Boris the Builder: “If you build it I will come”

Britain's Prime Minister Doris Bronson fisting a speech
“I’m going to build things with your bare hands!”

“…And to those who say Build Build Build is an unimaginative slogan I say, it’s a lazy slogan more than it is unimaginative. But that’s beside the point. We’re going to build, baby, we’re going to build big tall things and do things with roads and we’re going to build a bridge to the Moon, motherfuckers, a big bridge so we can trade cheese with the Moon Men. Those Moon Men love cheese. It’s a new deal. The old deal was pretty shitty and so is the new one, but it’s a new type of shitty deal for the 21st century – extra shitty and with less privacy somehow. Build build build until we get tired or run out of building materials. The whole country’s going to sound like hammering and there’ll be builders’ cracks as far as the eye can see, baby. That’s Britain, motherfuckers – arse cracks and banging. Plus there’s going to be a 300ft tall solid gold statue of me in Parliament Square, sticking my cock in Churchill’s ear. Brexit Britain!”

Britain past its peak, says Johnson

Boris Johnson, pictured here gaslighting a nation from his on-message lectern
So I said it’s 12 inches but I don’t use it as a rule

Holding his first news conference since recovering from COVID-19, British Prime Minster Boris Johnson has offered hope to locked-down Britons, saying “I can confirm today, that for the first time, I am pa… we are past the peak of this disease, and Britain is on the downward slope to success.

“A lot of people – the ones who haven’t died at least – have said that we have the second-highest official COVID-19 death toll in Europe. But to them, I say, thanks to people like me we are no longer part of Europe, so those statistics aren’t valid. The EU has made a terrible mess of its coronavirus response, and the mess I have made of our own shows us we don’t need Europe to screw things up for us when we are perfectly capable of doing it ourselves. Hooray.

“With that in mind, and with rising unemployment and many companies crippled, I promise next week to set out a lockdown exit strategy, which will most likely involve me lying on beach for a week. I’ve had coronavirus, you know, and I don’t need all this hassle.”

Coronavirus: Boris Johnson’s letter to the country

A dignified Boris Johnson has written a letter to the country about coronavirus
Coronavirus as viewed under a microscope



I am writing to you to update you on the steps I am taking to combat being blamed for coronavirus.

In just a few short weeks, my everyday life in this country has changed dramatically. I am feeling the profound impact of coronavirus not just on myself, but on my reputation.

I understand completely the difficulties this disruption has caused to my life and job. But the action I have taken to cover my arse is absolutely necessary, for one very simple reason.

If too many people become seriously unwell at one time, it will become clear that 10 years of a Conservative government destroying the NHS will leave it unable to cope. This will cost lives. We must slow the spread of facts about my early mishandling of the coronavirus crisis, and reduce the number of people blaming me for the NHS not being able to provide the hospital treatment needed in order to save as many lives as possible.

This is why we are giving one simple instruction – you must not blame me.

You should not meet friends or relatives who do not fully support me. You may only leave your home for very limited purposes, such as telling people it’s not my fault or voting Conservative. You can travel to and from work but should not blame me.

When you do have to leave your home, you should ensure, wherever possible, that you are two metres apart from anyone who might hold me responsible.

These rules must be observed. So, if people blame me, the police will issue fines and disperse propaganda.

I know many of you will be deeply worried about the financial impact on me and my family. The Government will do whatever it takes to help me make ends meet and put food on my table.

The enclosed leaflet sets out more detail about how you should not blame me and the rules you need to follow. You can also find the latest advice on how to not blame me at

From the start, we have sought to appear as though we were putting in the right measures at the right time. We will not hesitate to go further if that is what the public relations team and polling advice tells us we must do.

It’s important for me to appear to level with you – we know the number of people blaming me will get worse before it gets better. But we are making the right preparations, and the more we all don’t blame me, the fewer votes will be lost and the sooner life can return to Brexit.

I want to thank everyone who is working flat out to get me off the hook, in particular the staff in our fantastic PR companies across England, Scotland, Wales and the other one. I forget what it’s called. Anyway. It has been truly inspirational to see our spin doctors, copywriters and Daily Telegraph journalists rise magnificently to the needs of the hour.

Thousands of retired spin doctors and slogan writers are returning to the PR industry – and hundreds of thousands of citizens are volunteering to help the most vulnerable Conservative MPs. It is with that great British spirit that we will defeat coronavirus and we will beat it together without blaming me.

