Our Glorious Leader President Maydogan has been downgraded to Mrs Maybe, as strong and stable as a wobble board on the deck of a storm-tossed ship. After her ridiculous, robotic campaign in which she parroted the phrase “strong and stable” ad nauseam, she had it leaked that she had never wanted to use the catchphrase “strong and stable” at all and had been bullied into it by Lynton Crosby, her election guru. The woman who offered us “strong and stable” government was insufficiently strong and stable to refuse to say that she was strong and stable. Which augurs ill for her negotiations with the EU because if she cannot say no to a stupid slogan, she is unlikely to tell our Europals where to get off. And they would not give a toss even if she were to do that because they know she has no majority, is weak as a kitten with weak kitten disease and is more interested in hanging onto power than using it to do anything other than apologise for her manifold inadequacies.
This week gave us the Queen’s Speech and in line with the sorry shambles that this country has become, it was a more of a cut-price, economy-bucket, dress-down-Wednesday. Her Majesty was dragged away from more urgent matters at Royal Ascot and turned up dressed in Monarchical mufti, a bright blue Euro-hat and matching coat. She came by car, not by gilded coach. Prince Philip was in hospital, which was probably a more entertaining option. The Crown of State went to Parliament in its own car, which is not very green, and sat on a cushion in front of Her Majesty, who read a speech so short of content and controversy that it was all over in a mere nine minutes. All the election promises went into the bin. You could have fitted this piss-poor speech onto a text and avoided driving cushions and nonagenarians through Central London, thus further damaging the environment. This being the UK, we still had the speech written on goatskin, although nowadays they do not use real goats. We do not need hiricide on top of everything else.
Why are the Police not investigating Mrs Maybe? She has obtained the use of a London house and a country house, both with board and lodging and all the other Prime Ministerial benefits, by deception. On 9 June, she told us that she could form a minority government with the support of the Democratic Unionists, the ten Neanderthals who, socially speaking, are the celtic equivalent of the Taliban. They hate gays. They hate equal marriage. They hate abortion, even for women who have been raped. You cannot vote for them on the Mainland because they only stand for seats in Northern Ireland and yet they are going to hold sway over all of us. But Mrs Maybe had not actually closed the deal. Informing Her Majesty that she had their support was like asking the bride’s father for permission but forgetting to propose to the woman herself. And now the bride-to-be is quibbling about the trousseau. She wants a bigger diamond. She wants a higher allowance. And Mrs Maybe must either agree and alienate every other region (and risk the Good Friday Agreement) or refuse and again find herself single. This is the State of the Nation. The Nation is in a state. A state of collapse. A state of disenchantment. A state of us and them with them doing badly, ignored, put in danger. We are getting our country back. But why would anyone want it?
We start our review of the week’s clothing crap with singer Celine Dion, out and about in Paris.
That crotch is so dropped that if Justin Bieber went to a fancy dress party as Tony the Tiger, this is what he would look like. Yurgle.
To the iHeart Radio Awards in Toronto where we encounter singer Lights, née Valerie Anne Poxleitner. WTF has no idea what she is wearing. None at all.
Lights has copied her hair colour from Tony the Tiger. Her dress, if that is the word, which it isn’t, is held together with giant pink bandaids and a matching pink thigh-bandaid matching the pink carpet. What the boots have to do with the price of fish, WTF cannot say, but they are more suited to Tignes than to Toronto in high summer.
Also there was rapper Iggy Azalea, wearing Christian Cowan.
Not so much Iggy Pop as Iggy Popping Out. This dress is WTF’s whole wish-away list – one sleeve, peekaboo, knickerless, the whole schmear. Sadly, the lacing is like a bad episiotomy…
Meet wrestler Nikki Bella, wearing Alessandra Rich.
WTF brought you the phrase “genitalia curtains” and these are the very quintessence of genitalia curtains, enlivened with their own built-in vajazzle and Minge Fringe. And it has boobage and giant shoulder pads! Dynasty lives on.
This is Heavy D the “star” of Celebrity Big Brother and some rubbish called Storage Hunters (no, me neither),
Talking of curtains… he has nicked these from the kiddie curtain department at B&Q. Mr Heavy looks like the lovechild of Ray Winstone and Billy Idol. That is not a compliment.
