It seems abundantly clear that the moral grounding we receive in puberty is definitely being lowered by our so called leaders. I suppose it has always been thus for the last 100 or so years and possibly longer, what with Asquith and Lloyd George playing merry during the Great War. Even the death of Asquith’s son Raymond, at Guillemont in 1916 or his youngest son having his leg blown off whilst fighting for their country did not stop Asquith’s gallop. Indeed Lloyd George kept shagging his mistress Frances Stevenson until he ran out of steam and life in 1943, 30 odd years of subterfuge. Even old Ramsey McDonald dabbled a little but kept it all quiet until his wife died. Later on Harold McMillan turned the tables and allowed his wife Dorothy, to be tupped by Bob Boothby, a real horrible bit of shit. Until finally deciding to unzip his trousers whilst Ava Anderson and then Eileen O’Casey, wife of Irish dramatist, Sean O’Casey, inspected his private life,
In the 1960s, 70s and 80s things went a little quiet, being sheparded by those stalwarts of married life, Harold Wilson and Margaret Thatcher, although even they could not stop Edward Heath having the time of his life with any male in trousers under the age of 16. Not many witnesses to this unfortunately because most of these boys died young. Although there is plenty in the media about Heath’s nefarious activities, I am taking my stance on this period from the stories an old friend of mine told me. He owned a restaurant/pub in the New Forest and Ted was a good customer, especially at Sunday lunch when Jimmy Savile used to arrive in his Roller with handsome youths abundant, from which Ted took his pick and led the appointed home for high tea.
In the 1990s things got even better when a member of the MCC decided to stroke a member of his cabinet whilst she was stroking his member in a broom cupboard in Westminster because it was dark, dusty and non-kosher but even the broom cupboard could not stop this liaison from seeping out. A short while later even the Bliar could not keep his AC/DC activities quiet although his excuse was that he was married to the ugliest woman in chambers, a descendant of a family who specialised in knocking off Presidents.
Times past until it became the present and after a little toe sucking by one cabinet minister, there came a man into the fold who seemed to shag anything that moved and so delighted the British public that they voted him in with his flies well and truly opened by a good catholic lady who quickly gave him a bastard son and then persuaded him to marry her in the holy of holies, Westminster Cathedral, after a certain length of time had passed after his recent divorce. Covid struck and left him dismayed so Boris, after whom this story is mostly about, promoted the blandest male in his party to be Minister of Health. This man I think his name was Handcock and he had tried to keep every man and woman apart for the last 18 months whilst he was trying to poke his fingers up the bum of a pretty little piece called Gina Coladangelo. They must have both been drunk on the Angel’s share of the wine barrel because they tried this manoeuvre in front of a camera so the whole world could see. He went to see Boris who told him to hang on and it will all smell good. It does show you how the moral compass of the world has changed. Cock in hand and Angel’s share both with three kids apiece getting down and dirty, Boris telling them not to be so flirty but never mind, it will all blow over. However the strength of the Tory party said no he has to go but their only crime is not social distancing. Fingers, arsehole, six children and two devoted spouses does not matter and on top of all that she, the drunken angel’s share, had been appointed non-executive director of the Department of Health by yours truly as he made sure she was well paid whilst his fingers went into her every orifice. It used to be called broaching the barrel in the old days but now social distancing. How mad have you all let the world become.
What I cannot understand is why this good looking bird of 43 and three kids deserted her millionaire husband for the ugliest looking man in Westminster. It is understood that they first hooked up in Oxford 20 odd years ago so although time has done Handcock and Bull no good obviously he was a grizzly in Exeter years ago and size must have mattered. After all of this no doubt he is hanging on to words Boris spoke last week when he said he was sorry to see old Cock and bull go but that it will not be the end of his political career. Obviously we will see Matt’s cock suitably positioned for promotion to a newly formed cabinet post of Minister for the Propagation of All Things Nasty and Orificial very soon.
But this article although side tracked by Gina’s cock and still sucking is really about Boris and his inability to make sound judgements when trousers, zip and fingers come to the fore. It seems to me the only way to become important these days is to be as immoral as you possibly can. So all you budding politicos remember, it is OK to keep her indoors happy but you have to remember that the most important part of your job when elected is to bugger the trews off anybody with kids and husbands. It is only right for men to prove their cocks are not there just to piss urine they always have more important work to do.