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By Tim West:

“The right wing media is about to throw a shit-fit and launch a full scale propaganda war against "hard left" Labour leadership candidate Jeremy Corbyn. The Sun, in time-honoured tradition, will no doubt Photoshop his head to a number of various people/objects. Sit back and enjoy the character assassination with this handy bingo card. “

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Tomorrow’s Daily Express

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“Trickle Down Economics” by Jim Cameron (no relation)

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New Fast Food Idea by Mike Fleming illustration by Owen Watts "In the spirit of the new (by which I mean old and bloated) apparently "elected" regime, I think I've come up with an amazing new scheme that they may even use. It's a perfect way for the government to make more money for themselves using even more of our money through their most favourite of tactics, greed!

I call it 'The Entrepreneurial Neo Tory Fast Food Restaurant'. The theory is that most people seem to crave greasy, slimy and unhealthy fast food from greasy, slimy and unhealthy people. The unwashed masses are willing to pay anyone under the sun to get their hands on a bit of 'it' (whatever 'it' is), for themselves.

The Entrepreneurial Neo Tory Fast Food Restaurant Menu

Table Sauces:

Misoginaise - A delightful dose of fear of women that can be added to all dishes for that extra Tory zing.

Fat-Catsup - Expensively made sauce with a complex series of flavours that initially tastes sweet but then leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Drinks Options:

Bigotade - You won't like it but the staff won't care what you think. What could you possibly even understand about it?!

Homophobiade - A wonderful fruit drink full of sparkle, happiness and the joys of life, but only for people the staff deem as 'normals'.

Club Hand-Shake - A drink that gets you places... Dark and mysterious places... Possibly made with hallucinogenic drugs plus the addition of the blood of virgins and rent-boys.

Side Dishes:

Small Fries - A tiny portion of chips dolled out to plebs by a fat man in a cat costume and top hat that tells you he is doing it for your benefit.

Large Fries - Only given out to those who know the secret hand shake and can sing the restaurant's motivational advertising jingle backwards with a knowing wink whilst wearing a golden restaurant badge that no-one knows how to get hold of which must be given out by someone... but whom?

Main Dishes:

Welfare Wrap- You have to work for it and at the end of it, they slap you in the face and tell you that you need to work harder to earn it.

Bankers Bap - Exclusive to bankers and filled with lots of fillings that they don't need but get anyway.

Reform-ed Roll - Starts off as a great burger and gets worse every time you purchase one.

Nuggety Health Service - The first nugget is free, then you pay incrementally more each time you feel hungry.

The IDS Meal Deal - Staff give you a voucher that was found and clipped out of a free newspaper for a reduced tin of beans to be collected out of site, somewhere else, not that you even deserve that.

Disability Rings - Staff run rings around you telling you that you want to eat something else and then leave the meal out of arms reach.

Tower Block Stack - You see an amazing but expensive meal, tailor made to exactly what you desire. It is placed right in front of you, so you decide to slowly purchase it piece by piece. However if you can't pay for it and it's large interest rate on time, the staff take the whole meal away and eat it themselves while you have to watch.

Kid's Menu - A tiny portion of any of the above with no freebies. They have to earn their toy... The freeloading wankers.

Dessert Menu:

Nothing - The staff tell you that there isn't anything left for the likes of you. There would have been if immigrants hadn't stolen it when you were looking at the rest of the menu. You then get to watch the staff eating sweet treats out of view of the shop counter as you leave.

... Well there is my idea. It still sounds better than going to an existing fast food chain... Doesn't it?..."

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“Father Osborne”

by Arron Ferguson & Owen Watts

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Leaky Conservative EU Strategy from Joe Abel

1. David Cameron has made it publicly known that he prepares for EU negotiations by deliberately not going to the toilet, which for him induces a sense of thrilling urgency, along with an increased risk of urinary tract infections.

2. Having expertly manoeuvred his party into a position where compromise is no longer an option for him in Europe, one of two things will have to occur: Either the European Union will give into his unreasonable demands, or David Cameron will be forced to piss himself.