Next up, we have actress Dascha Polanco from OITNB attending the Fragrance Foundation Awards, wearing Marni.
Another uni-limb creation – and so billowy! Marni has had a shocker here. It is as if Dascha were peeping out from behind muslin curtains, like Polonius behind the arras but without the fatal outcome.
Here we are at Royal Ascot where we encounter former boxer Chris Eubank, wearing a most ridiculous ensemble.
Chris did not so much hang up his boxing gloves as stuff them down his manky old jeans, which he wore over patent riding boots. Did he spill something on his suit trousers before leaving home? Extra minus points for the Louis Vuitton man bag which looks absurd.
And finally, here is WTF regular, reality “star” and makeup artiste Charlotte Dawson, wearing Rene K Couture. Couture! Ye Gods. There is little enough to sew.
There was of course the inevitable “wardrobe malfunction”, i.e. “let me get my bits out in the papers and pretend that it’s an accident” but WTF has spared you the pudendum pics because she does not want to give you a seizure. You could sue. It is bad enough that you have to see the gaping tit window and imminent tit tips. Perhaps Charlotte has taken up acting and is playing one of the witches in a particularly pervy production of Macbeth. Or perhaps she just has nothing else to offer. WTF is voting for Option 2.
This week’s It’s Got To Go features two sets of fantastically foolish footwear. WTF aficionado Rebecca from Truro came up with these horrors, as first tweeted by writer Emma Kennedy.
Emma observed sagaciously, “Middle aged men of Britain, we have to talk” and how right she was. No male aged over five should ever have these things on his feet. Ever. Then we have a pair of crocs from designer Christopher Kane, nominated by WTF aficionado Belinda from Mayfair who spotted them in his shop window and is still recovering from the shock. Brace yourselves….
Crocs are vile, as nominated in a previous It’s Got to Go and more vile when they are ponced up and priced at £275. President Obama talked about putting lipstick on a pig. This is putting trinkets on a turd.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep those comments coming as well as your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. And spread the word so that your friends and your neighbours and anyone else you know gets to read the blog as well. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good.
It’s all part of her grand plan to reduce immigration. Make the country so awful no-one will want to come.
Seriously though I’m a little afraid that her continuing to act as if the election hadn’t even happened is working…..is she even allowed to start the Brexit (******) negotiations without having formed a government? And yet……
*Hiricide? You’re kidding. Really? So do we call someone who kills goats a hiricider or a hiricidist? Is a goatherd with an explosive device a hiricide bomber?
Many years ago I was with a friend at an Indian restaurant here in Texas. As he was poking around at the unlabeled dishes in the buffet line he asked “What is this shit?” Recoiling in horror he realized “It’s worse than shit, it’s goat.”
I would not have made that observation as loudly or as crudely, but I’d rather write on a goat than eat one.
*In support of short speeches. Abraham Lincoln’s address dedicating the military cemetery at Gettysburg is a mere two hundred seventy two words. Franklin Roosevelt’s address to Congress asking for a declaration of war against Japan clocks in at four hundred eighty five. Neither took more than a few minutes to deliver but they remain two of the most potent speeches in American history.
*The Celtic Taliban? I like that. You call yours the Democratic Unionists. We call ours Republicans.
But it sounds like a Twenty-First Century version of the Sex Pistols playing punk rock versions of Afghani music with bagpipes.
*Valerie Anne Poxleitner, aka Lights. I thought she looked more anorexic Jessica Rabbit than Tony the Tiger.
*And speaking of Tony the Tiger, that marks back to back references to him. Are you getting a commission from Kellogg’s?
*Heavy D looks constipated.
This too shall pass.
Charlotte Dawson looks like her head is too small for her body,or vice versa. The dress (or as any sane person would call it `negligee`) is hideous. Is it just me or does the wrestler look like Demi Moore post facial surgery?
Nikki Bella is a dreadful wrestler so it gives me a certain satisfaction to see that her style out of the ring is just as crude and awful as her style in it. What a horrendous outfit.
Oh, Dascha. You’re such a beautiful woman, and it’s a CRIME to dress you so terribly.