A THIRD of a million pounds has been paid out by government to protect me, home secretary Priti Patel. I’m worth 10 times that. Let me explain why.
Because I’m a maverick. I make no apologies for that. Like Crazy Riggs or Mel Gibson, I don’t play by the rules. I intimidate, I’m responsible for countless cases of constructive dismissal, I got fired for breaching the ministerial code. But I get results. Just don’t ask me to name any.
Because every Tory cabinet needs a dominatrix and face it baby, I’m it. Ever since the magnificent Thatcher this country has demanded a powerful female figure whose pleasure is your pain. And now May’s gone it’s my turn to step into the metaphorical thigh-high leather boots, pick up the non-metaphorical whip, and hurt you.
Because I’m diverse. Ethnically I’m Indian, my family’s from Uganda, and I’m horribly right-wing. Do you know how much that f**ks up Guardian readers? How powerless they feel when I go on a vicious diatribe against immigrants? I’m having a good smirk just thinking about it.
Because I hate the EU. I’m not some wishy-washy former Remainer like Hancock. I despise that filthy hive of languages and accents and cuisines. Britain won the war therefore the whole continent should be British and speaking English. It’s a direct insult that they still exist.
Because I hate you. Not like those Etonians. They don’t know you. But I grew up among you and know lots of you are happy to suffer so long as people you hate are suffering too. And I’m totally happy to oblige with that.
Because I’m Priti Patel. Because I’m worth it.