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Dear Honourable Sir Kier, great lord and master,
We the undersigned, who've been sitting on the other side of the House for the past 14 years wearing red trousers and sneering at you, admit that regrettably, at a few points in the past, we may have called you a vile quasi-communist cockroach for serving on the Labour front bench under the leadership of Jeremy Corbyn.
We may also have called you Britain's Little Hitler in chief for advocating lockdowns during the pandemic.
It may also conceivably be possible that we repeatedly yelled across the chamber during PM Questions that you were an unutterably boring piece of dried-up kelp and a great steaming human bollard.
We may also have called your lovable deputy a sullen, sour-faced minx and told Rachel Reeves that she couldn't think her way out of a wet Co-op paper bag.
Since learning the results of the local elections, we have suddenly realised that these statements were entirely misguided and untrue, and that all this time we had been yearning to advance the causes of social democracy and trade unionism.
Therefore, we would like very much to defect to your side of the House, really sharpish, so that we can stand for our seats as Labour candidates in the upcoming general election - thus avoiding becoming political roadkill in a Tory meltdown which we now realise is totally on the cards.
This, of course, has nothing to do with the fact that no one, absolutely no one, has responded to our bleating pleas on Linkedin for post-election directorships and such like. People must think we are unemployable, for some reason.
If you let us join you, we promise to think up some really spiteful and vitriolic put-downs to yell at the senior Tories we used to grovel to - Sunak, for instance, or whatever hapless sod succeeds him as leader.
Shameless and rat-like, that's what we are. You could use people like us.
Signed,
150 desperate Tory MPs.
The British Rodent Society has angrily denied claims that one of their members is controlling George Galloway’s speech from under his hat, like that rat in Ratatouille.
A spokesrat told us ‘Our members are furious about this. So he wears a hat and spouts pish and everybody assumes it’s because a rat is somehow working his vocal chords? Get real, bud’.
If Galloway’s hat doesn’t conceal a rodent then its function remains unclear. Perhaps it’s a theatrical prop like Churchill’s cigar or Che Guevera’s beret, although those two props had the good fortune to be attached to humans who commanded some respect. If hats could talk maybe we’d hear it squeaking out an SOS, begging to be relocated to a better person, but of course hats are mute. Unlike rats. And, sadly, very unlike George Galloway.
image from pixabay
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