Dear Boris,
As a loyal Tory MP, I feel I should make it clear that when I referred to you as a ‘lying sack of shit’, a ‘f**king liability’ and a ‘dead man walking’, I was only kidding.
I can’t help but notice you’re still hanging on, so I want you to know comments like ‘Let’s get the fat, incompetent pisshead out’ were just an ill-judged and frankly pathetic attempt at irony. Yes. That’s what it was. Irony.
Even though it was just a joke, consider this a full and unreserved apology. Please suggest a convenient time for me to come over to Downing Street, grovel on all fours and lick your shoes. It’s the very least I can do.
It’s not as if I’m some jumped-up little nobody who’d stand no chance of being an MP without Brexit appealing to my gullible, racist constituents. They’re not fools who’d vote for a dog turd if it supported Brexit, although I wouldn’t like to test that theory.
I’d implore you not to take swift, brutal revenge and sack me like you did the Tory Remainers. I love people being forced to listen to my petty, intolerant opinions, and my wife’s getting a luxury kitchen on my MP’s expenses.
Please. I’m begging you. I’m just a former middle manager whose only political skill is spouting rabble-rousing patriotic bullshit, like last week when I wasted the Commons’ time by demanding supermarket staff sing ‘Rule Britannia’ when they open every morning.
If I did say anything to offend you, it was probably just the after-work beers talking. We’ve all been there, right, mate? No seriously, I’ll announce I’m a hopeless alcoholic if you want. Just don’t sack me. I’ll do anything.
D’you want money? I can give you money. Say how much. I’ll do it now.
Yours faithfully,
The Right Honourable Martin Bishop, MP
