DUE to a hospitality mix-up, you’ve invited either prime-minister-in-waiting Boris Johnson or prime-minister-in-exile Jeremy Corbyn to a dinner party. But which would be the worst company?
An opportunity to sparkle with witty conversation is wasted by both men, as Corbyn finishes an anecdote about trade unions with what guests only belatedly realise later is a punchline.
Johnson, meanwhile, attempts to riff in Latin like he used to but his brain cannot be arsed to indulge him anymore, so peters out with everyone staring at him blankly.
Both Corbyn and Johnson decide to clear the air by addressing accusations of anti-Semitism and Islamophobia respectively, but by employing phrases like ‘letterbox woman’, ‘Rothschild-run media’, ‘Osama was an Arsenal fan’ and ‘Zionist top hat giraffe’ spectacularly fail to do so.
The potatoes dauphinouse send Corbyn into a reminiscence about the gulags, which he eventually manages to grudgingly say were a bad thing after much prompting from a senior aide.
Johnson, meanwhile, complains that his bacon-wrapped guinea fowl is not exotic enough and demands roast hedgehog, pangolin or leatherback sea turtle. When told they are not available, he throws his red wine over the sofa to teach you.
Outraged to be offered luxuries during a time of class warfare, Corbyn slaps your face and storms out. Outraged not to be offered a selection, Johnson slaps your face and asks you to storm out because he’s tired.
Both men make terrible dinner guests and will make terrible prime ministers. Possibly within the year.