It’s Bojo the Clown!

He runs round the ring with a fireman’s bucket
acting like he’s going to chuck it
stops, goes, stops, goes
pulls out a line of flags and blows his nose
jumps in a fire truck, sneezes
the whole thing falls to pieces
jumps back out, kicks it
fetches a play school toolbox to fix it
a big rubber mallet and a tube of glue
gets his hands stuck fast to his shoe
hops around howling
one minute laughing the next minute scowling
the shoe comes off in his hands; it starts to ring
he scratches his wig and stares at the thing
laughs, gives a shrug
cautiously holds it up to his lug
Hello? This is Bojo the clown…
puts his thumb up, gurns at the crowd
who roar with applause and laugh out loud
but suddenly the lights cut out
and one fierce spotlight picks him out
something’s changed; the act seems different
he’s not so cute and insignificant
he stands there, watching with glittering eyes
Yes – they’re ready for their big surprise.

Ghastlybury Festival

On the Pyramid Sales Stage:

BJ Johnson & The Old School Kickbacks
Richey Rich Sunak & The Corporate Cashbacks
Mort Handjob & The Splashbacks

In the Little Island Tent:

Ravin’ Williamson & The Witless Paraders
Pitiless Patel & The Choppy Channel Waders
Backstreet Jenrick & The Party Fund Traders

The Robert Peel stage:

Liz Truss & The Chlorinated Chickens
Robbie ‘Rob’ Buckland & The Unlawful Applications
Dominatrix Raab & The Dreadful Vibrations

In the Magical Avalon Marketplace:

Oliver Dowden’s Seaside Clown School
Old Mother Coffey’s Border Gang Patrol

The Michael Glove Puppets

Jacob Rees Mogg

BJ style guide

less Streep more Swanson
less Lee more Bronson
less Damon more Johnson

less Marcus Aurelius more Emperor Nero
less Diet Coke more Coke Zero
less Marvel more DC superhero

less Big Sur more Thetford
less King Arthur more King Edward
less Spongebob more Squidward

less Chippendale more Chippy
less Dior Rouge more Superdrug own-brand lippy
less Oscar Wilde more Mr Whippy

less Leibowitz more Happy Snaps
less standing ovation more slow hand claps
less Cary Grant more Grant Shapps

less family farm more pharmaceutical
less gritty documentary more hollywood musical
less callous more cuticle

less flotsam more jetsam
less hard hat more comedy stetson
less give some more get some

less fresh clean air more noisy compressor
less humming bird more heffer
less salt more Pfeffel

access all areas at the tory halloween party

And it’s a very chilly welcome to the blood red carpet 
at the 2020 Tory Halloween junket

And here comes Cummings the Mummy! / Hands-outstretched & talking funny / in a dodgy dealer kinda mumble / like he’s evil incarnate but somehow humble / We LOVE his comedy trips and tumbles / his bad boy beanie, his lanyard fumbles / adorably horrible / unaccountably trouble / COMPLETELY at home amongst the rubble

Stop everything! / Here’s Gove the Thing! / with his squamous hair and swampster bling / slime slinging / gill singing / venom venting / swivel-eyed blinking / …this is definitely a look that will have your heart SINKING / But still, I hear champagne glasses CLINKING / so he’s doing alright despite what you’re thinking

Folks – if you’re got the sickness, we’ve got the pill! / Because in glides the glamorous Priti deVille / smiling as warmly as a dentist’s drill / glad-handing with languid skill / the journos from the rags until / one of them innocently questions her will / and then – yep! THERE’S the famous, homicidal chill / colder than the moon on Cemetery Hill / (if we could only distill it / we could dominate the world with it)

Once again Demonic Raab proves why he’s too Ghoul for School! / The nude headmaster with the power tool / who has everyone fooled / with his urbane smiles and arcane rules / but who’s surprisingly cruel / a look-a-like Peter O’Toole / measured, suave & cool / who lets a great white in the swimming pool

Take a look at Jenrick the Jester! / Juggling his balls of polyester / A real firm favourite with the court investors! / The corporate clown with the Poundland sceptre / As nimble with his fiddle as his back protector / Setting off all the metal detectors / hilarious and nauseating in equal measure / Casts no shadow WHATSOEVER

