MY MPs tried to kick me out. The country booed me at the Jubilee. But I’m here with one thing to say to the turncoats: suck my big posh dick.
First up – my so-called party. Especially you Red Wall scum. If it wasn’t for me you’d still be accountants in Shitville-on-Sea, so down on your knees and get sucking. I’ll regard it as a bit of rough.
No one wants to be sucked off by Andrew Bridgen, but them’s the rules. And of course there’s Jeremy Hunt. Get down there and do a good job on my balls. No kneeling on a cushion.
Nor have I forgotten the journalists saying it would be ‘a close-run thing’. Big f**king deal, I won. Chris Mason and Fiona Bruce, let’s see your heads bobbing away. Not Peston, he’d enjoy it too much.
Then there’s those booing crowds at St Paul’s. Ultimately you humiliated yourselves so get your gobs round my knob. Most of you voted for me anyway. On with it and don’t worry about putting your false teeth in.
Obviously I’ll be pretty spaffed out by this stage. I’ll have to keep drinking plenty of water and eating yoghurt, because I don’t want to let down one particular fellator: Sir Keir Starmer.
For weeks I’ve been listening to his sanctimonious crap about parties. I think we’d all welcome him shutting up for five minutes thanks to a mouthful of Boris meat.
And last? You, the British public. Wouldn’t shut up about Brexit, then the moment there’s a queue in an airport you’re moaning like bastards.
It’ll take months for you all to blow me but that’s not a problem. As you may have noticed, I’m not going anywhere.