Anthony McIntyre ✒ Eventually the combined weight of the strawmen and women became too much of a hump for the very broad back of Boris Johnson, and it finally broke. 

With the main intestines through much dung flowed, Rishi Sunak and Sajid Javid, having sprint-disconnected from the putrid corpse, there was little left for the remaining assholes to do. 

Under Boris they had gone from eye wiping to arse wiping, finally deciding to let the beleaguered PM clean up his own scat.

The bluster was found out, the bluff was called. They walked, he wilted, effectively ending the most incompetent and bumptious British premiership in modern history. Big Boris, left with a big hat and no cattle, a stampede as they fled the pen mooing their disapproval of a man they had for years collectively fellated.   

Shown the red card - not for the first time in his career - for lying, he dissembled up to the very end. Not plausible lies but stupid ones. So stupid that those sent out to pretend they believed them, in the end felt so embarrassed by the burden of bluffing for Boris, they pulled the curtain down.

Those of us who were either in Sinn Fein or observers of it while under the leadership of Gerry Adams will have undergone the deja vu moment, so familiar are we with the experience. Then too, shameless, organised lying governed the party’s relationship with its rank and file and the wider public. The President of Lies would dissemble routinely and, as regularly, the Idiot of Writing would be wheeled out to steer the train wreck of defending through pretending. It is so easy to envisage Danny Morrison as Dominic Rabb, Martina Anderson as Nadine Dorries, vigorously nodding their heads while learning how to say yes in eight different languages. A bit harder to think of the equivalent of Michael Gove, somebody who was prepared to tell the boss that the party was over, up sticks, the time had come to go. Ironically, there seemed to be more rebellious Tories unwilling to roll over and take one for England than there ever were rebels in SF willing to tell their leader he was full of shit.

The spectre of Laura Kuenssberg was exorcised from the media and so it turned on Johnson and his gaggle of yessers. When Sky News played Benny Hill theme music as it interviewed some cockwomble of a Tory MP an instant flashback conjured up Gerry Kelly being interviewed about the Northern Bank robbery while the background music was Tell Me Lies, Tell me Sweet little lies. 

These type of politicians - some might ask if there are any other type - should be handed a copy of Al Franken's book, Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them, after every media performance. Boris would have enough to fill every library in London. Such is the state of Lieberal Democracy, which the H.L. Mencken flourish captures either exquisitely or excruciatingly depending on your take: democracy is also a form of worship. It is the worship of jackals by jackasses.

The character of Johnson left a lot to be desired. His human foibles might possibly have made him more bearable than the normal condescending Tory toff from the Shires. And if Mencken is once again made use of:

The worst government is often the most moral.
One composed of cynics is often very tolerant and humane.
But when fanatics are on top there is no limit to oppression.

Boris, the irredeemably immoral, upended this by being a fanatical cynic whose incessant brainless bullshit made him unbearable. Had he been a skillful liar, the acumen or technique could be admired but not the purpose. Neither tolerant nor humane, he was a malevolent clown straight out of a Stephen King novel rather than a circus.

The starting pistol has fired on the Tory leadership contest. My favourite to win if he throws his hat in the ring is Sir Kunt Starmer. An establishment man as authentic a Tory as any of them: and for many in the party, just the right colour.

⏩ Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Boris The Banjaxed

Anthony McIntyre ✒ Eventually the combined weight of the strawmen and women became too much of a hump for the very broad back of Boris Johnson, and it finally broke. 

With the main intestines through much dung flowed, Rishi Sunak and Sajid Javid, having sprint-disconnected from the putrid corpse, there was little left for the remaining assholes to do. 

Under Boris they had gone from eye wiping to arse wiping, finally deciding to let the beleaguered PM clean up his own scat.

The bluster was found out, the bluff was called. They walked, he wilted, effectively ending the most incompetent and bumptious British premiership in modern history. Big Boris, left with a big hat and no cattle, a stampede as they fled the pen mooing their disapproval of a man they had for years collectively fellated.   

Shown the red card - not for the first time in his career - for lying, he dissembled up to the very end. Not plausible lies but stupid ones. So stupid that those sent out to pretend they believed them, in the end felt so embarrassed by the burden of bluffing for Boris, they pulled the curtain down.

Those of us who were either in Sinn Fein or observers of it while under the leadership of Gerry Adams will have undergone the deja vu moment, so familiar are we with the experience. Then too, shameless, organised lying governed the party’s relationship with its rank and file and the wider public. The President of Lies would dissemble routinely and, as regularly, the Idiot of Writing would be wheeled out to steer the train wreck of defending through pretending. It is so easy to envisage Danny Morrison as Dominic Rabb, Martina Anderson as Nadine Dorries, vigorously nodding their heads while learning how to say yes in eight different languages. A bit harder to think of the equivalent of Michael Gove, somebody who was prepared to tell the boss that the party was over, up sticks, the time had come to go. Ironically, there seemed to be more rebellious Tories unwilling to roll over and take one for England than there ever were rebels in SF willing to tell their leader he was full of shit.

The spectre of Laura Kuenssberg was exorcised from the media and so it turned on Johnson and his gaggle of yessers. When Sky News played Benny Hill theme music as it interviewed some cockwomble of a Tory MP an instant flashback conjured up Gerry Kelly being interviewed about the Northern Bank robbery while the background music was Tell Me Lies, Tell me Sweet little lies. 

These type of politicians - some might ask if there are any other type - should be handed a copy of Al Franken's book, Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them, after every media performance. Boris would have enough to fill every library in London. Such is the state of Lieberal Democracy, which the H.L. Mencken flourish captures either exquisitely or excruciatingly depending on your take: democracy is also a form of worship. It is the worship of jackals by jackasses.

The character of Johnson left a lot to be desired. His human foibles might possibly have made him more bearable than the normal condescending Tory toff from the Shires. And if Mencken is once again made use of:

The worst government is often the most moral.
One composed of cynics is often very tolerant and humane.
But when fanatics are on top there is no limit to oppression.

Boris, the irredeemably immoral, upended this by being a fanatical cynic whose incessant brainless bullshit made him unbearable. Had he been a skillful liar, the acumen or technique could be admired but not the purpose. Neither tolerant nor humane, he was a malevolent clown straight out of a Stephen King novel rather than a circus.

The starting pistol has fired on the Tory leadership contest. My favourite to win if he throws his hat in the ring is Sir Kunt Starmer. An establishment man as authentic a Tory as any of them: and for many in the party, just the right colour.

⏩ Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

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