3. Once he pisses himself, he has to choose how he spins the large damp stain running down his leg and a bit onto the floor. For instance, by pretending he has spilled some water on himself - this will not fool the European leaders present from nations with a documented sensory sensitivity to wine and cheese who will inevitably pick up the hefty bouquet of urea from some distance.

4. Alternatively, he double down and just sit there, borrowing a provocative image from the film "Secretary", that of a dedicated submissive partner, refusing to leave the seat assigned by their dominant partner. This portrays it as an act of devotion to the voters who, it would seem, actually want him to soil himself, electing him with a clear mandate to dirty his small things.

5. Since the death of Margaret Thatcher, George Osborne has had a catheter installed to run directly from his penis, beneath his skin, to an arid, long crusted-over, recently excavated tear duct. This has allowed him on at least one occasion to emulate human lachrymal secretions. This piss-filled holy grail for politicians attempting to impersonate a human was a landmark moment for the then Chancellor, and his sad bovine eyes conveyed not only a convincing impression of a sad man, but a sense of triumph, and the pride of craftsmanship. It does mean that ever since then he has had to kneel penitently at the urinal, staring directly into their sodden piss-cakes. Cameron may wish to avoid this, unless he is as previously suggested a water-sports masochist.

6. There is a chance he could portray his incontinence as a sign of age, in an attempt to appear statesmanlike. The Daily Telegraph could run some graphics pieces on all the places Churchill pissed in a drunken, pseudo-canine attempt to convey to other MPs that they were territorially his own.

7. He could whip the damn thing out, piss and have done with it, running around the conference room screaming "I'm a fireman, I'm a fireman!" Whilst this is a bold gambit, it would force the EU leaders onto the defensive, in all likelihood quickly adjourning the meeting unless they wanted to get wee on them.

8. In anticipation of the moment, he could wear Union Jack boxer-briefs, which could be seen whilst a trusted aide or some other responsible grown up quickly changed him. Whilst these would admittedly be stained with fresh, fast cooling wee fluid, the patriotic pants would act as a measure of damage mitigation, and a much needed show of support for the fractured union.

9. Cameron could take a simple backpackers phrasebook, which would have numerous linguistic options with which he could excuse himself to use the restroom. The downside is he may also accidentally make dangerous concessions as to the use or not of condoms in the upcoming renegotiation, a faux-pas that left Neville Chamberlain sitting uncomfortably for a fortnight.

10. He could let the piss out in drips and drabs, releasing a little, waiting for it to dry, and so on, emulating the successful Conservative media strategy to mitigate public outrage at unpleasant policies. This strategy depends almost entirely on his sphincter control, which is of course a deeply personal matter not fit for discussion. Though in fairness, it was Cameron himself who first released his urine into the public consciousness as an apparently pertinent matter for public debate.

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Speech of The Camronoid by Joe Abel

A crooning sack of animate plasma, a fleshy homunculoid manifest of badly mimicked organs and slop, held forth upon the future.

Form yet somehow formless, a shifting mesmeric globule, it shaped itself as one of us, or what it thought a man would look like, if it thought, which I don't think now that it did. It was a medium, a transmissive substance. It could not generate spontaneous neuro-electric activity, it could conduct it, and through resistance, make an array of distracting patterns upon it's surface.

This pattern which it took now was what it didn't think, but rather sluiced into being, that our leaders might look like. It had intercepted a shared mental image of something called a Blair, and was relaying that back to us.

It either sensed that we wanted that image, or placed that image in our minds so that it's indistinctness seemed somehow familiar. Perhaps both. This feedback loop blurred it's definition, warping it within a range of dimensions like a wave form.

It moved to speak, or imitate speech, but seemed wordless, taken a'back. In only superficially articulating the form of a voice box behind the appearance of a mouth. It would have to communicate some other way.

It took the shape of a continent.

Then it made a second image, of our suffering, of everything wrong with the world. I can't tell you what that hateful image looks like, because no one's ever seen it. It was straight from the back of the brain.

Then it flicked it's contours back to that of the continent. It had been horrible. Everyone there was just grateful to be rid of that indescribable second image, that worst part of them made flesh. Just seeing it had made them crumble inwardly. The flesh-mirror had shown them themselves. It represented them, at their lowest. All they wanted was for it not to show them again. They longed not to see their failings and their weakness.

