Written by galgar
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Saturday, 24 April 2010

Question...what is the reward for voting labour? Answer... a minimum of nine bins and an alien for a neighbour.

The idiots running Great Britain from the European parliament are at it again forcing daft Brits to toe their increasingly ridiculous line or face huge fines for putting too much shit in the landfill sites. But what about the mountain of doggy crap currently being deposited in lamp and signpost bins by conscientious doggy owners on a daily basis. Beware doggy owners for we will soon be after you and either make you eat it or have the dogs destroyed.

In reality it does still have some nutritional value so I suggest the charities get in on the act and send it off to feed the starving in the third world, wherever that is.

Getting back to reality, we are all missing the jovial smiling figure of John Prescott on the political scene, asleep on the front bench. I almost called him a fat slob, but being in a charitable mood decided not to. Had a good laugh the other day when reading he'd written a book, then realised I'd misread the quote, thinking he'd actually read a book.

Word is that he intends to follow in Butcher Blair's footsteps and do a lecture tour of the US, the difference being he'll get well paid to keep his big firmly mouth shut. He should get on very well with the yanks, being of similar stature and mentality with a predisposition for gluttony.

The estimate for fumigating his office after vacating it was so high it was decided to burn it down on economic grounds. That do it yourself colostomy was an unmitigated disaster because the bag was always leaking, hence the need for the two Jags. The latest tale about him buying a camel from and eastern European neighbour is hard to imagine and it's said his long suffering wife was quite displeased at the prospect of sharing the house with another smelly greedy animal. Apparently he couldn't sex it(forgot to ask the seller) and after a ride down the road on it's back he returned home all exited to tell his wife he knew what it was after a chap shouted out, look at that big fat cunt on the camel.

George was heard to say he'd be fleeing the country before John arrived, not wishing to be embarrassed by his superior intellect. He refuses to answer questions about weapons of mass destruction, saying he never really believed Blair's propaganda and he thought the late Saddam to be quite a nice chap, despite his fathers unwarranted attitude towards the former dictator of the oil rich country. He decided to leave John to the tender mercies of the windbag currently living in the whiter than white house.

Please...no more snide remarks about the cost of John's bodyguard, because he's worth every penny of the eighty thousand a year plus expenses, on top of John's huge index linked pension for the sterling work he did making Great Britain a safer better place for invaders to settle in.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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