YOUR
GUIDE 
TO
THE 
NEXT 
PRIME
MINISTER.
NAME: Boris Johnson
AGE: 54
ABOUT: Looks like several dogs standing on each other's shoulders and wearing a coat in an attempt to get into a cinema to watch a film about a bum that's come to life. 
Looks like what would happen if the moon lost its job and started sleeping rough around Milton Keynes and stealing suits from outside the British Heart Foundation charity shop.
Called black people "flag waving piccaninnies with watermelon smiles and said they were thick compared with "orientals"and accused the president of Turkey of fucking a goat. Basically says the sort of stuff your Grandad would say if you thwacked him around the head with a dildo until he got brain damage.

NAME: Michael Gove
AGE: 51
ABOUT: Looks like a man who's taken off his space helmet on Mars and has seconds left to live. 
A man so devoid of integrity that he doesn't even have any in or around his own chin. 
A man who looks like a haunted ventriloquist dummy that's been carved out of a turnip by a paedophile.
Michael Gove looks like he's had his face cut off by a serial killer and then used as a sort of mitt to extract honey from a bee hive before having it carelessly tossed back onto his skull by someone in a hurry.
Jogs around London like someone who's just killed, fucked and eaten (in that order) a woman in a local park.
After his time as Education Secretary, he's now less popular with teachers than chicken pox and headline.


NAME: Dominic Raab
AGE: 45
ABOUT: Looks like someone in the middle of a compound nervous breakdown who's stapled a bunch of wafer thin ham onto their own head before going on a rampage in a South London train station armed with a machete.
Says that the average food bank user is taking the piss, feminists are obnoxious bigots and that the NHS is a childish wish list.
The sort of shit he comes out with makes you wonder if his forehead is a prosthetic mass of putty placed there to cover up his fucking horns.
Even his name looks like it's probably some sort of anagram of an ancient, malevolent demon from Mesopotamia.


NAME: Jeremy Hunt
AGE: 52
ABOUT: A man who's done so much damage to the National Health Service he makes Dr Harold Shipman look like Florence Nightingale. 
A man who looks like he'd rohypnol his closest friends at a dinner party and sell their organs on the back market. 
His wry, smug, smile looks like it should be accompanied by the sound of a high court judge lambasting him for his lack of remorse at the end of harrowing and disturbing court case.
Hunt is a man who is referred to as Jeremy Cunt every single time his name is mentioned on the news due to the sheer power of word association and unconscious, Freudian, impulses. 


NAME: Sajid Javid 
AGE: 49
ABOUT: A man with a perfectly round head who's skull will presumably one day be displayed in Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum causing future anthropologists to even question its authenticity.  
A man who stands with such a wide power stance, in an attempt to evoke authority, that he looks like he's just had a fire extinguisher pushed up his arse by a bear.
He's constantly voted for tougher immigration and benefit cuts like some sort of cunt, despite recognising that those people threatened with deportation could have been his parents
He's kicked down more ladders than a fucking scaffolder. 


NAME: Jacob Rees-Mogg
AGE: 49
ABOUT: he looks like a drawing of Postman Pat that's been scratched into the side of a spinning Jenny by a Victorian chimney sweep. And not in a good way.
He looks like a 19th Century steam engine salesman who spends his evenings drowning children in the lake at the bottom of his garden and reciting incantations from Aleister Crowley's Satanic Bible. 
He looks like what might happen if Adolf Hitler was ever reincarnated in the form of the Windows 95 'helpful paperclip' and sent back 200 years through a wormhole to campaign against the abolition of the slave trade.
The kind of simpering, hat-wringing simpletons who support Jacob-Rees-Mogg are the types of people who camp outside Buckingham Palace for 3 days, crying and waving their Union Jack flags whilst awaiting the arrival of a royal baby, whilst back in their bedsit - littered with Sprite bottle containing their own piss - the eviction notices continue to rain through the letterbox. Unaware of the irony and devoid of hope. These are the worst humans in the world. Evolved, miraculously from the types of people who ran into gunfire during the Crimean War because a man with a handlebar moustache who went to Cambridge told them to.
Fucking hell.

GRAND 
NATIONAL
2019
RUNNERS

INVISIBLE RICHARD'S TANKTOP EPIPHANY 
7/2
Trainer: Seamus O'Shadowpuppet
Came third in the Gaviscon Cup last year. Been running well on soft ground and has spent the entire year eating bees. Put everything you own on it unless you're fucking stupid, I would.

THE KNACKERED RADIATOR
10/1
Trainer: Finbar O'Toolbox
Been on good form lately. Runs sideways like a crab like something you might see in your worst nightmare, but don't let that put you off. Apparently, the jockey plans to ride this horse "on the inside", which involves climbing into the beast via the anus and wearing the hind legs like a pair of trousers. Never been done before but apparently well within the rules. Could be an interesting punt. 

CARDBOARD TROTTERS
10/1
Trainer: Harry O'Speedwagon
His mother ran so fast at the 2004 derby that she burst into flames and vanished and reappeared at the finishing line peppered with bullet holes before crumbling into dust. An unfortunate demise but you don't often see speeds like that outside of quantum physics

LEATHER GROIN MASSAGE
12/1
Trainer: Sir Findus Crispy Pancakes
Broke both his front legs and died at the start of the year but plans on running in ghost form. Will be able to run through the fences which will save him time but will be relying on everyone believing that he even exists. Might be an interesting contender.

