In New Zealand, fears were raised that senior British politicians might become involved in attempts ro rescue trapped earthquake victims and make matters much worse. Kia Ora, mates, it's bad enough down here without those fuckers trying to lend a hand, said Mr Bruce Cobber, the Kiwis' HeadMan Minister.
Mr Cobber in his ceremonial body-recovering from earthquake robes.
Christ, made a right gurgler of the place, it has, the 'quake, everything fucking falling down but we'll manage without any help from that fella, Cameron; Jesus, just look at him, Middle East going up like a beachside barbie and he's there trying to sell them firelighters. Man's a prat, couldn't win if he started the night before, musta got his degree out of a CornFlakes Box.
And his offsider, the gobby bald bloke, he's an iron hoof, ain't he. Y'know, him with a face like a bush pig's arse. Now don't get me wrong, nothing wrong, per se, with pushin' the brown wheelbarrow, some a me best mates is travellin' on the other bus but they don't crack on like they was married, that's enough to make a decent bloke chunder 'is guts up, queers and normal geezers alike, 'Strewth, nobody likes people like that Hague bloke, bit of a fuckin' freak, you ask me, double dodgy. And couldn't organise worth shit. Even a simple matter, getting a plane a few hundred miles, it all goes to custard on 'im, must be crook in the head, mate. It can do that to you, stirring the muesli with the wrong spoon. I mean, y'only gottas look at him to know he's radio rental. Foreign Seckatry? 'Saboutright, as foreign as it gets, mate.
Nah we'll manage, bro, no worries, she'll be right, without any drongos comin' down 'ere and fuckin things up like they do in Pommyland, sellin' everything off, to Messrs Spiv & Co. Get Dave and his boys down here and the whole fuckin' gaff'll submerge undert he waves, quicker'n a fart-sniffin' cabinet minister can get his head under the duvet, knowaddamean?
Elsewhere in the Pacific, doors were being shut in the face of incompetent, bungling Old Etonian laughing stock, Mr Flashman and his ladyman foreign seckatry. G'day mates and Christ on a fucking rope, said Aussie premier, Mrs Sheila Cobber-Bruce, below,
formerly Miss Ugly Adelaide. 1961,
ain't we got enough shit without them comin' here, actin the goat, fulla piss and wind and all over the place like a mad woman's breakfast? Fuck me sideways, one minute the whole fucking place is on fire and the next it's under fucking water, last fucking thing we want is Cameron and his in-house backdoor bandit; couldn't fart into a botle, neither of them, if one a them bastards bought a kangaroo it wouldn't hop, Jesus, they wouldn't last a round with a revolving door. Seen them all marching into Downin' Street this morning , all dressed up like a pox doctor's clerk, all carryin' their red folders, like fucking prefects at a girls 'school. Dunno how you Poms put up with them, Christ, it was bad enough, before, with that snotmunching arsehole, him with a face like a yard of tripe and a kangaroo loose in the top paddock, but these jokers, only got one oar in the bleedin' water, they have.