Posted by on 12 Aug 2015 20:51
I
love to see you jogging though the streets with your XXXXXL minder
right beside you. YOU love wearing blue, even when they MRS tries to
hide it from you, you are a blue man trough and through, just like a
stick of Westminister rock. Speaking of rock, does your noisy neighbour
in No.11 keep you up all night with his drumming practice, the rat a tat
tat of his drums, does Ringo visit him often. What about little Norman
from the BBC, does he come in for a cocoa in the evening, he's soaking
wet stood outstide all day. Then Laura is back, the girl done good
Political Editor no doubt. Norman will have to make space at the kitchen
table to let her squeeze in. What about the bedtime stories do the
journalists take turns to tell tales to your kids, like vampire stories
and the like, how the Labour party came back from the dead under JC,
Jeremy Corbin. Though even your kids would not believe that. Then at
Xmas they'll be the football match in Downing Street, police v
journalists just like in WWI, only the *******s will be the politicians
watching from the windows. Well thats how police and journalists speak
of our leaders. And on it goes, I'm waiting for Rupert Murdoch to give
me a spot in his press, his trouser press, my clothes are so crumpled
after all. I'll stop here as my candle nas reached its end, and Bob
Cratchit is nowhere to be seen.
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