Letter to Johnson of ‘Trump, Johnson, Bolsanaro & Co (unlimited)’

28th May 2020

Dear Johnson,

It’s now two weeks since I last wrote to you and it’s become very apparent that you do not do too well without me.

As a part-time prototype premier and pretender, participating almost permanently in puerile procrastination, your parsimonious protestations at the prohibited pursuits of Cummings your perfidious principal, reveal your own proclivity for perfidious practices.

You are a prime purveyor of porkies and your pusillanimous performance pertinent to Cummings’ pilgrimages was pure phantasmagory.

Despite your Churchillian pipe-dreams your presentational performance and the phenobarbital nature of your peroration together portray you as the premature ejaculation of political intercourse. They point to the need for a proctologist as a speech therapist.

Your status as a philandering pinnochio, primarily pointed at your penile protuberance and with a prepubescent predisposition to pimp for the perquisites of power, means that you present as a chancer completely out of his depth in a post requiring prescience, perspicacity and probity.

The best advice anyone could offer would be for you to jump into the car with Dom and go to Durham to stay with his Mam. You can always do a few day trips to Barnard Castle. The Blind leading the Blind would cover it all from all angles.

Words fail me!

Yours as ever,

Robert

PS. I’ll write again in a couple of weeks or after your next blunder, whichever is the sooner.