Solving Brexit

So with domestic issues back in the mix and honeyed words like ‘you’re unbearable – if you don’t fuck off – I’ll hire a JCB to get you out’ jokingly bandied about, I decided to try my hand at conflict resolution.

Arriving in Brussels – I stopped in for a quiet pint with Donald Tusk to see if we couldn’t iron out some of this backstop nonsense. Suggesting that a statue of Churchill with a squadron of Spitfires flying out of its arse in the middle of the European Parliament might help nudge things along, I found his vision profoundly lacking, so there was nothing for it but up the game.

Kidnapping Jean Claude Juncker, and wrapping him head to toe in a French maid’s outfit, I stuffed him into the back of a Nissan X Trail and delivered him to Boris Johnson’s office, hoping to reawaken his Continental spirit – and to his credit – Boris redrew his red lines all over Jean Claude, until JC’s gag fell out and suddenly it was all ‘managed catastrophe’ instead of ‘Bonjour Cherie’.

Slipping some acid into Jacob Rees Mogg’s port and whisking him through the 19th century section of Madame Tussauds looked like it had real potential – especially when I hid behind Napoleon and said ‘We surrender to ze magnificent British’ in my most Allo Allo accent – but the wheels came off shortly afterwards when Nanny finally tracked his mobile phone and gave me a good thrashing with a hairbrush that once combed the privates of Henry V’s favourite courtesan.

Really struggling by this point – I flew in a team of IT engineers to try and reprogram Theresa May’s soundbite function, but it was apparently more of a hardware than a software issue, so on to Jeremy Corbyn who was found trying to purchase a viable Brexit policy from his local charity shop but had to settle for a new cardigan. He seemed confused bless him – so I accepted the Werther’s Original he offered in the spirit of unity.

Next stop Ireland – where suggestions to just sail the whole place a bit closer to the UK and make the Good Friday agreement an Easter Egg hunt fell on deaf ears. After one final call to Donald Trump pretending to be the Russian Ronald MacDonald – he just kept repeating ‘Iran bad. Saudi Good. No Collusion’ after his latest intelligence puppet show….. at which point, I finally abandoned hope.

Limping home in despair – the final insult is that the wife doesn’t believe a fucking word of any of this and there’s a fucking JCB en route as we speak.

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