Dear Boar,
Over three centuries ago, the Ukrainian Zaporozhian Cossacks set an important precedent of etiquette for how to correctly address those in power (even if surprisingly omitted from Debrett's). The sources and certainty may vary but it was along these lines.
Sultan Mehmet IV first wrote to the Cossacks:
Sultan Mehmed IV to the Zaporozhian Cossacks: As the Sultan; son of Muhammad; brother of the sun and moon; grandson and viceroy of God; ruler of the kingdoms of Macedonia, Babylon, Jerusalem, Upper and Lower Egypt; emperor of emperors; sovereign of sovereigns; extraordinary knight, never defeated; steadfast guardian of the tomb of Jesus Christ; trustee chosen by God Himself; the hope and comfort of Muslims; confounder and great defender of Christians – I command you, the Zaporogian Cossacks, to submit to me voluntarily and without any resistance, and to desist from troubling me with your attacks.
— Turkish Sultan Mehmed IV
The Cossacks replied:
Zaporozhian Cossacks to the Turkish Sultan!
O sultan, Turkish devil and damned devil's kith and kin, secretary to Lucifer himself. What the devil kind of knight are thou, that canst not slay a hedgehog with your naked arse? The devil shits, and your army eats. Thou shalt not, thou son of a whore, make subjects of Christian sons. We have no fear of your army; by land and by sea we will battle with thee. Fuck thy mother.
Thou Babylonian scullion, Macedonian wheelwright, brewer of Jerusalem, goat-fucker of Alexandria, swineherd of Greater and Lesser Egypt, pig of Armenia, Podolian thief, catamite of Tartary, hangman of Kamyanets, and fool of all the world and underworld, an idiot before God, grandson of the Serpent, and the crick in our dick. Pig's snout, mare's arse, slaughterhouse cur, unchristened brow. Screw thine own mother!
So the Zaporozhians declare, you lowlife. You won't even be herding pigs for the Christians. Now we'll conclude, for we don't know the date and don't own a calendar; the moon's in the sky, the year with the Lord. The day's the same over here as it is over there; for this kiss our arse!
O sultan, Turkish devil and damned devil's kith and kin, secretary to Lucifer himself. What the devil kind of knight are thou, that canst not slay a hedgehog with your naked arse? The devil shits, and your army eats. Thou shalt not, thou son of a whore, make subjects of Christian sons. We have no fear of your army; by land and by sea we will battle with thee. Fuck thy mother.
Thou Babylonian scullion, Macedonian wheelwright, brewer of Jerusalem, goat-fucker of Alexandria, swineherd of Greater and Lesser Egypt, pig of Armenia, Podolian thief, catamite of Tartary, hangman of Kamyanets, and fool of all the world and underworld, an idiot before God, grandson of the Serpent, and the crick in our dick. Pig's snout, mare's arse, slaughterhouse cur, unchristened brow. Screw thine own mother!
So the Zaporozhians declare, you lowlife. You won't even be herding pigs for the Christians. Now we'll conclude, for we don't know the date and don't own a calendar; the moon's in the sky, the year with the Lord. The day's the same over here as it is over there; for this kiss our arse!
— Koshovyi otaman Ivan Sirko, with the whole Zaporozhian Host
The Cossacks' wit seems to have been no less sharp than their famous nagaika whips - The Whipping Post!
The Ukrainian Ilya Repin painted The Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks (1880-1891). Emperor Alexander III of Russia bought the painting which remains in the Russian Museum (Русский Музей) in Saint Petersburg. The Imperial sense of humour appears to have been more inclusive than that of the forms of government that followed.
'Seit fünfundzwanzig Jahren haben wir nur von Witzen gelebt' ('since 25 years we have lived only on jokes'), said a lady intellectual in Prague in 1968, of absurd life in Czechoslovakia with jokes about Hitler, Stalin etc making it more or at all bearable, continuing the traditions of The Good Soldier Švejk, as recounted by Georg Henrik von Wright in his memoirs of 2001 (p. 261). That absurd world has been steadily moving westwards. At least the PiS Party in Poland did a fairly good job in naming itself rightly, only slightly misspelling it. Tant pis! Maybe they were inspired by the Brexit Manneken Pis, pissing around his own country?
The only way to suffer fools gladly, especially the fools in power, is to give them a tongue lashing. It is time to for Lord Whippingham to write to the para-Turk Para Minister, paramouth, parasite, parafit, paraslim, paracoiffured, paranormal paradignity without parameters - the elective dictator Ill Porky ...