But it flicked back. It oscillated, at first slowly to and fro between that part of each person that tortures reflexively, the bitter black core of resentment, greed and sadism, and the continent again.

It picked up speed. Slowly, the images became indistinct. Like a piece of spinning card with a bird on one side, and a cage on the other, they were multiplied upon each other.

The impossible sack of fluids grinned inwardly upon it's secret side.

It's first organic thought oozed forth:

"...peoples are set against one another, and in silence, unknowingly, foolishly, obediently, innocently slay one another.” - Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet On The Western Front

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“A new leader of the Dark Judges” by David Kendall

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Helpful graphic from David Withers

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From Joe Abel

"On a plane today, reading the Guardian, I had a seizure. I saw a grinning god with a third eye, with skin whose pores were made entirely of microscopic eyes, pores that light poured into endlessly, a suit woven from black-holes. I felt impossibly cold. It spoke in a language without sound, that I didn't hear so much as perceive, that I could understand, but wasn't mine. The transcript to that Tony Blair speech in full: I, Blair the All-Surveiller, Betooth-ed Lord of the Greylands, Civilizer of the Arab Hoards, The True and Rightful Heir of Thatcher, must speak. Cower, mortal voters. Look not directly upon the All-Surveiller, for my true form is void. I watch, but am the unseen. Light is captured within me, never to escape. I appear to you in this bipedal form, though it too shall soon be consumed when it's usefulness is passed. You are points of data, and I shall collect you all in time. Come, little lights. Come into the void. Embrace nothingness. It has been many years since last I came to you. Since I built you expensive new halls in which to languish, schools, hospitals, prisons, built upon the void of debt, the un-money of the credit card. Since I set your island adrift, captained by mad pirate kings, who turned quickly on you to cannibalize you as a beast herd. Since I wrought peace and democracy mercilessly upon your middle-east, defiling your civilization's very cradle. I tell you this - I see into your secret hearts. At your core, you believe that there is still some hope. That the infallible machine which I have set in motion, which I left to my fleshy clone homunculus to carry forward to it's fruition, can be dismantled. That humans, in their fragile form, can disrupt my ineffable designs upon you. This hope will be your undoing. So many of you are already mine. They gawp unblinking towards the Great Anti-Life, my dragon's hoard of unmoney around which all life revolves, slowly circling closer, pulled inevitably and slowly into me, my hunger subsuming all energy, all your progress, all hope. That light at your secret heart, that light which pains me, that is too bright and burns upon the infinite retinas of the All-Surveiller, will be consumed. Your difference, your variety, all will come to me. Come, little lights. Come to the "centre ground". Embrace defeat. Become anti-life. Pass through death, and into my void. You are not matter. You do not matter. You are not of substance. You are insubstantial. We shall all be one and nothing at the centre. Your universe continues to expand. Those who do not join me at the centre will pass further and further into the eccentre, the distance between you will grow. Your little light will not be strong enough to breach that distance. So I make only one promise to you scared little light. If you simply give up, if you come to me now, quickly, without struggle, then you will not be alone. I promise that petty matter you cling to will disperse and compact into the singularity at my centre. Give in. Embrace uniformity and homogeneous indifference. Cease to listen. This is the end. Oh, and apparently we do have tea, coffee, and a selection of alcoholic beverages available which you can purchase from the trolley that will passing through the cabin shortly, the fasten seatbelt sign has been switched off, thank you for choosing Ryanair."

