Brexit negotiations got off to a troubled start this morning when EU negotiators failed to achieve the agreement of all 27 member states on whether to have croissants or pain au chocolat for breakfast. British negotiators rubbed salt into the wound by having a bacon sandwich and doing Inspector Clouseau impressions.
The contentious issue of whether the UK should pay a multi-billion pound divorce bill on leaving the union was put aside while debate raged over whether pickled herring is even a proper breakfast. French and Italian officials came to blows over who had the most attractive mistress while the Greeks took advantage of the confusion to steal the Germans’ wallets. The Germans responded by demanding the return of Alsace-Lorraine. Again.
Negotiations on the repeal of the common agriculture policy were suspended while David Davis rode around the conference hall on a bike while wearing a beret and a string of onions.
This lead to a vote among the 27 member states on whether to unilaterally leave Nato, but the motion failed to achieve the necessary numbers because the representative of Latvia had gone to the toilet. They did, however, manage to pass a retaliatory directive banning the sale and use of brown sauce.
Mr Davis responded by goosestepping around the table singing the Horst Wessel song, which amused the Dutch, causing the immediate re-militarisation of the Rhineland and the annexation of 26 tulip farms. Then the Danes punched the Swedes ‘just because we like doing it’ and the Finns wandered off to get drunk with the Irish, for much the same reason.
Asked to comment on the first day of negotiations an EU spokesman told the Mercury that events had gone ‘as well as we could realistically have hoped’, and that the process ‘demonstrated the close and instinctive bond that binds all the nations of Europe in harmonious union. Except the British, who we all hate now.’
News that heavily armed SAS troops are to be disguised as beggars and road sweepers has been greeted with alarm by Dalston’s most determined bigots and litterers.
The initiative is intended to combat Islamist terrorism but intelligence sources will neither confirm or deny that the special forces may also be authorised to pop a cap in the ass of anyone dropping chewing gum on the pavement or telling homeless people to ‘get a job you freeloading pikey’.
‘I spend a good part of my working day dropping crisp packets on the floor and abusing the itinerant jobless,’ said local crack wholesaler and part-time DJ Mr Calvin Calhoun this morning.
‘How am I supposed to enjoy the casual disposal of my lunchtime Cadbury’s Double Decker wrapper if I’m worried about being garroted by a member of Her Majesty’s special forces? It takes all the fun out of things.’
Mr Calhoun has suggested that the elite troops advertise their presence to anyone wishing to – for example – empty an ash tray out of a car window, by ‘doing press-ups’, ‘marching in formation’, ‘swinging across rope bridges while under heavy fire’ or ‘anything else that you hardly ever see road sweepers doing in the Hackney area’.
He also seeks guarantees that SAS soldiers disguised as beggars will ‘stick their guns out of their sleeping bags a bit so I’m not tempted to piss on them after a few jars down the White Horse’.
In other news: Heroic local MP Diane Abbott has revealed that type 2 diabetes was to blame for a string of car crash interviews she gave during the election campaign.
There’s no word yet on whether diabetes is also responsible for her egregious hypocrisy, casual racism or inclination toward shameless self-promotion. If it is, we take back everything we’ve ever said about her.
London retailers of brown ale and celebratory cheese sandwiches have been given an unexpected profits boost this weekend as the Labour party continues to congratulate itself on losing a third general election in a row.
Among the most voluble celebrants of this towering achievement was dreadful little turd George Osborne who took to the TV studios in order to demonstrate his lifelong commitment to Conservatism by whooping it up at his party’s disastrous showing at the polls. Apparently Mr Osborne still can’t work out why nobody likes him.
‘Prime Minister’ Theresa May, in the meantime is attempting to agree the terms of a coalition with the Democratic Unionist Party, whose most eye-catching manifesto pledge was to attack gay pride marches with Napalm.
It is expected that under the coalition agreement families of six or more children will be made mandatory throughout the UK, except among Catholics who will all be deported, ideally to Syria.