The Year 2019 was indeed the Year of the Pig or Boar (in the Chinese Zodiac) with a new UK prime minister or swine minister, not speaking pigeon [sic]k or pidgin English but pig English (no offence meant to real pigs) and elections where voters took a shine to the swine, fine for some, swine for some, might as well vote for a goat (2016 was the Year of the Monkey, making the once pragmatic and moderate party of business a party of monkey business - rather than doing the hard donkey work for the country, doing monkey business - if you vote monkeys you get peanuts, invest in vagabonds! - no offense meant to real monkeys of course, indeed there is nothing real about most candidates at elections).
The 2019 UK Parliamentary Election results, the near nem con elections, may end up being for the Tory Party a rather temporary and short-lived northern light on a dark sky on a cold night.
When the elections are a circus the clown wins, clowning glory. HORRID-19, Winnie-the-Poop (a fictitious teddy pig), hitting like a ton of bricks or pricks or a ton of Cons (or something rhyming even better), con of pricks, a ton of pricks voting for one ton of a prick, is literally a landslide victory as the consequences to the country are that of a landslide or landfill, landkill, the Tory Neo-Stalinist 5-year plan for the UK, the blueprint of national self-destruction, the Tunnel No 5 with no light at the end (light only at the beginning or before going into the tunnel and only if you come back out from the side you entered... ), led by North England's very own ill-sung hero, Con Ill-sung, or Dim Ill Sung (singing Mal Cunto [sic]k), or Kink Ill Sung (belonging to the clink), the nouveau Emperor Nero singing his own praises with his hyperactive gob with junk going in and out excessively while the capital burns.
Even the 2016 referendum results did not however make Europeans feel as unwelcome in the UK as the 2019 election results, seemingly a disproportionate majority under the non-proportional voting system, voting to "get Brexit done", however false and empty such a slow-gun slogan might be, it is the thought that counts!
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| In the Chinese zodiac, the Pig is assigned to govern the time from 9 p.m. to 10:59 p.m. According to tradition this is the time when the Pig is doing what it does best, i.e., sleeping and enjoying the sweet life. In astrology, the hours in which people were born (the Ascendant) are the second most important facet of their astrology. The Pig Descendant, the heir doom letting down the hair, is a Con descending [*************] Pig Ignorant ... |
All their nouveaux amis prolétaires up North would be delighted to discover, to really know, connaître, their new Con, that their nouveau autocrate friend and chief architect of British national self-destruction is a distant illegitimate relative of Empress Maria Feodorowna The Elder, the Consort of Emperor Paul I of Russia.
Her late Imperial Majesty may be spinning in her grave with such a nouveau bolchevique relative who descends from her brother, who as Prince Friedrich Wilhelm Carl of Württemberg, was appointed by Empress Catherine The Great as Governor-General of Ста́рая Финля́ндия based in Wiborg where he had a fine country house that he named Mon Repos (pictured) - it seems to have been all but destroyed since the Russians invaded the area in 1944 like the iron curtains to much other old fine architecture under Soviet rule but seemingly being rebuilt now.
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| Mon Repos, Wiborg |
The XXL odd generations of power and greed, the gross worsts or die Würste (accusative), but certainly not Großfürst of Russia... the Prince had such a large stomach that the shape of his table was cut to fit it. The Germans of Wiborg called the Prince die dicke Sau, fat sow – the illustrious cutting-edge ancestor of das kleine Schwein, rhyming with der dicke Kopf, German for ‘thick head’, and rhyming also courteously with trick d*ckhead... or even more respectfully His Porcine Excellency The Pig Minister, the Pig Regent, mad hog and Englishmen, no offence meant to the charming and intelligent animals that real pigs are (Sus scrofa domesticus). Indeed, the Pig Minister is no friend of real pigs but the chief promotor and fat face of cruel intense industrial agriculture, the heavy weighr superscar top model with a figure to match - the Hermann Goring of Britain - and a face like a sow's belly, the dummy mannequin, a kind of Manneken Pis. "Some pigs are more equal", as it was said in George Orwell's Animal Farm - in agricultural terms from British Lion Quality to British Liar Quality - from silver lining to silver lying with silver standard hallmark of lion rampant to liar rampant and soon hopefully to be heralded as liar passant, hopefully to lose his sinister supporters, Con temporary! A gammon is better with the head on a plate rather than in power and even better just enjoying an organic fresh mud bath.
