Labour flummoxed over what to do about this pig thing

LABOUR spin doctors are puzzled as to how they can possibly use the pig sex thing to make David Cameron look bad.

Party strategists are hopeful the story can be turned to their advantage, but admit that scoring political points will test their skills to the limit.

Media adviser Tom Logan said: “I keep going over the facts – a pig’s head, a gang of whooping Oxbridge lordlings, David Cameron’s exposed penis – and my instinct is telling me, there must be something here we can use. But what?

“Maybe the pig wasn’t certified free range organic? They’ll hate that in Nuneaton.”

Labour PR guru Nikki Hollis added: “If we want voters to trust us again, we have to present a realistic alternative to having oral sex with a dead pig.

“I’m an experienced media professional but, for the life of me, I just can’t think what it could be.”

Hollis stressed that other news stories, such as swingeing cuts to child benefits, were not relevant to the pig sex thing, so her party would probably not bother talking about them.

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‘A hooded stranger holding a pig’s head told me he could make me prime minister’

My story, by David Cameron

It is Oxford, November 1987 and I am in the private room of a restaurant with a few of my closest friends.

The wine and laughter are flowing when suddenly the music stops, the lights dim and my friends leave hurriedly, like a flock of birds spooked by a deadly predator.

In the doorway, I see a hooded figure carrying a large velvet bag that I assume contains some sort of sports ball.

The figure approaches me, his face hidden, always, in shadow. And then he speaks, his voice smooth yet also disturbingly rough.

“Hello David. Do you mind if I call you David?”. “No, of course not,” I reply. “Who are you?”.

“My name is not important. Let’s just say that I want to help you. Do you have dreams David?”

“Well yes, I think that one day I would very much like to be the prime minster of this great country.”

“Then what if I told you that I could make that dream come true? Would that be something that would interest you, David?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Well, in that case David, I need you to do something for me.”

He then opened the bag carefully and produced the head of a dead pig and told me to stick my penis in its mouth. Like anyone in that situation, I immediately did as he asked. In the dim light a camera flashed.

In the days that followed I became alive with the certain knowledge that the great power I craved would one day be mine.

But time passed and I started to wonder if, perhaps, I had been duped by a massive pervert. Then, in October 1993, I was invited to a reception at News International. I mingled nervously before a young secretary from the News of the World called Rebekah took me gently by the elbow and ushered me towards Rupert Murdoch.

The great man looked me in the eye and told me how impressed everyone was with my work as a special adviser at the Treasury and Home Office and that he was sure I had an ‘important future’.

At first I was mesmerised, but as I listened to him I thought, ‘that voice, it sounds so familiar…’

Anyway, turns out he did the same thing to Tony Blair, but with a goat.