzbekhistan in a last-ditch attempt to persuade Vice Premier Tanzila Narbayeva that it’s high time he sent a task-force of kamikazi knitting machines to Brussels in order to make Donald Tusk face reality.
Pressed as to the reason for the PM’s planned visit to the Mulifanua ancient remains in Samoa (scheduled for this coming Wednesday) her objective Remainer federalist nutjob adviser Olly Goblins commented, “I suggested to the PM that this would be a productive use of her time while my Whitehall colleagues and I get on with the job of avoiding the sort of motorway madness multiple vehicle crashing out of the EU by cashing in on the dithering of useless politicians whom we tend to ignore anyway”.
“The history books will show,” said David Lidington tonight, “that Mrs May searched exhaustively for a Deal in unexpected places, exhausted herself in doing so, and exhausted the patience of everyone from Michel Barnier to Lizzie Cornish of 456 Wheelybin Way, Torquay”.
I am all crashed out. I will attempt to come up with an issue to be taken more seriously at some point tomorrow.