‘We Lost! We Lost! Way-hay, We Lost!’ – Labour And Scottish Conservatives Celebrate Historic Election Result

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.

young socialists
First-time Labour voters go wild on day three of the official party celebration event as Diane Abbott shows off her twerking skills and Ken Loach does his hilarious Pakistani accent

‘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’.


Mugwump! – Election News In Brief

Anti-Semitism not playing well in focus groups.

The Lib Dems and the National Union of Students both gave up on anti-Semitism yesterday stating that ‘it is no longer the vote winner we had hoped it would be’.

The Labour party and Ken Livingstone seem determined to give this once popular policy one last shot, however,

Election Word of the Day: Mugwump – the sound a small Japanese child’s spine makes as it is flattened by a blundering, uncoordinated international statesman during a friendly game of touch rugby.

boris plays rugby
Mugwump! From the Latin wumpertis – ‘to smash an innocent child’s face in’

Theresa May’s Legs ‘Holding The Country Together’

In what the world hopes will be the final word on the ‘trousergate’ furore Tory MP Nicky Morgan has pulled out of a planned appearance on Have I Got News for You, presumably because she has nothing to wear.

Noted Primark enthusiast Ms Morgan, who famously knitted her own wedding dress from noodles she found in a skip, had criticised Prime Minister Theresa May for being photographed in a pair of leather trousers that allegedly cost more than the Gulf War.

However, news emerging from the office of foreign secretary Boris Johnson has revealed that the controversial prime ministerial legwear is not, as widely believed, the result of a drunken impulse purchase in a Soho basement.

Rather, Mrs May’s trousers are part of a leather / rubber wipe-clean all-in-one ensemble that is essential to the security of the nation.

‘Yeah,’ said a spokesman for the foreign office, ‘Theresa uses her skin-tight rubber onesie to keep errant ministers in check. Everyone knows that.

Jeremy Hunt is invited to No 10 for a frank discussion on NHS reform

‘For example: the PM has spent hours in her gear this week straddling Boris; constricting his breathing with her expensive and arousingly fascistic thighs until he agreed to shut the hell up about Saudi Arabia.

‘That suit has saved the country millions and probably averted war. I’m not sure the enormous butt plug was necessary, but still, her methods get results.’

David Davis and Liam Fox have also ‘suffered’ under Mrs May’s Gestapo-chic disciplinary regime; during a severe dressing down by the PM on Tuesday Dr Fox had to be resuscitated twice by paramedics but was still begging for her to do it again, according to semi-tumescent witnesses.


West Ham Pies Continue Glorious Olympic Legacy

Celebrations greeting today’s news that Premier League ticket prices have fallen this year were tempered by more bad news for West Ham United.

The Price of Football, the biggest study of its kind in Europe, looked at prices at 223 clubs and found that more than two thirds of ticket prices across the UK have been either cut or frozen for the 2016-17 season.

However, West Ham – a team so universally loved that every single London tax payer has volunteered to subsidise them – were found to offer the nation’s most expensive pie, at a whopping £4.10. Each!

Critics of the club have pointed out that being given a bloody big stadium at the public’s expense might have allowed leeway to subsidise pies and even Bovril. But a spokesman for the club told the Mercury: ‘On the contrary; charging this eye-watering sum for pies represents an important service to our fans.’

‘By the time the poor suckers have recovered from the shock of being so shamelessly fleeced the match is almost over and they’ve avoided exposure to the execrable football we’ve been playing this season.’

‘And in any case,’ he went on, ‘our pies are now made from only the choicest cuts of cat.’

West Ham and Chelsea fans try anything to avoid watching the football at a cup game last month

The spokesman – who like all West Ham fans is a second-hand car dealer from Dagenham – also pointed out that the club has laid on other welcoming distractions to draw the eye from the field of play.

Among these are cage-fighting type punch-ups which are staged at regular intervals during each home game alongside demonstrations of traditional 1980s skills such as seat-throwing and steward-baiting.