And finally – in rolls the Pumpkin King! / Shocking! / Watch him laughing and waving! / That’s amazing! / Now I’ve seen everything! / Those spiky teeth sawing! / All that public school squawking & guffawing! / And I suppose – who knows? – it might be entertaining / if ‘tragically horrifying’ / was your thing / So there he goes, u-turning / backsliding & backbiting / hackwriting / gaslighting & guessing / a model of fun if it wasn’t so depressing

And – oh dear! Bringing up the rear – what a pity! / Is that supposed to be Professor Chris Whitty?

jesus boris

but Boris said: Suffer little children, and forbid them not to come unto me
(so long as they don’t want any more shit for free
especially nutritionally
and stare at me hungrily
and twitter on endlessly
about food poverty
they’re just being greedy
I mean honestly
find another St Francis of Assisi
you think it’s easy
being this bright and breezy?
with all you paupers gawping and making me queasy?)

for of such is the kingdom of Tory heaven
(now DO fuck off, I’ve got luncheon at eleven)

And he laid his hands on them, and departed thence
(after tossing some lighter ones over the fence
and evicting some others for non-payment of rents
and pleading for easier public events
away from the mob and the malcontents
like proving his regal munificence
by awarding contracts like Christmas presents
to a bunch of lovers and old school friends
glad-handing oligarchs and presidents)

here endeth the lessening

robojohnson

I had this nightmare

deep in the infernal workshops of Eton / comes the sound of heavy metals beaten / something awful occurring / sawing & drilling & whirring / sparks / arc flashes of acetylene / illuminating the hellish scene / till silence falls at last / and the quivering news reporters gasp / when bolts get thrown / the main doors blown / and boys rush out deploying their phones / as crashing into the taped-off zone / a gigantic robot PM appears / wild white hair and saucery ears / eyes clanking wide / hands flexing restlessly at its side / steam from its neck and other spots / babbling inanities non-stop

and after a moment’s hesitation / for huffing and puffing and basic orientation / the dreadful creation / begins its quest of devastation / rampaging round the nation / kicking down houses, hospitals, schools / using the Houses of Parliament as a football / picking up the Town Hall / shaking the screaming councillors out / stamping on them as they run about / laughing at their comical posing / unzipping a monstrous copper pipe and hosing / them over / then completing the general takeover / by tossing into the smoke-filled air / a handful of nanobots / Jenricks, Goves and Hancocks / who weave and dive with high-pitched yells / bewildering the poor population as well / till there’s no-one left with sense enough to tell / what needs to be done to break the spell

luckily, I wake up

public announcement

now – I know many of you are wondering / how a PM so blatantly bent and blundering / could still be up here thundering / about public duty / civil responsibility / new possibility / gesturing energetically / his hair photogenically / awry / flexing his fingers into the sky / like Lear having a good old crazy-cry / there, on the… on Haywards Heath / flailing and wailing, furious beyond belief / that the job of Prime Minister / could’ve been so damned difficult to administer / with nothing like the levels of Churchillian adulation / he wanked about in the Gladstone bar at graduation

no, my people – that’s all in the past / consigned to the social history bin at last / and thus the reason for this televisual broadcast / this rich and nationally nutritious repast / whose viewing figures will never be surpassed / (you see how well I work it? / I’ll be even better on the after dinner circuit) / now is the time for a serious reset / like having the soup instead of the baguette

so at the risk of losing my public speaking permit / and to paraphrase the immortal words of that Most Muppetous of Muppets, Kermit / To introduce our policy – That’s what I’m here to do – It really makes me happy – To introduce to you… / The Three Tier System!

(To simplify the thing so it’s easy to remember / we’ve linked it to the class of which you are a member)

Thusly

Tier Three – is the NHS junkies / state school flunkies / wrench wielding monkeys / and anyone else without the moolah / to live anywhere south of Peterboorah

Tier Two – is the doubting Derby & Joaners / the middle-class, pain in the arse Red Remoaners / the lefty lawyers and artsy groaners / the Guardian reading eco-homers / the food bank donors / and sundry other disposable personas

Tier One – is the Oxbridge Eliters / the gentlemen’s club and country retreaters / the tax and grouse beaters / the market makers / slush fund rakers / contract breakers / working class haters / and anyone who’s ever worked at the Telegraph or Spectator

I do hope that clears up any confusion
and in conclusion

always, always remember…

Rule Britannia! Britannia, rule the Waves!
Britons ever ever ever shall be slaves!

