Leave it to me, prime minister, I can lie for you wholesale.
Flashman, floundering about desperately, "punished twice-ing", the clown, defending his catastrophic stupidity and arrogance in appointing the slag, Coulson, as his PR wallah, he has seldom looked so stupid, so shallow, so insulting. The longer this overprivileged oaf is in pretend office the more one must roar with laughter at the money wasted on his education, one wonders if he can wipe his own arse, or is that one of dopey Michael Gove's tasks; Oh yes, Prime minister, I am dreadfully sorry that I have to keep apologising to the house of commons, Whoops, there I go again, aplogising, and so the least, the very least I can do for you is wipe your arse; now, would you prefer paper or tongue, prime minister?
An imbecile in a coma could see that either Coulson is lying in his teeth when he says that he knew nothing of regular illegality by his fellow slags at skymadeupnewsandfilth or that he is a thick as a fence post for not knowing and that either should keep him firmly out of Downing Street. The view here, in Ishmaelia, is that Coulson's presence in govament was Murdoch's price for supporting, firstly, Dave's warring ragbag of prats and chancers and braying, pinstripe hoodlums like Michael Fallon and then, when Dave couldn't even beat the most hated politician in living memory, this Coalition of the Unwholesome, this gang of nasty pimps and toilet-creeping, shit-eating hypocrites.
The view of the Lobby cocksuckers, in the form of the self-fellating Mr Nick Robinson of the BBC,
is that Flashman, dimly aware that he is an inbred, fish-faced mutant with more money than sense, and a defecit in the IQ department - I don't give a fuck about his First in PPE, anyone ever listen to his tutor, Victor Bogbrush, the Tory Speak-Your-Weight-Machine? - needed the slag, Coulson, to make his case to the lower orders; surrounded by public school millionaires, said Robinson, without any irony, the PM needed Coulson's "finger on the pulse of the common man " the better, one supposes, to persuade him that we are all in this together. This was one of Slaphead Robinson's career defining reports. The prime minister is clever, you are all stupid, hence the need for a bent toerag like Coulson to lie to you.
That the prime minister, half of his front bench and senior serving and former officers in the Met are in the employ of the Praise God, soon-to-be-dead, anti-democrat, Murdoch
escaped Mr Robinson's fabled incisive scrutiny, It's because he's a cunt, Robinson, good for fuck all.
HM GOVAMENT. ALL HUMAN LIES ARE THERE.
If there are still poor, sad, benighted citizens out there, bleating that we should give the unelected, gerrymandering, Coalition of Degenerates a chance; if they are still barracking Brown, as though he was here, as though he gave a fuck, as though he religiously read the posts at the Filth-O-Graph and The PizzaHouseOfBlood and felt sorry about all his madness; if they kneel before their beds at night praying that dinner ladies be thrown out of work in order for the bankers to avoid regulation, that highly skilled nurses make a career change to being shelf-stackers at Tesco or jumper salesladies at M and fucking S, praying, in fact, for anything which maintains Rupert Murdoch's exemption from paying UK tax, then what they should do is shout loudly for a friend to come and help them pull their heads out of their arses. On the other hand, perhaps they should leave them there, HeadUpArseMiddleEnglanders. Too stupid to come out in the daylight, too stupid to know even when they're being fucked.