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| Wild boar hunting seems to have been popular in the Wiborg region |
Not to mention the male line Turkish ancestry, including a Liberal Ottoman Minister of Interior, one might have thought that someone with such a Cosmopolitan background, Johnson foreigner, would have known better - Kruzitürken - than to become the little diva and prima donna or prima porca of Brexit, diva et impera, yet another one... La conna è mobile, Boris Horribilis, Mala Fide, Boris the Terrible outshining Ivan the Terrible, False Boris outlying all the False Dimitris, Boris the Bolshevik, Boris Goddamnov Bitshovitch Nieharoshewitch, not a friend of the European Union but the most humble servant of the nouveau Soviet Union, Borat Johnson, Boo Johnson, Booze Johnson, Brutus Johnson, Witch Doctor Johnson, His Insularity The Insultan of Lower Englistan, rather than Churchill Birchill, rather than Shakespeare Shakesphere or Sheikh Fear, the contra consul Vanidicus... elevating the extreme-left-wing aristocrat-murdering Communist KGB to the House of Lords, odd bedfellows, Lord Killmore of Turnbury and Turncoat, keeping up appearances and disappearances, the big bad boar of the big bad bear, chief patron of Brexit, con-serve-a-thief, Putлin de Con, the bigot's bitch, ill-bred mongrel poodle of the roubles, born again iron curtain believers... Condons, Don Con, Lord of the Lies, a king fishy, a prince of Tales, Duke of Pork, Lord Cannothingbutham, Oxford moron, Con of England with grotesque politics to match the muscularity of Tom of Finland, the BoJob, global court jester, Muppet Mr Piggy, Link Hogthrob, pigsqueak (originating from Russia), whose only ambition is to make the audience laugh, the cash con of populism (plus quam imperfectum), the perverse-nationalist BoSS man, Herr Obesegruppenführer... cutting the custard, Conman's Custard... Gaslighting Gauleiter Gauliar... deporting national prosperity to the gas chamber!
Joseph Stalin once remarked that one cannot saddle a pig but Stalin's heirs in the UK seem to have not only saddled a pig but ride the pig piggy back and make the pig obey their whip, racing on the pig to victory (again no offense meant to real pigs)!
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Manneken Pis (the pissing boy, the one still in Brussels, the fat little brat pissing as opposed to the fat little prat pissing (Mr Prat, of Great Yawnmouth)... The pissing boy who pissed off to piss around the UK while also getting pissed around the world... pièce de résistance and the pisse de résistance, the fountain of dishonour, leaving his country with no pot to piss in, not even a whip round but a piss round, tant pis) |
A short and sweet little poem in honour or horror of the "great leader" - an ode to the odious:
Marquis de SodOr just ugly sodOr ugly sowUgly show
With Brexit there may be no supply of pork either domestically or from the EU, including bratwurst, but that is richly compensated by the porkies of Pratworst. Desiring to avoid the delicacy of French rare steak saignant maybe, overcooking and mincing not chili con carne but silly Con carnage of the nation, also known as les couilles de porc (hog's bollocks) as a main course, plat d'hier, after fishy hors d'oeuvres étrange(r)s (while the orchestra plays Franz Schubert's Trout Quintet) with diable à cheval or diable au porc (devil on horseback or piggyback, i.e., stuffed fibs or porkies wrapped in fib leaves), Australian bunyips à la Sorcière d'Ipswich, pratworst or pratwurst de Worst, pie in the sky, pee 'em Oxon tongue boiled in sewage with poached eggs, oafs de trompe, Oxford Boar's Head with nothing but fruit and nuts inside, and Oxontoxic old Eton mess à l'Ivreness [sic]k and crime (trop) brûlé, pear-shaped puff pastry, or coco trifle and concons for dessert, forming the Brexit à la fart menu or à la tart menu, serving a diet of his own unhealthy fat to voters and the nation, recipe for disaster, flushed down with Château du Cul Grand Brut Cru Grand Vin des Côtes du Sang du Peuple Britannique Rouge 2019, the speciality menu of the English public house Effingham Ar[m]s, sic itur ad a[rse], English 'condon bleu' bas cuisine "as bad as bad can be... [I]ll-killed, ill-quartered, ill-cooked, ill-seasoned and ill-served", as Dr Johnson once described a piece of mutton. The Brexiteer is like the person who would not wish to eat an ox tongue because it has been in someone else's mouth, preferring an omelette.
