Push the stake in and then the satire.
@AyoCaesar Are you going to pull the knifes out of his (Boris Johnson) back?
— Mike H (@mikoh123) June 18, 2024
It’s ridiculous, you defenestrated him because he tanked in the polls & his conduct in office
Now you are going to stitch Charles 1st head back on
It’s a gimmick & it stinks of desperation#politicslive pic.twitter.com/19WXY6JJFf
In a dusty, dimly lit backroom of Conservative Party HQ, a group of senior Tories huddled around a flickering candle, chanting incantations from an ancient book titled “The Big Book of Political Necromancy.”
Sir Percival Plotter, the head of the group, raised his hands dramatically. “Tonight, we shall resurrect the one, the only, Boris Johnson!”
Lord Bunglebury, adjusting his monocle, whispered nervously, “But are we sure this is a good idea? The last time we did this, he tried to prorogue Parliament from a Tesco car park.”
“Silence!” Sir Percival snapped. “We need his charisma, his flair, and his ability to distract the public with Latin quotes and improbable tales of his adventures on a zipline. Besides, who else can we put up against Keir Starmer? Jacob Rees-Mogg? He’s still stuck in the 17th century!”
The group murmured in reluctant agreement. The chanting grew louder as a puff of smoke filled the room. Suddenly, there he was: a disheveled figure with tousled hair and a bewildered look, clutching a half-eaten sandwich.
“Boris!” Sir Percival exclaimed. “You’ve returned!”
Boris looked around, confused. “Where am I? Is this… is this a committee meeting? Good heavens, I thought I’d finally escaped those!”
“You’re back to lead us once more!” Lady Pifflepuff declared, her excitement barely contained.
Boris scratched his head. “Lead? Again? Oh, dear, I was hoping to write another book. Or maybe get lost in a fridge for a while longer.”
“But Boris,” Lord Bunglebury interjected, “the country needs you! We are third in the polls and you managed to bamboozle all those plebby morons last time.
Boris perked up. “We’ve been found out? Splendid! I do love a good deception. But what about all the corruption, Brexit lies and the pandemic?”
“Well,” Sir Percival hedged, “it’s sort of… still happening. But never mind that! We need you to rally the troops, bumble through speeches, and, most importantly, lie convincingly.”
Boris grinned. “Ah, lying. My old friend. Alright, I’ll do it! For Queen and country! And maybe a spot on a reality TV show later.”
The Tories cheered. Boris was back, and with him, a new wave of chaos, confusion, and cleverly disguised incompetence. The nation braced itself for the return of the man who could make headlines out of haircuts and policy out of piffle.
And so, with a rousing “Tally-ho!” Boris Johnson stumbled back onto the political stage, ready to charm, bewilder, and, above all, entertain the masses once more. The Conservative Party, for worse or worser, had their figurehead back.
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