That is why, at this moment of national emergency, I urge you, please, to not blame me, not blame the Conservative Party and save me.

Boris Johnson

Brexit Movie Reviews 01: Spectre (2015)

Brexit Movie Reviews - a picture of your reviewer
Your reviewer

Ah, there’s nothing more British – more English – than James Bond, an arrogant white bloke with an English accent who drinks a lot and punches people. No doubt once they get rid of Daniel Craig they’ll cast some bloody foreign disabled vegan lesbian and they’ll make her all touchy-feely and politically correct. Grr, don’t get me started on political correctness. Want to be rude about foreigners? Want to make a funny joke about them? No chance mate – the bloody Sharia police will be round to arrest you and send you to the re-education camps like they all do in foreignland.

Speaking of which, why does James Bond have to go to all these different foreign places all the time? Why can’t he stay in Britain? We’ve got lots of dramatic looking shit that’d be alright in a film – Cheddar Gorge, Wookey Hole. Coventry. And if you want a brilliant car chase there’s the bloody M6 mate. I mean, I haven’t seen Spectre – don’t need to to have an opinion on it, do I – but it seems to me it would be a much better film if Bond just stayed at home and got pissed and punched wankers like a proper Englishman.

And I’ll tell you what else: why do you never get to see the Bond girl’s tits? This isn’t a Carry On film, it’s a sophisticated piece of adult entertainment about a man with a biro that turns into a jet-ski, so let’s see some hoobly jooblies. Idiots. Did I tell you I used to be in the SAS?

It’s Brexit Day!

Brexit wankers Ann Widdecombe and Nigel Farage
A pair of tits

To all the people who voted in the EU referendum to leave; who voted to restrict the lives of future generations; who voted to side with racists, fascists and anti-Semites; and who voted with people like Nigel Farage and Ann Widdecombe so you could sit on your sofas and be jingoistic, self-righteous little Englanders: fuck you. Fuck you all, you small-minded, selfish, arrogant, two World Wars and one World Cup, throwing a party for Brexit Day, remembering the good old days, waving a Union Jack at a picture of the Queen, Radio 4 listening, jackboot-wearing Nazi fucks. Fuck you.

Update 22:25: Fuck your plastic Union Jack bowler hats and waistcoats; especially fuck your countdown clock projected onto the White Cliffs of Dover; fuck Laura Kuenssberg; fuck your fucking buffet made with only British fucking food; fuck your regional reports that make Brexit look like Children in fucking Need; fuck your backward-looking rose-tinted 1950s bullshit and, once again, fuck you.

Update 2020-02-01 23:45: Also fuck you if you referred to Brexit Day as ‘Independence Day’, you glib fucks.

Bloody bastard bong for bastard bollocking Brexit

A picture of Big Ben refusing to bong for Brexit, the bastard
Bong, damn you

Big Ben – you big towery bastard – you’ve gone silent just when the indignant pink-faced spluttering arseflaps of Brexit need you most. Never mind that before David Cameron inadvertently destroyed the country not a single one of those frothing tosspots had ever given a silent fart about Big Ben, its bongs or its clapper – Big Ben is now the shining needle that the country’s short-sighted, small-minded Union Jack-waving Gavins and Yvonnes will use to prick the country right out of the EU.

“Bung a bob to make Big Ben bong for Brexit!” Boris burbled bemi-boherently. “Big Ben must bong for Brexit!” the Daily Express quacked. “Bung Big Ben up Boris’s Backside!” No-one suggested, disappointingly. Why must Bigbenbong? Because if Big Ben doesn’t bong for Brexit then no Leaver will get the exact Brexit they demanded, when they voted to start this self-abuse nearly four years ago. Every single one of them voted Leave with one dream between them – that Spitfires would zoom over Big Ben as it bonged cheering crowds of backward-looking fuckwits into Britain’s brave new world of independence, before flying across the channel and bombing those bloody garlic-eating French garçons with tens of thousands of pairs of Union Jack boxer shorts. Without the bongs of Big Ben, the Spitfires, the Union Jack boxer shorts, even the jingoism, will just seem like spiteful, empty gestures.

Brexiteers started whacking off over their dream of freedom almost four years ago and that they could be deprived of their bongs just as they reach the vinegar strokes is something no Leaver will tolerate. Therefore Big Ben must bong for Brexit or Brexit will become an eternal one off the wrist demanding more and more extreme acts of nationalism enabling Leavers to finally achieve exit, all over the faces of those bureaucratic Brussels bastards.