Christmas Party Invite

[TwoWhalesInAPool]

What you were doing vs. what Downing Street was doing last Christmas: A timeline​

Last Christmas, while you stayed indoors, the Downing Street spads were having it large.

Here’s what you did and they did laid out in a simple timeline:

3pm, you
Meet your brother in a pub car park for a socially distanced present exchange. It’s cold, raining and you can’t even hug him. Joke about what a miserable Christmas it’s going to be.

3pm, Downing Street
Issue the latest Christmas-cancelling restrictions, which have been on your desk in Downing Street for a fortnight marked ‘From Chris Whitty – action immediately’ and light up a fat spliff.

6pm, you
Finish your evening meal and turn on the TV. Reflect that you should be out the pub with your mates but instead you’re stuck in watching Christmas repeats.

6pm, Downing Street
Finish the nightly Daylesford organic food takeaway which you signed for as ‘The Taxpayer’. Meet Gove’s coke guy at the back door. Give him £12,000 from petty cash.

8pm, you
Tuck the kids up. They’ve been out of school for weeks, haven’t seen any of their friends and there’s been no Christmas party. Comfort them by saying the rules are the same for everybody.

8pm, Downing Street
Snort a fat line of charlie from between the tits of the sexiest spad, the one from Williamson’s office. Answer the door to the rest of the girls in their party dresses.

10pm, you
Zoom call your elderly parents to explain that no, you won’t be seeing them this Christmas even though Dad’s just had his operation. They’re shielding so you might not see them for months. Hide your tears.

10pm, Downing Street
The MDMA kicks in as the game of naked Twister begins, and guess who’s coming down the stairs? It’s amazing how Johnson knows the second the clothes are off. ‘Santa’s coming, ladies!’ he shouts.

Midnight, you
Go to bed. Stare at the ceiling mourning your favourite time of year. Your wife says she understands but it’s for the public good.

10.30pm
Memories from this point are fragmentary. Chasing nude through the Cabinet room, discovering Disraeli’s private wine cellar and chugging an 1870 Chateau Lafite Rothschild in one. Still you bloody need to de-stress from work. Really it’s for the public good.

via - Daily LyingBastards

 

[Saphire]

It would be funny, if it didn't ring so true.

 

[SamBally]

Has British politics ever been in a worse place than right now?

A PM who has to be dragged up every morning by his wife while she gently reminds him that he runs the country and that yes he has to get up when he pleads for another hour in bed. Who makes fart jokes while using brute force to ram his shirt on with all the buttons done up and wonders why the shoes that fitted him yesterday don't seem to fit today because his wife forgot to put on the left and right labels the night before. When he distracted her by making his eyebrows wriggle like a herd of galloping wild horses on a prairie plain.

Then there is Sir Keir. Rodney and a man so bland he makes John Major look like a Bond Villain. A man so vain he takes an hour every single morning slapping on hair gel and who has spent every single day during the past 32 years trying to perfect a Bros haircut circa 1989 and that took Bros all of two minutes and with him aged 59 now. A man with a permanently startled look on his face because he still has no idea how he became the labour leader. That he tries to disguise by not moving his eyes or showing any expression, at all, ever. Who you could paint beige, stick on a beige wall and not even know he is there until he eventually collapses unconscious onto the floor drooling on his perfectly tailored suit.

 

[FlatLined]

Boring zzzzz

 

[Saphire]

Has British politics ever been in a worse place than right now?

A PM who has to be dragged up every morning by his wife while she gently reminds him that he runs the country and that yes he has to get up when he pleads for another hour in bed. Who makes fart jokes while using brute force to ram his shirt on with all the buttons done up and wonders why the shoes that fitted him yesterday don't seem to fit today because his wife forgot to put on the left and right labels the night before. When he distracted her by making his eyebrows wriggle like a herd of galloping wild horses on a prairie plain.

Then there is Sir Keir. Rodney and a man so bland he makes John Major look like a Bond Villain. A man so vain he takes an hour every single morning slapping on hair gel and who has spent every single day during the past 32 years trying to perfect a Bros haircut circa 1989 and that took Bros all of two minutes and with him aged 59 now. A man with a permanently startled look on his face because he still has no idea how he became the labour leader. That he tries to disguise by not moving his eyes or showing any expression, at all, ever. Who you could paint beige, stick on a beige wall and not even know he is there until he eventually collapses unconscious onto the floor drooling on his perfectly tailored suit.