SLUG PELLET MEDLEY
14/1
Trainer: Padraig O'Battlequest
The trainer has alluded to the fact that Slug Pellet Medley might be wearing a little fake moustache and two pairs of jogging bottoms for a laugh. Might be a funny idea but it won't help him win on the day.

MICHAEL BARRYMORE'S CHLORINATED DEATH PUDDLE
20/1
Trainer: Ardal O'Dardleradar
Sometimes stops halfway around the course to nibble at the grass so the team would do very well to make sure he's nice and full up on sausages, bovril, luncheon meat, Cajun spiced chicken strippers, blancmange and Cadburys Creme Eggs before the starting pistol. 
Fun fact: This horse once killed a child by kicking it in the head.

YOU ARE A OLD MAN NOW
25/1
Trainer: Ronan O'Fingerblast
A really, really, really, fast horse. Faster than like a mouse or man on a bike. Stinks though.  A really smelly horse. The Jockey fucking stinks of piss as well. No one likes this horse. Or the fucking jockey. Honestly just the worst gang of cunts you can think of. I hope they both fall over and fucking die.

THE JAPANESE RETARD
33/1
Trainer: Dermot O'Dermotodermatologist
Due to a corporate tie-in with a popular chocolate manufacturer this horse is actually a zebra which apparently falls within the rules of entry due to some kind of equine loophole. Slow as fuck. Doesn't stand a chance. Daft little legs. Bringing the entire sport into disrepute. Good name though. Also the jockey is fit as arseholes. 

BLIND IAN'S FASCIST PIGGY BANK
40/1
Trainer: Bishop Brendan O'Breadbasket
This horse has got horse cancer so it probably won't win.

CHUBBY DENNIS
100/1
Trainer: Keenan O'O'Estrogen 
Ran nicely in the Fray Bentos Steeplechase in Harrogate last summer. Loves Jesus. He once had sex with his own Grandad which is a shame but he's a lovely horse and his trainer is a real character.
He's unlikely to do well at The National this year though since his testicles have ballooned in size and now it looks like he's dragging two Fiat Cincquecentos around in a tarpaulin. They really are just SO big it's hard to explain. It's actually cruel keeping him alive. There's a petition on the internet with almost 35'000 signatures in favour of  having him shot in the head with a bolt gun just to put him out of his fucking misery.


THE BEST OF THE REST


  • ROARING LUCY BANTERBUS
  • 14000 PHOTOS OF MY VAGINA
  • KINKY MUNGO
  • CALL ME, CHELMET
  • THE N WORD
  • BONG EYED RICHARD
  • A HORSE CALLED VACUUM BAG
  • RICHARD OSMAN'S DORMANT TAMAGOTCHI 
  • CRAP ALAN
  • A BILLION YEARS OF SUGARCRAFT
  • BINGO THE DIRT MERCHANT
  • GRAZING ON HAMMERITE
  • 50 SHADES OF PIG SHIT
  • LADDERGOESUPLADDERGOESDOWNYESIKNOWHOWA LADDERWORKSTHANKS
  • JEFFREY DAHMER'S TERRIBLE POP UP RESTAURANT
  • MALARIA BOY
  • SHATTERED ANUS
  • DISSAPOINTING ROY
  • GULLABLE SUSAN
  • BORN WITH A HEAD FULL OF WASPS

HOW TO 
HAVE SEX:
A BEGINNER'S 
GUIDE


First and foremost it's important to find someone who is/isn't up for it (sex). This could be just about anyone; your wife / boyfriend / slut / dog / neighbour's dog.

Approach your target (try not to refer to them as a 'target'). Strike up conversation but be sure to keep it erotic. Tell her/him/it that he/she/it looks 'fuckable' (use the word 'fuckable' as often as possible).  Make some more crude remarks. Smile. If it feels appropriate then do that little hand gesture where you make a circle with two fingers and then poke at it with an extended digit.

Once you're certain that this person doesn't work for the Metropolitan Police then it's time to drag them back to your luxury hotel room / caravan / disgusting corner.

Set the mood. Mince around the place lighting candles and laughing. Remember this is supposed to be fun. 

Ask your lover if they'd like to put some music on. If they didn't bring any music then shout at them. Force them to sing. Make them dance. Create an uncomfortable atmosphere before apologising profusely for your dreadful behaviour. 

CHAMPAGNE! (apologise for not having any Champagne)

Ask / force your lover to wash. (If you're also covered in soilthen it might be a good idea to join them in the shower). This can be a great opportunity to try out a bit of 'foreplay'. Kiss his/her neck. Fondle their ears. Stick your fingers up his/her bum.

Return to the bedroom. If your partner seems frightened / disorientated then help them to remove all of their clothes. They'll be all wet now after that shower. Perhaps your partner is in the early stages of hypothermia. That would explain the far away look in their eyes. Keep talking to them. Say things like "I can't wait to see your penis" or "I'm still well up for a bit of slap 'n' tickle if you are". Stroke their hair.

Climb into the bed / nest / bin and let the sex commence. Go absolutely mental. Do whatever comes into your head. Shout, scream, applaud, laugh, spit and fire jets of milk out of your nose. Act like you've been possessed by some kind of bonkers sex demon. 

Have a little sleep

Repeat this process as many times as you like until your knob or fanny hurts / the authorities arrive.

Apologise to your lover for a) Making them cry, and b) Giving them aids.

Kick them out into the cold


Enjoy the rest of the afternoon and give yourself a big pat on the back.