Water Load Of Rubbish

Score one for the Downing Street crew! While vacuous Corbynites have been wringing thier hands over the colour of bathroom doors, Johnson is getting things done!

In the latest step of levelling up the building back better we can now chuck our untreated rubbish into the sea. Finally we are back to a time when men were men and you could throw your chamber pot out of your window onto a haughty Irishman as you saw fit!

The universally hated EU invented all these ridiculous rules to interfere with everyday British life. Is it not written in the Magna Charter that “he who is of English blood can lay his waste down upon her noble soil”? What I’m saying is:that time I got caught short and had to shit in that climbing frame? I should have my conviction quashed and all those people who wrote that horrible stuff about me in the local paper should be shot.

Like you I’m tired of wishy washy lefty whingers telling me where I can and cannot dump my, potentially, hazardous waste. So thank you Boris and every member of your party who voted to get rid of those rubbish (pun!) environmental protection laws.

So go forth my friends take your cats litter tray, your sanitary waste bins (ladies) and take your used car batteries and throw them into the river! Your countries water ways need you.

Protocol Patsys

Lord Frost is a giant of British politics, a hero of Brexit and Boris’s attack dog at the forefront of the assault on the EU.

He heroically battled Brussels to secure the Brexit deal and maintain peace in Northern Ireland. If it had been down to Frau Merkel Belfast would have been put to the torch and the sound of claymores clashing would have woken sleepers up in Liverpool!

The deal was wrenched from the bloody remains of the EU and borne triumphantly back to Blighty by a score of cavorting Spitfires! It was rightly paraded down the highways and byways of the UK to thunderous applause and triumphant music. Millions of Brits stood outside of their homes openly weeping and applauding Lord Frost as he used his last reserves of strength to soak it all up.

He was our St George taking on the EU dragon with nothing but his sword (cutting British wit) and shield (faith in Brexit). He slew the heretical beast and bathed in the blood of its deal. We as a nation lapped it up.

The oven ready deal with a side serving of Northern Ireland protocol was served up to us and we tucked into it like gruel at a orphanage.

A cast iron deal, it’s foundations dug deep into the soul of Brexit, a bastion of hope for the embattled peoples of Europe desperate to follow our lead. The protocol will stay! Long live the protocol!

Unlike the EU and it’s “science” it’s time we in the UK prove that Frost won’t melt!

No Shortage Of Nonsense

So because we can’t get the feckless, jobless, shirtless Lefties out of thier libraries and onto the farms we’ve got a “waste” problem. Potatoes sit in thier fields and lambs skip round the pasture instead of simmering in the pot.

It’s a Brexiteers worst nightmare.

So as Christmas looms towards us like a thousand bomber raid over Berlin and millions of turkeys still live, what are we to do?

Luckily for Britain this patriot has thier brain set in forward gear and am about to blow your minds:

Kill your own meat! Every Leave voting Brit should receive a invitation from a local farm and asked to come down and pick thier Christmas Dinner!

You can kill your turkey/sheep/goat in anyway you want and take it immediately home! It’ll be like it was during the war when you were expected to go out and empty the rabbit traps before breakfast. You couldn’t just walk over to the freezer and pull yourself out a hunk of cheese to eat for breakfast because we didn’t have them. Cheese or freezers. All meat was kept chilled outside in the massive snow drifts that were everywhere in the UK from 1945-1978.

I’m not saying we can all just waltz up to a farmer and demand to throttle the life out of the chickens. That would be silly. There will be a timetable for you to arrive so we don’t overwhelm the farm and I’m sure they’ll be some local totty about cheering you on. Cheering as you “Kill For Britain”