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The Mouth of UKIP by Jordan Collver

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More from Joe Abel:

“ "On the morning after the morning after - further suggestions towards a Leader: > Labour could become one of those trendy new Leaderless movements like Occupy Wall Street, Anonymous, or the actual labour movement. > The Executive Committee could make an interim, pretend socialist out of straw, then put it in a field next to a bacon sandwich to distract the tabloids. > Until a leader is found, The Guardian editorial staff will be put on a 24 hour watch and have it's shoe laces taken away as a precautionary measure. There's only so many opinion pieces you can do. > Ed's problem was that he was bullied. We should make friends with the bully, agree with everything he says, laugh at his unfunny jokes, console him regarding his troubled home life. Then hold a pillow over his face until he stops struggling. > Perhaps we should embrace the fact that the British public aren't very nice, and find a candidate more attuned to that. > In keeping with one of the few consolations of the harrowing events of two nights past, the Leader should probably be one of the humans that is female. > Two nights ago, my country had an election, and we lost... a landmass roughly the size and shape of Scotland. It answers to the name of Scotland. If you see it, please tell it we love it very much and would like it to come home please. Failing that, is there some way we could apply to become part of the New Federation of Affiliated Scosslands, pending their approval? > Lets just all start irresponsibly having as many children as possible, who we all send to Socialist Youth Groups and as many brainwashing events as possible. That way in 18 years there's half a fucking chance we might actually win something. (This is an actual thing in America, there's this right wing cult that tells people to "outbreed the liberals"). > Play that song "Try (Just a Little Bit Harder)" by Janis Joplin outside Labour's offices until they understand exactly what it is the oppressed masses expect from them. > Labour should organise their party in a way more representative of the modern workforce than trade-unionism. Not everyone can pay monthly dues, because not everyone is on a monthly wage. The precariat could have "Zero Hour Membership" of the party, sort of like a pay-as-you-go thing where you pay the Labour Party on an independent contractor basis to procure for you or defend a particular worker's right. They would be evaluated on their performance in delivering this, then paid at the end of the next calendar month. If they complain about this, say they should be more "flexible". Flexible is a word that sounds nice and stretchy and makes people think of sexy bums in a yoga class. But if one thing is flexible, and the other is intractable, the former taking the shape the latter wants it to, a better word for describing the first thing is "compliant"." “

A collage from Joe Abel - as well as this:

“Desirable characteristics for the role of Leader:

1. Looks good eating a sandwich. Like, really good. Almost sexually good. 2. X Factor. Watches it, or convincingly pretends to. 3. Unites the left, rescuing it from petty factionalism, either by being an inspirational god amongst us that we weep to look upon, or by being so miserably dull that no one partisan group has anything that good or bad to say about them either way. 4. That certain something. Specifically: a Voter Brainblocker, deployed against the general population, bombarding them with powerful alpha waves to overcome the huge cognitive dissonance between their actual political beliefs and the depressingly similar pseudo-human suit mannequins actually on offer in their area. 5. The skill of ventriloquism, allowing them to denounce Rupert Murdoch whilst simultaneously lick his anus to a shiny, just-polished sparkle that glistens in the light of The Sun. 6. The ability to make tough decisions, and more importantly, the ability make one hand into a fist, then bring that hand down into the palm of the other hand whilst saying the words "tough decisions”. 7. A full range of genitals, in order to better represent the interests of the entire nation. May require taking a hermaphrodite at birth, raising the brave young ingénue to be the fabled Moon Child of legend. 8. A gaffe proof resolve manifested in the ability to walk through a church full of wanking circus clowns covered in marmalade and holding up misspelt racist signs scrawled on culled badgers, greet them all courteously, and to have the papers limit their comments on the event to the word “statesmanlike” printed over and over again for 30 pages. 9. The other half of the golden amulet Tony Benn was buried with. 10. The ability to replicate the electoral success of Tony Blair, but without repeating all of the terrible things he did. 11. A sweeping mandate of pre-existing public approval and positive coverage from a field unrelated to politics. Example candidates: Pharrell’s Hat, a beloved celebrity that everyone thought was dead. Consider cloning. 12. Some dignity for fuck’s sake. Or failing that, a pair of suitable, grey trousers. 13. Maybe someone who hasn’t spent their entire adult life as a professional politician. An Olympic swimmer maybe? They’re lithe. 14. Someone with a good heart, who’s sweet and kind, and won’t do us wrong like all them others done did. 15. Anyone willing to physically punch David Cameron in his big wide “three holes fucked into a wet sack of flower” face. 16. The ability to latch onto and capitalize on whatever happens to be trending in 5 years time. ‪#‎britainempty‬ ‪#‎everyonedead‬ ‪#‎nationalsuicidepact‬ 17. The temerity to say a thing that might be slightly unpopular but would probably be a good idea, and the humility and good grace to admit that they misspoke and having consulted a think tank, they now believe the opposite of that thing they just said. 18. Big brass balls. Doesn’t have to be theirs, they could submit a pair they cut off and had commemoratively bronzed. 19. Alan Alda. 20. A plan to save which if any public service remains by 2020, most likely the Coast Guard, who at that point will be operating at 40% lifeboat inflation and with a public-private cooperation initiative requiring that before taking a referral, they offer people a leaflet signposting them to alternative therapies and competitors, such as flotsam, jetsam, oxygen-banks, treading water, or a free course of Intensive Immersion Exposure Therapy.“