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| Brexit menu slimming both the nation's stomach and pocket |
Making a pig’s ear of the country, he is dressed like a bulldog’s dinner (Sab scruffy dumpticus), tatty fatty, tailoring the Emperor's new clothes, the arty-f*rty Con artist bringing auto-destructive art to new autocratic heights, exhibiting not so much art but his a..., outdoing Boris Karloff in horror, in plays and films such as The Death of England, Jingo Bells, Magic Goes Wrong, The Dummy, The Man They Could Not Hang, The Fatal Hour, a popular operetta Triste and I Sold You, False Triste, The Importance of Not Being Earnest (playing Johnson Moncreep pretending to be Earnest...), Bend It Like Boris, The Little Lord Faux-Tell-Reine, The Pro Con, The Pro-Rogue of Parliament, Pignocchio, The Englishmen who Went up a Mountain but Came down a Hill, The Tragedy of Errors, Rich III, King Liar, Ham Let (into Government), Sh*tty Sh*itty Bang Bang, Two-Three Weddings and 120.000 Odd Funerals, The Sheriff of Nothingham, Ham and Big Apple, Fibler on the Roof, Bad Boar Hunting, Pigtales, Slimelight, Dangerous Doomlight, King Con, Donkey Con, For Lying Out Loud, No Time to Lie, Un taxi mauvais [sic]k, Les Misers, not exactly the Tale of Ten Pigs but One Pig at Number Ten, the big bad pig, the Corruptoc(r)ats or Corruptorats, starring with Her Sadistic Excellency The Dominatrix Pantacruella d'Evil... All from The Oxford Library of English Sausage.
Introduced at negotiations with the EU by 'Je m’appelle Bon..., Jam... Bon...!' (liberally translated in English, 'my name is Bum... ...') KGB Agent 000, Double O Zero, that is the third zero of a successive prime minister or B-minister from the right, right-0! – third time not earnest, not the three kings and even less the three wise men, Tory threesome or sleazesome, bingo (gambling with the nation's future with English civilisation progressing from gambling away family country fortunes at the gambling tables of an elegant old gentlemen's club to gambling away the whole country's fortunes), bimbo (dumb blonde failing to deal with the mess) and jingo (dumb blonde trying to make the mess worse), the Titanic Captains, the three little pigs, Grand Masters of the Order of the Three Liars of Little England and the Order of the Tory Fleece and the Order of the F*rter, la marque aux 3 bandites, the Number 10 not even for a penny squatters, the three-liar whip to the nation, the White Liar Society, the unholy trinity, not so much movers but shakers of England, rolling up their sleeves for sleaze while cutting down police numbers, wholly unholy policies, con-motion, con-coction, con-trap-tion, con-formity, in pursuit of the unholy fail, prime extremists, from mammon SleazEx to just sleazy con carnage gammon, from ugly sod to ugly sow, add hog not ad hoc, not busy bees but busy sleaze, sleaze slobs with bottomless pockets, vice chair of the 1933 Committee, the clowning glory, the clowning Tory, gloria in extremis, the plotters thicken, the rich, thick, fat and unhealthy crème de la crème or crétins des crétins of British politician, making little England a highly developed country of corruption and sleaze, corruptocracy and sleazocracy, waste of spes patriae, the faux little rich girls and boys, the great gravy train daylight robbery, the Turd Reich, Rich III or Rich the Turd 'with... his perverted gaiety and his mocking smile towards his victims", as Giuseppe Principe di Lampedusa described Richard III, offering the two-party system's alternative to lefty thefties. The star and the ox and the ass, all in one, but not the three kings!
A dear child has many names, as the Swedish say. Another quote is also attributed to the Swedish, the great statesman Count Axel Oxenstierna, but also to Pope Julius III and Cardinal Duc de Richelieu, only adding to its universal timelessness: An nescis, mi fili, quantilla prudentia mundus regatur? ('Do you not know, my son, with how very little wisdom the world is governed?) Captain Haddock of Tintin might have said, 'brainless bashi-bazouk' – a word originating from Ottoman Turkish, meaning, inter alia, leaderless and disorderly and recruits notorious for looting...
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| Chartwell garden murals of the Duke of Marlborough's Cavalry Charge |
Little fat Boris may think he is a nouveau Churchill but all he has done is taking the UK down the hill. One was a journalist reporting the Boer War also in active service as an officer, the other never served as an officer or otherwise only engaged in his own Boar Wars.