The prospect of either Jeremy Corbyn or Boris Johnson becoming prime minister in the next few weeks is so terrifying that even professional half-wit Donald Trump isn’t risking a visit to the country.
A spokesman for the president told the Mercury that Mr Trump ‘has never seen such chaos and rank political ineptitude in his life’, and is staying in Washington ‘until you Brits can at least match the comparative professionalism of my administration. Bigly’.
After a bewildering and incompetently handled election campaign, voters go to the polls today to determine the fate of Britain’s most reviled and mistrusted group of men and women – the political pollsters.
Following a campaign that has seen projected Tory leads fluctuate between 22% and minus 2.8%, this morning’s final polls demonstrate definitively that the polling organisations are just making stuff up as they go along.
An ICM poll in the Guardian puts the Conservatives on a 12 point lead but with a chance of scattered showers in the afternoon. Also unicorns at 13/2.
YouGov in the Times forecast a narrow Tory victory over the Rebel Alliance on the proviso that the Death Star remains viable in Labour-held marginals.
Survation in the Daily Mail have illegal immigrants and free-loading health tourists as the big winners, with Labour beaten into third place by Desert Orchid.
ComRes in the Independent didn’t know there was an election on so just handed in a recipe for flapjacks, while Ipsos MORI thinks voting is boring and everyone should get a turn at being prime minister. Except Jeremy Corbyn, obviously. They’re not that mad.
Opinium and Qriously polls for the Beano have been discounted until they learn to spell their names properly. Also because they keep mistaking Tim Farron for the leader of a major party.
A Canadian man photographed mowing his lawn during a tornado is to be offered the freedom of the city of London for demonstrating near-British levels of pluck in the face of impending annihilation.
The Canadian, Mr Theunis Wessels, joins the man filmed evacuating the area of Friday’s London Bridge terrorist attack carrying his pint (unspilled in the approved British manner) and anyone who ever drank tea or played cricket on a bomb site during the Blitz in being recognised as the manifestation of ‘slightly loony but completely admirable sang-froid in the face of ghastly unspeakableness’.
The tornado pictured not intimidating Mr Wessels left a video saying it was rampaging pointlessly around the Canadian countryside in the name of some half-arsed medieval ideology and also because he was a perennial loser with the IQ of a pickled gherkin who had never been able to get girls to like him. The Metropolitan police says the tornado perfectly fits the profile of the average jihadist. Slightly above average in the IQ department, if anything.
As part of his bold and innovative plan to stop America being the butt of every joke told anywhere in the world Donald Trump has decided to pull out of the Paris climate agreement and bollocks-up the world’s weather. That’ll teach us.
Desperate climatologists have attempted to explain to Mr Trump that no-one was laughing at America until he became president, but they used words containing up to three syllables so he couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Aides tried making pictures out of fuzzy felt explaining climate change to the president but he just whacked them with his G.I Joe and then spilled his juice. The twat.
Comedians and satirists are debating this morning whether it’s worth allowing the planet to fry in order to keep the Trump-related laughs coming; this week’s ‘covfefe‘ episode alone was worth three tsunamis and the desertification of southern Europe, according to sources.
The race is now on to have the president impeached and thrown into jail before we all die of heatstroke. Or laughter.
Hopes that Donald Trump had slumped dead onto his keyboard while tweeting last night have been dashed this morning after it emerged he has, instead, been making up UK election polling figures for the Times.
The word ‘Covfefe’ that appeared at the end of one of the president’s tweets turns out not to have been the result of his tiny fingers convulsing during agonising death throes, but a genuine attempt by Mr Trump to further enrich the English language following the success of ‘bigly’.
Mr Trump had a busy night. It is being widely accepted this morning that a YouGov poll published in the Times predicting a huge Labour surge can only have been the work of Donald Trump, belonging, as it does, to a world of deranged fantasy and wishful thinking.
The poll also predicts that Julian Assange will be elected mayor of Stockholm and a herbaceous border will ascend the throne of the Netherlands. Also, the Pope is really a ring-necked parakeet named Neville. As is Diane Abbott. Wibble.