Magna Carta gives England back to France

 


HISTORIANS are studying an edition of the Magna Carta that makes England French property from June. 

Found in council archives, it contains an additional paragraph that says France can have England in 800 years’ time if the country is still a dump by then.

Historian Susan Traherne said: “If verified, this document means on June 15th we all become French, which I intend to mark by starting smoking again and having that affair I’ve always wanted.

“It’s not going to be an easy period of transition but people can console themselves with the spectacle of Nigel Farage losing his fucking mind.”

The key section of the document states: “Let it be agreed that England, its lands and chattels and peoples thereof, be surrendered unto the kingdom of France 800 years from the signing of this charter if it be shewn that the place still is somewhat of a shittehole”.

After June 15th, football fans will have to chant “No world wars but two world cups” when playing Germany and rectangular loaves will be made illegal.

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Cameron's PMQs nightmare

WHEN I say PMQs is my worst nightmare, I am telling the truth.

Just last week, my heart was hammering through my ribcage and I thought ‘This is it: I’m going to have a heart attack and die right here on live TV and in front of all these old men…’ I started gagging uncontrollably, retching noises reverberating around the room like the scratch of chair legs across the marble floor of a deserted Natural History Museum. The cameras kept rolling as I belched and heaved.

Eventually, I managed to cough up a thin strand of blonde hair. ‘Whose hair is this?’ I puzzled as more and more long blonde strands came up from my throat. I had become quite absorbed in this task and wondered what lady, if any, would be at the end of all this hair.

When I looked up, I was not in the House of Commons anymore. I was in the deserted Natural History Museum. ‘That’s weird,’ I thought, ‘I was just thinking about this place…’ But I didn’t have time to be confused as my new task was to carry the large pile of hair to the dinosaur section. I knew this because Edwina Currie was yelling it through a traffic cone from the top of the stairs. In the dinosaur section, Edwina was weaving hair into a set of ceremonial garments for Dippy the diplodocus; she was an expert because of her time in the jungle. My hair was to become a beautiful beard for Dippy, who everyone knows was the wisest dinosaur, and capable of telekinesis.

At that moment, everything in the room levitated and I found myself tumbling through the air like Sandra Bullock in Gravity. Edwina was laughing her dirty laugh and doing marvellous somersaults in space. I couldn’t help admiring her athleticism and joie de vivre. Soon, she was with me and we twirled together. I must admit it was thrilling and I didn’t mind at all that I was naked.

The next day, a paper landed on my desk telling me Dippy the Diplodocus was to be axed from the Natural History Museum for being historically inaccurate. Uncanny! Nevertheless, I must get someone to review Ms Currie’s role in my cabinet. Fascinating woman, but clearly doesn’t know the first thing about sauropods.

And then it’s straight back into hell next week to do it all again.