These have proved so popular that hundreds of young fans are often seen being lead away from the stadium crying and bleeding with delight.

We were going to ask Sebastian Coe and Boris Johnson exactly how this all played into their vision for an Olympic legacy; but then we remembered they’re a couple of self-serving slimy tosspots and that this is all their fault.


FA Backtracks On Absolute Guarantee That England Will Win Next World Cup

England’s target of winning the 2022 World Cup in Qatar has been scrapped by new Football Association chairman Greg Clarke.

The goal was announced by his predecessor Greg Dyke in 2013 from the stage of the Royal Opera House where he was being presented with the award for Britain’s Most Deluded but Optimistic Whack Job for a record eighth time.

Greg Dyke – away with the fairies as usual

The news that the target has been scrapped has been greeted with shock and dismay by England fans who, like Mr Dyke, had fully expected the team to win the tournament at an absolute canter.

The news in brief:

England ‘may not win’ 2022 World Cup.

Donald Trump has ‘given up hope’ of being named Mexico’s Man of the Year for 2016.

Julian Assange is ‘beginning to worry’ that he may never achieve his aim of chairing the Ecuadorean / Swedish Friendship and Justice Group.

Keith Vaz MP ‘has suspicions that’ all those people who wanted to impose a murderous fatwa on Salman Rushdie may not be quite so enthusiastic about sharing a platform with him in the future. His wife might not be keen either.

The diplomacy-free, international relations car crash that is Boris Johnson – a man who described in print the Turkish President as a ‘wankerer’ from ‘Ankara’ and crushed several Japanese schoolchildren to death on purpose – is ‘finally resigned to the absolute certainty’ that he will never be named Foreign Secretary.

Oh, hang on though…

In the next issue: England’s victory parade in pictures.


New Tory Leader ‘Is a Natural Joker’ Shock

Newly appointed Dalston mayor and local Tory leader, Selena Marr, has confounded critics in the party who had claimed her to be ‘an automaton’ and a ‘joyless, controlling harridan’ by proving once and for all that she does have a sense of humour.

Her appointment of laugh-a-minute latinophone porker, Harris Bojo, to her cabinet as Foreign Affairs spokesman has sent ripples of mirth through the country and naked, eye-bulging terror throughout the rest of the world.

News of Mr Bojo’s appointment reaches the U.S State Department yesterday

Japanese school children are said to be especially traumatised after Mr Bojo trampled 17 of them to death last year during a game of Ludo. A spokesman for the Tokyo government said they’d rather go through another tsunami with its attendant nuclear meltdown than risk letting Mr Bojo loose on their streets again.

Diplomatic wives are reportedly being locked up all over Europe in preparation for the first visit of Mr Bojo and his notoriously roving eye. A source close to the Italian Prime Minister said he was quite prepared to put his three daughters to death rather than expose them to Mr Bojo’s wandering hands. We understand Mrs Bojo is totally sympathetic to this view.

A spokesman for Mrs Marr tried to make sense of the madness, telling us: ‘Well, look, at least he can speak a foreign language. That’ll come in handy, won’t it? I mean, at least he’ll be able to apologise, won’t he? In Latin America, if nowhere else.’

Mr Bojo made a statement last night but we didn’t understand a word. We could just about make out ‘crossing the Rubicon’ and ‘ad altiora tendro!’ then something about the third declension and the nominative singular before a final triumphant volley of ‘dux, ducem, ducis, duci, duce!’ and he was off on his bike. To make Britain proud, presumably.

All-Woman Mayoral Shortlist Draws Typically Smutty Response from Councillors

The race to become the new Mayor of Dalston is down to its final two candidates after a campaign that, even by this borough’s risibly low standards of political discourse, has been the absolute pits.

Early front-runner, rotund latinophone Don Juan, Harris Bojo dropped out of the contest after being heroically shat upon by his close personal friend, square-jawed matinée idol Michael Loaf.

Mr Loaf also left the race when it became apparent that he was as popular as ever. Which is to say, not at all.

