Anal warts take poll lead over Sunak

RISHI Sunak is facing a possible challenge to his leadership from a particularly virulent case of anal warts.

The prime minister’s freefalling popularity has convinced Conservative backbenchers the party now stands a better chance at the general election under a painful and embarrassing venereal disease.

With the economy faltering and public services collapsing, dozens of MPs have secretly pledged their support to the common manifestation of the human papilloma virus, with some touting a ‘dream ticket’ of the anal warts and a small plastic tub of cat shit. 

According to a Gallup poll, the anal warts are favoured by 32 per cent of voters, well ahead of a constantly screaming goat locked in your house and electrocution, both on 23 per cent, while Sunak is on -59 per cent.

But Downing Street last night brushed aside talk of a contest, stressing the prime minister was focusing on Britain’s key priority of getting a single migrant on a £58,000 flight to Rwanda and training AI to take your job. 

Downing Street is also finalising a series of headline-grabbing policy initiatives including taking 1p of National Insurance per annum, raising food prices with onerous new import checks and sending every home in Britain a DVD of Highlander II: The Quickening.

Next week, Sunak will launch a campaign to woo back voters by meeting lobbyists demanding even more public money be transferred to private hands and agreeing with everything they say.

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Guest Blog: Lily Allen

IT'S all kinda sorta boring, innit? You know what it's like – travelling the world, doing concerts, staying in posh hotels, hanging out with famous people who happen to be your mum and dad's friends and eating in expensive restaurants – to be quite honest, I'd rather be blogging or watching people fall over on YouTube.

Ridin' on the Number 25 Bus
Ain't gonna make no fuss
There goes that bloke
I used to
So I ring me Dad up and tell him to get the boys round
That bloke won't be bothering no-one no more
Cos he's a slapper, only he's a slag with a willy

I wrote those lyrics in the back of the car on the way from the airport to the Chelsea Hotel in New York. Apparently some really, really famous dead people have stayed here – you know, proper icons like Bob Dylan Thomas and Sid Vicious, which kinda puts everything into perspective as I drag my rubbish old suitcase through the lobby.

I'm in New York to record some new songs – here's one of 'em, enjoy!

Walkin' through the city after chuckin' out time
Fall over 'cos I've had one too many lager and limes
Bash me head on a two foot wall
This ain't no way to go on a pub crawl

Then I get a call on me mobile
It's my ex-boyfriend botherin' me for the fifty quid I owe him
So I call me Dad and he goes round and half kills him
Serves him right for being such a big old twat

Whilst I was in the Big Apple I bumped into my old mucker Danny 'Diabolical' Dyer.  He's out here publicising his new movie. "Awright dahlin'" he says, "gor blimey you look proper fuckin' diamond – how's about we get right on it, innit?" Then his Mum grabbed his arm and shouted: "Daniel, stop using that foul language, and for heaven's sakes, pronounce your words properly – you're not in front of the camera now!"

Are you lovin' my lyrics? I reckon they're proper wicked – I don't usually blow me own trumpet, I normally get a session musician to do that for me. Anyway, New York got a bit boring, so we all schlepped off to the airport and booked a flight to Mexico for a laugh – it's time to blow this town! Landed in Tijuana airport, and whilst we were going through passport control I started getting well bored. As soon as we got into the main terminal I realised I was getting even more bored-er than I was earlier, so I decided it was time we all went back to jolly old England for a cup of tea and some custard creams.

Back home in my new London flat, and there's so much to do. I don't know where to start, so I call one of my Dad's mates, who happens to be one of the world's leading interior decorators – result! Anyway, he's coming round at the end of the week and everything should be sorted in time for my house-warming party in a few weeks.

Instead of a really boring party invitation I sent everyone a CD with a song, here it is:

Hello you, what you up to
On August the 25th?
Cos I'm havin' a proper party
Bring a bottle or my Dad won't let you


As told to Matt Owen