I thank you

B.J in a Box

Someone bought me a Boris Johnson doll
faithfully rendered in wipe clean plastic
the detail was fantastic
white blond hair that stuck up
a shabby shirt that rucked up
eyes that narrowed and slid
and written in big blue letters on the lid
TAKE BACK CONTROL

Back of the box was a list of features:
realistic hands for passing the buck
cloak of invisibility when things come unstuck
extra large pockets so there’s room enough
for paternity suits and bungs and stuff
additional velcro suit, hat and stick
so he can change into Churchill pretty quick
Tough! Dynamic! A real world-beater!

But I got a shock when I pulled him out
In his back was a cord to make him speak
Waffle and spoffle and schoolboy Greek
and underneath where the batteries went
was another, peculiar looking vent
so I put the doll on the kitchen floor
got a spoon from the cutlery drawer
levered it open and gave it a clout

Inside was a figure like a decorated peg
in a shell-suit, lanyard and beanie
I’d never seen a person so weenie
or so grumpy, I have to confess
with a hard little stare like he couldn’t care less
I’d performed a C-section with a spoon
and sprung him from his womb
like a crappy toy from a Kinder egg

There was nothing on the box to say he was there
nothing in the instructions
the long list of functions
so I wondered what it was all about
I mean – it’s something I can do without
I think it’s pretty standard when you buy a doll
that you’re the one who’s in control
and not some other fucker hidden somewhere

UK plc19

CUT TO: Boris Winton dashing with a wonky trolley through the Value Valley of Death / all squinty eyes and minty breath / a big-haired, bad-mouthed, Supermarket Macbeth / out of luck and out of his depth / smiling & waving at all the MPs misbehaving / and though none of them seem to impress him a lot / even he can see that the place is hot / and he’d better be grateful for whatever he’s got

CUT TO: Boris Marat eating a hard cheese salad in his big tin bath / having a soak, having a laugh / when in comes Farage for his autograph / pulls out a knife from his Union Jack corset / and the next thing you know the PMs bought it / and Farage gets punished for his act of treachery / with a column in the Telegraph and a job in the Treasury

CUT TO: Boris Who striding out of the Tardis / hawing and guffawing and saying now what IS this? / those EU Daleks are REALLY taking the piss / they’re all like: Information! and Negotiation! while exterminating the Brits / but sadly, his sonic screwdriver’s reduced to thrummings / ‘cos the battery’s been nicked by his assistant Cummings

CUT TO: Boris ‘Tom’ Jones hiding in the cupboard / with his pants on his head for ol’ Mother Hubbard / but when she gets there / and finds him and the cupboard bare / she goes completely spare / all Travis Bickle / beats him to death with a gherkin pickle / ‘That’s what you get for screwing up the shopping!’ / then happily gets out her mop and starts mopping

Meanwhile, down in the crematorium,
at least one successful British emporium,
Look! There’s Auntie Ollie! Waving from the plate!
C’mon on in, Jim – the Covid’s great!

the (un)magnificent seven

Michael Gove as Yul Brynner
avec glasses, sans charisma
deadly as a TV dinner

Matt Hancock as Steve McQueen
looking lost when he tries to look mean
fucking up the scene

Pritti Patel as Eli Wallach
shifty and shambolic
pink & purely symbolic

Rishy Sunak as Robert Vaughan
slowly taking his time on the lawn
working on his draw

Dominic Raab as James Coburn
practicing with knife and gun
high noon in High Holborn

Gavin Williamson as Brad Dexter
smiling, says he’s here to protect ya
authentic as a debt collector

Boris Johnson as Charles Bronson
one fixed and fatal expression
total incomprehension

[SFX horses, gunshots &c / cue music: mariachi version of Rule Brexitannia]