How could you do this?
The warnings have been there, but nobody ever listens, do they? You all go ahead and vote for that funny looking chap of the telly.
For God’s sake.
Boris Johnson is Mayor of London.
Well, don’t come crying to me when he pops your right eyeball out and skull fucks you until spurting devil’s jizz all over your brain, because YOU allowed him to that. YOU gave him power. YOU elected him.
It’s all YOUR fault.
“But Boris is all right. Boris tells it like it is. Boris is funny on Have I Got News For You.”
In four years time Boris will probably still tell it like it is and will probably still be vaguely amusing on celebrity panel games, but London will be a smouldering mess of disaster after disaster. Cross-Rail will be a failure. The buses non-existent. The congestion charge zone a thing of the past and any car journey requires you to leave yesterday. Race tensions will be at an all time high because every three months the Mayor forgets the microphone is still on and says what he really thinks. Crime will be on the up because, let’s be honest, no-one is going to take someone who sounds like a the deranged offspring of an inbred Lord and a tortoise seriously.
And Boris will be happy in his Oxfordshire mansion watching the chaos descend.
Fine, you can have him if that’s what you want. You deserve each other.
I’m emigrating to Norwich which at least had the intelligence to elect more socially-environmentally conscious councillors than anywhere else in the country. Even if there is a risk of becoming a tractor molesting Delia Smith fetishist, I’m off.
God, even the young lad who stood for the Hull Mayoral elections in a monkey costume a few years ago was better than Boris. At least he had no opinions on anything other than trying to raise the profile of Hull FC. Boris has got views and ideas and lots of them.
And they’re nasty.