You may have noticed that the Prime Minister is going to resign once the Tory party elects his successor. Given that its efforts in recent years have given us Theresa May and Boris Johnson, it may be time for the party to start considering some other way of making its selection, like an unlucky dip or perhaps public auditions where contestants warble a song in front of a panel of judges chaired by hairy chested, high-waisted trouser-wearing Simon Cowell with the public ringing in to vote at premium rate. There may be so many hopefuls in the contest to be the next Prime Minister that this may all take some time, so the man who had 51 of his ministers, advisors and nochschleppers heading for the exit has formed a new government and is staying on – for now. One of the perks of the delay is that he still gets the trappings of power, including the limo, the plane and Chequers, the Prime Ministerial country retreat where he and Carrie Antoinette were planning to throw the large wedding party they were unable to hold when they married because of Covid, doubtless to be funded by some hapless Tory donor. Indeed it is thought that keeping hold of the venue might have prompted his failure to resign earlier, despite the increasingly frenzied supplications of his cabinet, his party and the vast majority of the British public. Apparently the wedding celebrations will now be held elsewhere, although who exactly would want to come now? Probably not even the bride.
Having had his fingernails finally prised from the Cabinet table, Johnson appeared at a podium in Downing St and announced that he would stand down. This was the fault of those people too stupid to see what a bad idea it would be for him to go. Those of us waiting with bated breath for an apology found it necessary to breathe out after realising that there was more chance of finding rocking-horse shit in little Wilf’s nursery than hearing this fatuous, arrogant, reckless man acknowledge that he might have had some responsibility for his downfall. When James 11 was forced to flee from England in 1688, he took refuge in the French Court where courtiers would say of him ‘when you listen to him, you know why he is here‘. When you listened to Johnson on that sunny Thursday lunchtime, you knew why he would no longer be there.
We will of course consider the motley crew who seek to be the next PM in the weeks to come. Some of them are so ghastly that you would almost prefer to keep the present incumbent. In the meantime, WTF has been in great indignation at the news that Michelle Donnellan, the woman who was Education Secretary for about 24 hours before resigning from the Cabinet she had only just joined, is eligible for a severance payment of nearly £17,000 pounds, the cost being met by long-suffering Tom and Tilly Tosser the taxpayers. Ms Donellen now says that she will donate her salary to charity. Frankly, what with schools being underfunded and all that, WTF would much rather Ms Donnellan returned to the obscurity to which she so clearly belongs and makes her own charitable contributions.
We start our review of the week’s abysmal attire with our old friend, racing champ Sir Lewis Hamilton, wandering around Silverstone looking like a right prat.
The time is approaching when Lewis will have to start staying indoors unless he can give a solemn undertaking to stop looking like a div. Not only is he wearing a patchwork quilt as a jacket, the sort of thing you see hanging up in Ye Olde Tea Shoppe in the Lake District, but those jogger thingies are a veritable health hazard, sprouting golden cheese wire. Walking in those is one hell of a lot more dangerous than hurtling round the track at 600 miles an hour.
Next up, we have former singer, now presenter, Ashley Roberts doing the daily fashion show walk outside Heart Radio wearing a summery dress with the most remarkable tit activity.
What is going on with those tits? They look like cheeses hanging up in floral muslin. Borrow the wire from Sir Lewis.
The rest of our fashion comes from the BET Awards in LA, starting with rapper Saucy Santana wearing a most remarkable ensemble. Scroll down slowly for the full effect.
Not only is there an absence of anything under the jacket covering the nether regions, but those boots!!!! What the fuck are those boots? Has Saucy been raiding the Sesame Street puppet box?
It has been a while since we saw Black Chyna and frankly on this evidence that is a good thing. Readers may recall that she went out with musician Tyga, who then went out with Kylie Jenner, at which point Blac started an affair with Kylie’s half-brother Rob Kardashian (are you still with me?). That broke up, then they got back together and then they broke up again, whereupon he put explicit pictures of her on the internet and she had to get an injunction. What busy lives these people lead….
Anyway, probably fed up with the whole Kardashian Klan, Blac has come out fighting with the most fearsomely spiked tits, like something out of Game of Thrones. Kardashians various! Do not mess with this woman….
Alll of it is ugly, particularly the boots, the colour and the ridiculous shoulders, and sadly Billy looks like a ghoul who has left the hanger in the outfit.
Frankly she looks more like a Hoochy Coochy dancer….
AND NOW THE WINNER OF THE WTF SUMMER STINKER 2022!!!! Actor Tommy Dorfman won with a healthy lead over rapper Burna Boy and comedian Meg Stalter. A worthy winner.
This week’s It’s Got toGo comes from WTF aficionado David from the Barbican who sent in a picture of these Doily Pants by designer Per Gotesson. Not only are they extremely revolting but they cost £120. Ready? You won’t be….
Someone seems to have had a nasty accident on the way to the loo. Madness. It’s Got To Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Let us meet again next Friday. And keep those splendid suggestions coming in for It’s Got To Go, not to mention your top comments. Be good x.