Sir Winston Churchill's grandson Sir Nicholas Soames said (emphasis added), "... Boris's experience in life is telling a lot of porkies about the European Union..." – hog's b*llocks! Sir Nicholas has also said, as reported in Conservative Home on 22 March 2016, of the refusal of successive Tory leaders to confront their Eurosceptic opponents:
“If you have an Alsatian sitting in front of you, and it growls at you and bares its teeth, there are two ways of dealing with it. You can pat it on the head, in which case it’ll bite you, or you can kick it really hard in the balls, in which case it’ll run away. Successive Prime Ministers, and it’s not the present Prime Minister alone, have never understood that they have to take these people on.”
Tory PMs have degenerated from a Churchillian bulldog to little shit, not even a little Shi[h ]T[zu], faux bulldog bulldozing national prosperity!
With their gift of the gob, Brexiteers often speak per se through their a*se about the British Ausfahrt from the EU, right fart from right tarts selling themselves for votes, the nouveau Wind in the Willows from Mr Turd of Turd Hall taken over by upstart oligarch meerkats Sergei, Evgeny, Vladimir, Boris... lost the plot, the plotters thicken, right in the sunlit f*rtlands of little England, needing a good badgering from Rat (a European water vole)... worry pots, pot heads, soon with no pot to piss in, dumb as a closed door nail or nails of a coffin or nails in someone else's coffers, the tossers who toss away their country's future and prosperity with the big tossman witch doctor and bitch doctor Johnson leading them, the road hog, driving a Boris Minor (a Soviet reproduction vehicle), - toot toot, hoot hoot, p**p p**p (the only substance involved), [b]ad nauseam.
Toad in the hole, or sausage toad, is a batter pudding (i.e. where the voters are battered for pudding for those voted for), originally created as a way to stretch out meat in poor households, chefs therefore suggested using the cheapest meats in this dish, "English cooked-again stewed meat" (lesso rifatto all'inglese), meat leftover from stews and re-cooked in batter. The origin of the name may refer to the way toads wait for their prey in their burrows, making their heads visible in the earth, just like the sausages peep through the batter or politicians - 'oven-ready' - most topical and toxic in the Turd Reich. Real pigs enjoy the freshest organic cow's faeces straight out of the oven so to speak, the only material difference to the political pig is that the political pig serves the oven-ready produce to others.
Yet if the Brexiteers thought they were running away from a European or Franco-German big bad wolf, they may find themselves embracing a Russian bear (Русский медведь), oligarch designer iron curtains to UK prosperity from EU membership, from sunlit uplands descending to Silly Con Valley and sum split uplands, making the country not a rich Liechtenstein but a poor Nichtenstein, the nightmare of nichts mehr, not a tinpot to piss in, Conservatives in their swinest hour, the pig minister bringing to the nation the extensive wealth of the Piggy Bank, to coin a phrase - dreams of halcyon days from Brexit, as mythical as the bird which in fact is a tropical Asian and African kingfisher with brightly coloured plumage.
Wolves like beavers in myth, as Aesop wrote in his fables: “When pursued, the beaver runs for some distance, but when he sees he cannot escape, he will bite off his own testicles and throw them to the hunter, and thus escape death.” An ancient Egyptian hieroglyph depicted a beaver chewing off his testicles as a representation of the punishment for adultery among humans in their society. Beaver (Castor canadensis) is a symbol of the sovereignty of Canada. This self-castrating animal, unfaithful to its voters, would seem a perfect heraldic symbol for Brexit or the sovereignty of Parliament with its poodles of the executive... (Satire has the saltire quality of crucifying its objects - not cruxifying, at least strictly grammatically speaking).
Albion, the white land of England, as in the white chalk cliffs of Dover, is currently reincarnated in the government of white English Tories, where the rich and thick crème de la crème at the head has surrounded himself with other white dumb blondes so as not to threaten his position while all heavyweight government offices are carried out by non-whites as the highest form of modern-day slavery, so dear to the white English Tory, and such non-white heavyweights cannot threaten the parawhite on top because the dominantly white Tory party cannot have anyone but a white poodle as a top dog (no offence meant to real dogs and poodles).
In 1973, when the Finnish elective upstart closet-socialist dictator, President Kekkonen of the Socialist People's Republic of Kekkoslovakia, had his term extended by an emergency law rather than elections, the British could say to the Finnish that at least the Soviet Union went through the formalities of elections. In 2019, the Finnish could return the compliment when members of the Conservative Party elected a nouveau bolchevique prime minister for the UK. Soviet style vote fixing was not even necessary with this near nem con election. Generalissimus Stalin would have been impressed or envious. The Tory coat of arms could include a turkey voting for Christmas and a self-castrating beaver.
