Even Tim Martin doesn't like you, and other ways to know you're really up shit creek

BORIS Johnson has found himself in non-stop trouble recently. Here he explains the telltale signs that you might be irretrievably f**ked.

Absolutely everyone is ripping the piss out of you

And I mean everyone, from Phil and Holly to Gary Neville. If your bullshit has achieved such a level of cut-though that even plebs from football and the telly are calling you a twat to your face, you could well be screwed.

Someone defects to the other side

Politicians are usually pathetically loyal, especially Conservative ones who’ll do humiliating shit such as pretending to like and respect Iain Duncan Smith. So when one decides to join Captain Hindsight’s Lesbian Snowflake Party, you might have really ballsed things up.

An old bloke tells you to f**k off

Old people are demented duffers who nature is thankfully thinning out with Covid. If one has the nerve to stand up in front of all your colleagues and tell you in no uncertain terms to piss right off you should worry. Especially if it’s David Davis.

The Telegraph is losing faith

As a Tory, the Telegraph will adore you no matter what mad right-wing shit you come up with. Look at Priti and her plans to attack migrants with ‘sound cannons’. If the loony tunes Torygraph decides you’re wrong, you’re practically claiming to be God Emperor of the Universe while wearing a straitjacket.

Tim Martin doesn’t like you

If there was an annual competition to find Britain’s biggest bellend, Tim Martin would have won every year for the past two decades. When a monumental wanker like that calls you a hypocrite and thinks you’re a prize prick, you are definitely done for.

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Dear Boris, when I called you a 'lying sack of shit' I may have spoken in haste

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