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“Show Us the Way” by Bryan Coyle

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Judge Farrraaaaggggee by Si Gurr

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A startling portrayal of our ruler by contributor Mike Fleming

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A collage from Joe Abel - as well as this:

"Desirable characteristics for the role of Leader:

1. Looks good eating a sandwich. Like, really good. Almost sexually good. 2. X Factor. Watches it, or convincingly pretends to. 3. Unites the left, rescuing it from petty factionalism, either by being an inspirational god amongst us that we weep to look upon, or by being so miserably dull that no one partisan group has anything that good or bad to say about them either way. 4. That certain something. Specifically: a Voter Brainblocker, deployed against the general population, bombarding them with powerful alpha waves to overcome the huge cognitive dissonance between their actual political beliefs and the depressingly similar pseudo-human suit mannequins actually on offer in their area. 5. The skill of ventriloquism, allowing them to denounce Rupert Murdoch whilst simultaneously lick his anus to a shiny, just-polished sparkle that glistens in the light of The Sun. 6. The ability to make tough decisions, and more importantly, the ability make one hand into a fist, then bring that hand down into the palm of the other hand whilst saying the words "tough decisions". 7. A full range of genitals, in order to better represent the interests of the entire nation. May require taking a hermaphrodite at birth, raising the brave young ingénue to be the fabled Moon Child of legend. 8. A gaffe proof resolve manifested in the ability to walk through a church full of wanking circus clowns covered in marmalade and holding up misspelt racist signs scrawled on culled badgers, greet them all courteously, and to have the papers limit their comments on the event to the word "statesmanlike" printed over and over again for 30 pages. 9. The other half of the golden amulet Tony Benn was buried with. 10. The ability to replicate the electoral success of Tony Blair, but without repeating all of the terrible things he did. 11. A sweeping mandate of pre-existing public approval and positive coverage from a field unrelated to politics. Example candidates: Pharrell's Hat, a beloved celebrity that everyone thought was dead. Consider cloning. 12. Some dignity for fuck's sake. Or failing that, a pair of suitable, grey trousers. 13. Maybe someone who hasn't spent their entire adult life as a professional politician. An Olympic swimmer maybe? They're lithe. 14. Someone with a good heart, who's sweet and kind, and won't do us wrong like all them others done did. 15. Anyone willing to physically punch David Cameron in his big wide "three holes fucked into a wet sack of flower" face. 16. The ability to latch onto and capitalize on whatever happens to be trending in 5 years time. ‪#‎britainempty‬ ‪#‎everyonedead‬ ‪#‎nationalsuicidepact‬ 17. The temerity to say a thing that might be slightly unpopular but would probably be a good idea, and the humility and good grace to admit that they misspoke and having consulted a think tank, they now believe the opposite of that thing they just said. 18. Big brass balls. Doesn't have to be theirs, they could submit a pair they cut off and had commemoratively bronzed. 19. Alan Alda. 20. A plan to save which if any public service remains by 2020, most likely the Coast Guard, who at that point will be operating at 40% lifeboat inflation and with a public-private cooperation initiative requiring that before taking a referral, they offer people a leaflet signposting them to alternative therapies and competitors, such as flotsam, jetsam, oxygen-banks, treading water, or a free course of Intensive Immersion Exposure Therapy."

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“That’s No Moon” by Esme Betamax