Chomping at the bits of popular culture. This is a parody account, not affiliated with Michael Gambon, Warner Brothers or the North Korean Government in any way
Just had to point out to Boris that having 6 snivelling kids made in your own image squawking at your door and having to pick one to stay over even though you just know they're going to shit everywhere and you hate their guts is basically a regular Friday evening for him.
Currently having to explain to Boris that 'resign as PM' doesn't mean the same as 're-sign as PM'. He's trying to call mulligans on it all and just go again.
I don't have the heart to remind him of the truth: it wasn't him who brought Brexit home. It was actually a crack squad of elite BAFTA winning actors, celebrity chefs and Dave Benson-Phillips. But that's another story for another day...
Emergency call from Downing Street tonight. Tricky scenes on arrival: Bozza's locked himself in the bogs and won't flush, won't leave, won't even wipe. He just keeps wittering away, "I GOT BREXIT DONE YOU KNOW!" from on open cubicle, todge and podge out for all to see.
I knew there'd be tears, but it doesn't make things any easier.
"You remember Brexit?" Boris is wheezing at me, like a sad fart on repeat. "I...I really did get it done."
"I'm not speaking to you until you pull up your trousers," I insist in reply.
Searching the annals of my memoirs lately, I dug out a moving memory of the late Rickman which brought a tear to my eye and a slight rush of blood to the loins. Here goes: