World Gone Bongo: Corbyn still haunts my mind
In today's World Gone Bongo, Andy talks us through the disgusting dreams that haunt his mind thanks to ex-Labour leader, Jeremy Corbyn.
Being a normal man, I refuse to seek mental support or guidance for my Jeremy Corbyn-themed night terrors. “Get out of my brain,” I typically shout as I awake from them, my PJs sodden with sweat, images of Corbyn milking me into a big vat that says “TAXPAYERS' MONEY” still haunting my otherwise entirely sensible, healthy mind. I am evidently not alone in my suffering. A friend of mine, a former writer for the NME, confessed to me last week that he can no longer maintain an erection as a result of Corbyn-induced trauma. Another friend, a Spectator columnist, bludgeoned to death his ex-wife’s Bichon Frise, having momentarily imagined it with Corbyn’s gnarled face.
Needless to say, this incident caused much distress all round—not least to my friend who was unable to make the despicable, miserly Corbyn pay for a new dog. It must be said that the emergence of Sir Keir Rodney Starmer, an impressive human rights lawyer with a grown up outlook, has lessened the severity of my night terrors. For one thing, Starmer has given me hope that he is looking out for the little guy—your average Fray Bentos bloke down the pub who’s got a couple of houses, but aspires to expand his property portfolio and possibly buy a Francis Barnett motorbike.
In other words: Starmer is heralding a new golden age of politics, the likes of which we have not seen since Cleggmania. Sure, he’s not as effortlessly cool as Clegg, but he’s got sass and sex appeal in abundance, not to mention a cool quiff and a playful FatFace fleece. Although still early days, I am confident that before too long my Corbyn nightmares will be displaced by sweet dreams of Starmer. I am confident, too, that falling asleep will one day in the future no longer mean being tied to a chair while Corbyn force feeds me spoonfuls of socialism and makes go, “Mmm, yummy!”We are all, each and every one of us, victims of Jeremy Corbyn’s descpicable reign of terror, but we needn’t suffer in silence. I’ve started a support group for Mentally Disturbed Centrists Tormented By Corbyn (the MDCTBC) at the food lounge of Donington Park Moto. We meet there every Wednesday night at 7:00 and together we are learning to heal and grow. I’m not talking about a bunch of divorced sadsacks sitting about crying (though most of us are separated). We are all extremely successful media professionals who are trying to come to terms with what happened in 2015, while also formulating direct action that will lead us back to where we were in 2012. If you feel that you’re one of us, we would love to hear from you. United together we can overcome Corbyn.
End it here.