The first and third zero in 000 are both descendants of illegitimate children of German royal houses, Pig Regent. So, we can thank this b*stard breed for Brexit and austerity, etc. Meanwhile the remaining zero of the troika failing and falling in between, the secunda quality PM, has shown how much Christian compassion a priest’s child, heathen on earth, can have through the satanic hostile environment (the only environment looked after by the Cons) not only to 'illegal' immigrants but all immigrants (and natives for that matter). The aristocracy has been criticised of benefiting from the lottery of birth but there is no outcry about benefiting from the lottery of birth when it comes to hereditary nationality and related wealth, outsourcing inequality to foreigners and overseas. If a foreigner is lucky enough to survive a life-threatening health condition after a difficult operation, the NHS sees it fit to congratulate them with a £90.000 odd bill – while many a homo politicus and nouveau riche parvenu prudently lay their gold eggs in Panama and tax havens... With friends like that, voters need no enemies. Voters should maybe think of the following (no offense meant to the man's best friend and other creatures finer than people with too much power and money while lacking gentility):
Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you (Matthew 7:6 KJV).
Mind the crap! Voters should maybe remember that it is difficult, impossible, or indeed inappropriate to saddle or ride a pig. But a pig can be driven or directed to a place where there is much mud for them to enjoy a good mud bath. Best to throw the stick as far as possible for these dogs.
Voters should not let a few greedy Humpty Dumpties have a great fall for their country and the world so that all the king's horses and all the king's men could not put it together again!
The PM looks not like a shaggy Highland pony but a shaggy Lowland pony, like a porco or scarecrow but he has not scared away the coronavirus, quite the contrary, the virus viral hog, blue tits up. The Carry On crow or Carrie on crow is not to be confused with the carrion crow (corvus corone). Carrion incidentally means "the decaying flesh of dead animals..." Vultures live chiefly on carrion. If even the hair cannot be contained, maybe a firm feathering is due - cropped hair or just plenty of crop. One only puts such a hideous haircut on one's own head so that one does not have to see it oneself, no Whig even if that would be better clearly. Still, nothing seems to stop the scarecrow from crowing over everything. The man with only one (or maybe two) functioning organ(s) that define(s) him.
Rather than riddle
A fiddle
Fat face
Nutcase
Better a fit twitThan a fat twatIf not better than that
If only politicians were fit for office
Rather than shit for office
The scarecrow
Who has not scared a voter crowd
Épouvantail
Épouvantable
Coupe d'épouvantail
Coupe épouvantable
Never good enough to write in Le Canard enchaînéLe connard qui devrait être enchaîné
The birds nest of hair to be clipped into shapeThe enormous fat figure to be kicked out or whipped into shapeOr else the head on a plate
Rather than a big shame
A big shave
Not just a close shave
As curt as Francis Urquhart, a cut
An Urquhartian final cut
Hopefully it is the last zero who will finally learn how to deport himself, the third non-king to go by Epiphany, Bumpty Lumpty, the loose cannon spitting on an insular fortress wall, to have a great fall, flat jump from fat lump, lump to the dump, bump the lump, all the King's horses and all the King's men not to put him together again, rather wild horses to drag him away, from lying pig to flying pig, from bin man to been man, binned, silly sausage, the flying botchman, the self supremacist, Mr Boar elevated to Lord Boarham of Little Sodham to bow out disgracefully and retire soon to Mon Repos, Con Repos, Mon Dépôt or Mon Déport (sic)[k] or Mon Départ, so that the country can begin to recover and rebuild itself from whatever may be left then (if anything), hopefully with less destruction than Mon Repos has endured and not a mere post-mortem. At that farewell the only crying will be because of the carnage left behind after years of Boriskrieg. It is high time to whip out and cast a diva, singing not so much a swan song but in this case the swine song Casta Diva! One hopes for an end to the Diva Comedy of the drama queen B-actor to take us from Inferno and Purgatorio to Paradiso, a para gone, (God bless us) a thing of naught.
Adiós Conino!
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Mon Repos, Feltham Suitable Mon Repos abode to retire to for an honest, altruistic and dignified politician, architecture the match that of the policies of the government A pigsty for the pig minister to retire to after leaving the country in a pigsty |
Yours in pain,
Whippingham