That left the experienced Selina Marr – currently head of Dalston’s Department of Extraordinary Rendition and Forced Deportation – and relative unknown, Jesuit-fundamentalist mother of 12 Angela Leadzeppelin, to contest the mayoralty.

The Dalston Conservative mayoral debate ysterday

It is the first time Dalstonites will choose a mayor from a women-only shortlist, which has prompted a regrettable reaction from opposition Labour councillors who have decided to take time off from being anti-Semitic to become thoroughly sexist instead.

‘After the farrago of the EU Referendum,’ said one Labour grandee, who asked not to be named, ‘we obviously can’t trust the public to vote the right way. So we reckon the mayoralty should be decided by a bake-off. Iced fingers at dawn, that sort of thing. Bet both ladies look smashing in an apron, eh? And out of one, eh? Eh?’

Other suggestions from the opposition benches have included candidates taking part in a speed ironing contest, a flower arranging showdown, a ‘get my bloody tea on the table, woman!’ challenge, and a supermarket trolley race down Stoke Newington High Street. Someone also suggested jelly wrestling, but that was considered a bit much.

The Dalston Conservative party has rejected these suggestions as ‘crass’, ‘juvenile’, and ‘unworthy of this great democracy’, and have pledged that the mayoral contest will be decided in the time-honoured Conservative tradition: by chasing wild animals on horses and poking foreigners with sticks until a winner emerges.

Day of Infamy in Dalston Politics ‘Nearly as Bad as Westminster’

Dalston City Hall became a blood-sodden bear pit yesterday, with both main parties fraternally ripping themselves to gory shards as the rest of us looked on and cheered. (Some of us even brought snacks and pop.)

At lunchtime, the frontrunner in the mayoral race, jolly latinophone gut-bucket Harris Bojo announced he was leaving the contest after his close friend, colleague and one time lover, Michael Loaf, unexpectedly announced his own candidacy.

In his speech, the ruggedly handsome, charismatic and not even slightly creepy Mr Loaf said: ‘I have come, reluctantly, to the conclusion that I must heroically knife my dear friend Harris in the back and then openly and positively run away before he can do anything about it.’

‘I believe, furthermore, that I am the right man to lead this borough. I am, as everyone knows, hugely respected by members of my party, even if I am universally loathed by everyone else. So as a duplicitous, cowardly and hugely divisive candidate, I firmly believe I am the man to unite both my party and the country that hates me so much. Thank you.’

Across town at Labour HQ, party leader Cllr Aneurin Hobsbawm appeared at the launch of a report into alleged anti-Semitism in the Dalston party.

The beleaguered  Mr Hobsbawm – who yesterday promoted a stray dog to his cabinet when a lady he met in Tesco’s refused to serve – said at the launch: ‘With the publication of this authoritative and exhaustively researched whitewash, we can finally put to rest the ridiculous notion that anybody in the Dalston Labour party is now, or ever has been, even the tiniest bit anti-Semitic.’

labour front bench
The Dalston Labour front bench yesterday

Then he spoilt the mood a bit by saying that the modern state of Israel was worse than Hitler. ‘It just slipped out,’ he said later.

The stray dog is said to be considering its position in the cabinet. Rebellious Labour councillors are pressing it to run for leader.


French Seduce Local Racists with Buns

Hate crime against minority groups in Dalston has reached a new high since the Brexit vote, according to various people we asked and what you read in the papers.

Speaking to the Mercury, a member of Independence for the UK (IFtUK), which is accused of carrying out intimidatory acts against vulnerable groups, admitted responsibility.

‘Obviously,’ said Mrs Queenie Calhoun, speaking to us under a guarantee of complete anonymity, ‘we was going to start with the French. But then someone pointed out that if they legged it back to France, what about all the cheese and the wine and the baguettes and that? I’m buggered if I’m going without my morning pain au chocolat and the occasional tourtous aux rillettes d’oie with a nice gratin dauphinoise of an evening.’

