Do you just repeat any bollocks you hear in the pub?

ARE you the sort of shithead who unquestioningly trots out anything someone in a pub tells you? Shared any of these? 

Coronavirus is a bio-weapon

It’s the Chinese. Or the CIA. Or Mossad. Who did it and why is just detail. Big business did it to raise the price of Chinese-made goods like iPhones, which makes as much sense as Tesco putting human excrement in ready meals to make you buy another one.

Ken Loach was in Depeche Mode

The classic musical myth is that Bob Holness played sax on Baker Street, but why not more in a similar vein? Adele has six fingers, or Gary Numan auditioned for the role of Chief Brody in Jaws? Harmless, timewasting, annoying.

The left is going to [insert ridiculous thing here]

Ban straight sex? Nationalise Greggs? People repeating anti-leftie nonsense is a gift to the Tories, but in fairness lefties do a similar ‘this is how the Nazis got started’ version. Boris is bad enough without pretending he’s Hitler, who at least put the hours in.

Planes leave chemtrails

The obvious flaw in claiming that aeroplanes leave mind-controlling chemtrails is how come it’s not working on you? And wouldn’t it be easier just to put the same stuff in KFC?

Female celebrity X used to be a man

If an actress or sportsperson doesn’t resemble the most basic stereotype of femininity – roughly Melinda Messenger – they were once or are now a man. Says more about you than them, and what it says is ‘I’m a twat.’

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Why should my week off be ruined because there's sewage on your hall carpet?

by Boris Johnson

OH NO, there’s dirty water lapping at the MDF of your flat-pack kitchen. Dear me, your dismal new-build hallway’s swimming in sh*t. Exactly why is that my problem? 

You may remember me. I’m the prime minister. I won the election hands down. I’m in charge. Yes, very powerful.

But I’m not Cnut the Great, if you’ll forgive my OId Norse. I can neither turn back the tide nor part the waters. So why should I have to turn up to your bloody flood?

Where am I? Staying in a 115-room country mansion with my girlfriend, 25 years younger than I am, drinking a port that Churchill had laid down in 1943.

Do I fancy leaving that behind, strapping my wellies on and wading through filthy brown water to look at your pathetic house? Do I arse.

Let me just check, when’s the next election? End of 2024? And will any of these floods be remembered then? I very much suspect not.

It breaks my heart that all your IKEA furniture has been ruined and your library of Lee Child hardback first editions washed away with the tide. So tawdry and then the flood. I can’t bear to think about it.

Shut up, move to higher ground and do please bugger off. I’m busy. This country isn’t going to f**k over itself.

Yours, the prime minister.