How to bolt the stable door a year after the horse has f**ked off, by Boris Johnson

A YEAR after declaring Covid ‘a serious and imminent threat to public health’, the UK is closing borders to certain countries, a bit. 

Here’s how I, as prime minister, like to act well after the fact:

F**k about

Given that we’re an island nation we had a real opportunity to stop Covid reaching us. However, unlike New Zealand, Japan or Jamaica, we let people come and go willy nilly indefinitely then sat about scratching our heads wondering why things had spun out of control.

Fail at everything

It’s not my fault test and trace didn’t work, is it? I’m just the prime minister who didn’t ask for this and is doing his best. Who put Dido Harding in charge, despite her track record? Didn’t Operation Moonshot work? No? What even was that?


I said it would be over in 12 weeks. Then by Christmas. Then I cancelled Christmas but not completely, so there was one day to spread Covid freely. And now look where we are. But you’ll all definitely be having lovely summer holidays, promise.

Threaten prison

When you finally decide to pull your finger out of your arse and introduce quarantine for travellers, add a lunatic Tory crowd pleasing strategy, like mandatory ten-year prison sentences. Completely out of proportion to the crime but our voter want to bring back hanging, so it’s a consolation.

Still balls it up

We’ve created a ‘red list’ of countries that people have to quarantine upon return from. But do we know where the next mutant strain is coming from? Could be anywhere. Whatever happens, know that we will be too late.

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Too many or not enough: how many sexual partners have you had?

HOW many people you’ve shagged exactly equates to your worth as a human. Rate yourself on our scale to find out if you are a sexual failure or an amoral slag: 


It’s tragic that you’ve never experienced the joy of sexual intimacy with another person, loser. Lower your standards and get on with it or the vicar will intone ‘Sadly, he remained a pathetic virgin’ as your coffin is lowered at your funeral.


You’re one of these sickening people who met their life partner aged 17 and have been together ever since. Stop being so bloody unadventurous and have an affair, even if it ruins a blissful relationship, leads to divorce and your kids end up broken and ashamed.

Two to five

Not really trying, are you? Stuck in a rut of caring, respectful, long-term relationships? Seriously rethink your attitude and get out there, drunkenly sleeping with anyone you meet in grim nightclubs while creating a shitload of emotional hassle for yourself when they think you’re a couple now.

Five to 20

At 12 or above you’re in the porking ‘sweet spot’: sexually experienced, clearly desirable to the opposite sex, and you can pretend to be mortified about what a sexual adventurer you are while you’re showing off.

20 to 40

A very respectable number of notches on the bedpost, but you’re moving towards promiscuity and herpes. Our outdated patriarchal society is horribly judgmental about women having casual relationships, but also hates men who do it because they’re genetically blessed with looks and don’t need an interesting personality. Scum.


There’s a word for people like you: ‘popular’. It’s worth doing a cost-benefit analysis of your endless unsatisfying hook-ups and maybe doing something more fulfilling, like deep-cleaning the bathroom.


You’re either a prostitute or a member of Motley Crue, so this is fine because it’s your job.