‘So then we thought about oppressing the Poles and the Spanish, maybe bringing down a cleansing rain of terror on the Italians. But, frankly, they’ve all got a lot going for them.’

‘Nonetheless, Brexit is a blinding opportunity to engage a bit of gratuitous, cowardly intimidation of an undeserving minority demographic, so we eventually settled on a group we really can’t stand.’

Mr Wilson Trussfund, 31, spokesman for a local hipster support group, told the Mercury: ‘It’s been dreadful ever since the leave vote. I’ve had politically incorrect graffiti sprayed all over my unicycle. Our organic kale collective has been receiving abusive phone calls telling us to ‘eat chips like real people’. I’ve had unsyntactic stickers put on my front door telling me to ‘do one, Beardy’. It’s true, I was born in Tunbridge Wells, but I moved to Dalston many years ago to make a life for myself and my ironic Pekingese, Gerald. I run a succesful company providing post-modern henna tattoos for domestic animals, for crying out loud! What more do I have to do to gain acceptance from these people?’

Gerald the Pekingese, a part-time DJ and IT consultant, is currently in therapy after being savagely trolled online by a Staffordshire Bull Terrier.

In other Brexit news: Mrs Queenie Calhoun of IFtUK – not speaking anonymously this time – has thrown her weight behind Boris Johnson’s bid to lead the Conservative party.

boris johnson
Boris Johnson – ‘quiet dignity’

‘Boris is our boy,’ she told the Mercury, ‘Very few politicians can carry off getting tangled up on a zip wire and still maintain a quiet dignity.’

‘And if the image of a wheezing fat man waving a flag while dangling alone and helpless over an immense void doesn’t perfectly illustrate the position of our country, I don’t know what does.’

England Football Performance Unites Brexit Rivals in Shared Grief

Following England’s brave and spirited defeat to mighty Iceland at Euro 2016, David Cameron attempted to address a traumatised nation from the steps of No.10 this morning.

Supported by a weeping Nigel Farage, for most of his speech the Prime Minister remained completely inaudible through his tears, composing himself just long enough to say: ‘This is the worst thing that has ever happened to this country, and to me personally,’ before collapsing to the floor where he was comforted by the blubbing Boris Johnson.

Angela Merkel and Jean-Claude Juncker also attempted to make a joint statement following last night’s match, but couldn’t stop laughing long enough to get the words out.

The England defence in search of the bloody ball yesterday

Repercussions of the England team’s performance have been felt all over the country, as thousands of highly trained and generously remunerated professionals suddenly began failing to achieve even a minimum level of competence in their disciplines, apparently in sympathy with our courageous footballers.

On Salisbury Plain the Royal Marine Commandos – all of them – were defeated in battle by three elderly women riding mobility scooters. In defence of his regiment, a surviving Sargeant Major told us that the mobility scooters ‘looked quite new and one of the ladies was waving a pointy stick at us’.

At St Bartholomew’s Hospital, a team of doctors suddenly forgot what the hell they were doing half way through open-heart surgery, so they just shoved everything back in, fastened the patient up with bulldog clips and hoped nobody would notice.

At the Royal Festival Hall, the London Philharmonic Orchestra all of a sudden forgot how to play musical instruments and were forced to continue a performance of Richard Strauss’s epic opera Die Frau ohne Schatten on some hastily procured kazoos.

Across town in Covent Garden, during a performance of Stravinski’s Le Sacre du printemps, dancers of the Royal Ballet suddenly realised they didn’t a clue about doing ballet any more, and were reduced to bouncing up and down roughly in time to the music. Which is pretty much what Le Sacre du printemps is supposed to look like anyway.

Back in the England camp, it has been reported that, after twelve hours of trying, goalkeeper Joe Hart has finally managed to locate his own arse with both hands. Obviously, Manchester City have given him a pay rise.

In totally unrelated news: Spontaneous renditions of Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah and Oh, What a Beautiful Morning have reached record levels in Scotland today.