david cameron sits in his office. he’s a very serious man. he’s trying to write a very serious speech about the very serious issue of the working class sponging from food banks, but it is very difficult to concentrate when water is dripping ceaselessly from the ceiling. there is no leak upstairs and no burst pipe, but still it pours in. it’s knee deep now. he looks at the tattoo-like message that appeared on his arm overnight. for every hungry mouth, another drop will fall. thatcher’s ghost drifts in again and snickers with glee. i do love the rain, she says. david doesn’t know how to swim.
nick clegg looks in the mirror and the reflection of david cameron moves with him. little yellow canary birds fall dead from the trees wherever he goes. all his ties are blue now, and when he goes to buy a particularly fetching mustard one, that turns blue too. he can’t remember if he went to cambridge or oxford. his wife grows tired of having to wade through tiny avian corpses wherever she goes, but still they mount up.
every room in ed milliband’s house is now a kitchen. he’s not sure how this happened. he started off with one, then built another for the nanny to use, of course- then-? he doesn’t recall. he doesn’t know how he amassed so many kitchens but now the press are starting to ask questions. why did you have 7 ovens delivered last week? why do you need 5 fridges?? are you opening a restaurant?? he doesn’t know how to say that he now sleeps on the breakfast bar and sponge baths himself via the kitchen sink. no matter what he orders from ocado, all that gets delivered are bacon sandwiches.
IMMIGRANTS!!! shrieks nigel farage. IMMIGRANTS IN MY FUCKING KITCHEN!!!!.EATING MY FOOD! PULLING MY HOUSE APART TO FIND SOMEWHERE TO LIVE!! he is frothing at the mouth in rage and has on a very snazzy pair of purple underpants. each bum cheek has a gold pound sign on it. his wife sighs into her breakfast. IMMIGRANTS IN MY HOUSE!!! he hollers again, and she looks where he is pointing. a tiny stream of ants are scuttling across the kitchen floor. yes, dear she says, and escorts him to sit on the sofa. he has become so racist that anything not produced within a 10 mile radius of him is repelled. their home is very sparse.
Found the best gothic post, everyone can go home now.
uk politics gothic
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