I can’t wait for the unveiling of the Conservative Manifesto….

I can’t wait for the unveiling of the Conservative Manifesto. A year off work unpaid to look after your dying granny so the NHS doesn’t have to. Fuck me, that’s a vote winner right there. I suppose at home your fully patched Windows 10 laptop won’t accidentally make a brew instead of running her dialysis machine, before asking you for your fucking credit card details.

That wasn’t a hack by the way, that was just the tories dipping their toe in the water, to see how the public would react when asked to pop their pin in for a cheeky look at their own Virgin medical records.

So what are the other policies on offer? 100 x 0 hour contracts? A promise of 100 guaranteed no hours per month?

200 brand new food banks a year for the next 5 years?

Compulsory assisted dying for those deemed a burden to the Democratic Republic of Great England?

Let’s be honest, the rumoured announcements so far have been less dazzling than a Lada headlight haven’t they? Corbyn’s going to end world poverty with a fucking poem at a rally, Farron’s walking around in a ‘I’m the 48%’ T-Shirt whilst smoking a spliff, and Paul Nutall is in some alien town, pretending he’s lived there all his life whilst having an existential crises over his 9th pint of Carling.

And what are you doing Theresa? Apart from being miffed at disabled people and creaming yourself over dead foxes? Ah that’s right, promising people no money for not working.

It’s like you don’t want to win. It’s like you’ve just thought ‘ah, no one wanted this job did they?’ when you realised that Brexit means fucking nightmare. Has the penny finally dropped? Have you realised that this is going to more chaotic than a late Boris looking for his fucking car keys?

Well it’s too late now. Fox hunting isn’t going to swing it. You could literally stand in front of a lectern tomorrow and announce the hunger games and you’d still win by a fucking landslide.

Corbyn could turn water into wine before ascending to heaven and Mail readers would be pointing out his obvious fucking drink problem.

There’s no turning back now.

Jezza man, wake the fuck up. You’ve got three weeks…

Jezza man, wake the fuck up. You’ve got three weeks to sort your fucking shit out. I know, I know, kinder fairer politics blah blah blah. That shit won’t wash pal. You can’t fight the fucking Nazis by throwing rose petals and expressing your disdain through the medium of interpretive dance.

The world is on the brink of nuclear war so shut the fuck up about abolishing Trident for now. We love an underdog in the UK but not a fucking liability son. So get yourself a fucking spin doctor and a suit, play the establishment game and for fuck sake memorise your notes because at the moment you sound like a confused missing grandfather at a bus station.

You won’t win, you can’t fucking win and even if you were competent, that cunt Murdoch will devour you like John Prescott with cake at a christening. Still, taking all that into consideration, a fucking brick would be better than these shower of cunts.

So, get to it, I want to see a Rocky style montage of you holding babies, people laughing at your anecdotes, you stood in a new hospital with your sleeves rolled up and your tie tucked into your shirt, and on building sites with a high visibility jacket and a hard hat. Yes, the only way you can win over the great British brainless bastards is to become a fucking mock Tory.