Britain about to discover Johnson isn't a good wartime leader either

THE UK is about to learn that Boris Johnson handles full-scale war as badly as he does Brexit, pandemics and the economy.

With Britain teetering ever closer to war with Russia, the country is soon to discover that the prime minister’s only resemblance to Winston Churchill is an inordinately popular public image slowly diminishing over time.

A Ministry of Defence spokesman said: “I was in a war meeting. We’re f**ked. If you want to tick something off your bucket list, do it now.

“He’s planning to celebrate the start of the conflict as a boon for the economy while wearing a tin helmet while Dominic Raab leads an inquiry into whether Putin is Russian.

“As for three-word slogans, expect to hear ‘Duck and Cover’, ‘Shoot the Bastards’ and ‘Nuke Their Nukes’ a lot. Expect them, as usual, to have no effect.

“Military experts will be sidelined in favour of Johnson’s own tactics: spouting soundbites to keep the tabloids happy, doing nothing about them and hosting parties from his Lulu Lytle-decorated nuclear bunker. As tens of thousands die. Like usual.”

But Roy Hobbs of Sheffield countered: “So what? Can you imagine how much worse it would be if Starmer was in charge?”

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Kate celebrates becoming patron of English rugby by shitting in pint glass

THE Duchess of Cambridge has celebrated becoming patron of English rugby by sinking 12 pints, climbing on the bar and dumping into a pint glass. 

Kate has taken over from Prince Harry as figurehead for rugby league and rugby union and immediately set an example by drinking a pint in six seconds, smashing the glass, then burping so long she vomited onto her £995 Holland Cooper trenchcoat.

Rugby player Joe Turner said: “She’s a good lass, Kate. I thought a fancy girl like her wouldn’t want to see Andy’s party trick of firing a ping-pong ball across the car park with his piss, but she was baying for more.

“I was the one who performed the initiation ceremony, and I don’t mind saying I was nervous. You don’t braid a four-foot length of toilet paper and insert it between Royal buttocks every day.

“My hand was shaking as I lit it, but she sank her ale with time to spare and farted the flames out as a final flourish to the cheers of the crowd.

“Then she climbed atop the bar, positioned her pint, squatted and dropped an inch-perfect turd directly in. What a woman. English rugby couldn’t be in better hands.”