Hallo Readers,
The only good thing about the Rancid Kumquat, otherwise known as the President of the United States, is that we Brits could feel smug about the fact that such an ignorant, bloviating, oaf would never be elected as Leader over here. Yes, we had Boris Johnson, but at least he had a brain. Yes, we had Liz Truss, but at least we didn’t elect her as Prime Minister; she just house-sat at 10 Downing Street. But now, we have Nigel Farage, tipped to be Prime Minister in 2029, if not before. This is a cut-price version of the Rancid Kumquat; if the latter had had sex with a frog, this is what their son would look like, and the apple would not fall far from the tree. Like the Rancid Kumquat, the Mini Kumquat is a populist, stirring up racial discord, with a predilection for foreign-born women. He prefers making speeches and jet setting to doing the job for which he is paid,. He likes taking money from rich people. And like his mentor, when the shit hits the fan and financial dodginess comes to light, nothing is ever his fault. It is a conspiracy. The Establishment is out to get him. It is fake news. Deny everything. Accuse the media of persecuting him. Refuse to answer questions, while simultaneously pronouncing that you are the most open politician in the country, and variously insult and/or threaten the journalists concerned. Say that you are the worst treated politician in the country, despite the fact that two sitting MPs have been assassinated in the last 10 years. It is all straight out of the Playbook.
Despite having been on the political scene for a long time, punctuated by periodic retirements and comebacks, he has only been an MP (for Clacton) since 2024. It is worth noting that he had been unsuccessful in getting into Westminster on six previous occasions. However, rather like the men who visit the doctor’s surgery only when it is absolutely necessary, and sometimes not even then, the Mini Kumquat has been sparing in his visits to the constituency, just as he is rarely sighted in the House of Commons. Indeed, he is more likely to pop up in the US, where he hobnobs with MAGA faithful and pops in at the White House or Mar a Lago. Recently, it has emerged that he not only took £5,000,000 as a gift from a British businessman resident in Thailand (this was before he was an MP, but was Leader – and owner- of Reform), but that he has also been subbed by a convicted fraudster known as Posh George, who has made delightful accommodation in London available to him, together with hot and cold running staff. Bizarrely, Posh George, who is considerably younger than his beneficiary, calls him Daddy, evoking weird comparisons with the Rancid Kumquat, whom the NATO Secretary General addresses as Daddy. Which leads us in both cases to ask, what is going on here? But WTF digresses. When these stories came to light, and he was being investigated for not declaring this largesse, he and the rest of his ragtag and bobtail political colleagues in Reform huffed and puffed and cried foul. At which point, the Mini Kumquat released a video statement about his political future, thereby avoiding unfriendly questions. He announced that he was resigning as MP for Clacton, only to then offer himself up for re-election, so that his constituents could put two fingers up at the Establishment and indicate their support for his integrity. This strategy was however thwarted when the main parties all declared that they would boycott proceedings on the grounds that it was nothing but a political stunt, leaving the Mini Kumquat to battle it out to the death with that political giant, Count Binface, fresh from his triumph at the Makerfield by-election, where he amassed some 900 votes and lost to incoming MP and PM, Andy Burnham. The British public is therefore to be treated to the ridiculous sight of a political contest between a wannabe Prime Minister who hobnobs with all sorts and floats on a sea of other people’s money, and a man with a bin on his head. This is politics today. Kill me now.
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We start our review of the week’s tawdry togs with actor Anya Taylor Joy in London launching her new mini-series Lucky, wearing Dior.
Anya has not just got out of bed, although you could have been forgiven for thinking it. Instead, Dior is passing this off as a dress, when it is so not a dress; it is a nighty with a minge triangle and added belly button exposure. Anya could have gone on to the Schein website and bought something similar for £15. It would, however, still have been a nighty.
Still in London, we encounter actor Olivia Wilde at the premiere of her new movie, The Invite, wearing Prada.
It is both ugly and unflattering, and the woman needs to eat something. It looks like a bib apron knocked up from a Vintage Sewing Pattern for the Mothers’ Union Bring and Buy Sale – only whoever made it got bored and left off the trimmings, just like Olivia left off her underwear and clothing.
And even more London, this time for the photoshoot for Christopher Nolan’s new movie, The Odyssey, which is a mere three hours long. Here is one of its stars, actor Samantha Morton (who plays Circe), wearing McQueen.
Sorry to ask, but is it Ugly Dress Week? This one clings unrepentantly to her thighs, makes her look like an extra from Game of Thrones, and is a horrible colour; not so much a Minge Waterfall, as a Mud Waterfall.
Now we move onto The Odyssey’s odyssey, where the cast travelled from London to Paris for more premières and photoshoots. Here is actor Zendaya (who plays Athena), wearing Schiaparelli.
Quite apart from the issues of the labial lappage, what happens when she sits down? That thing would cut you in half like a cheeseslicer. WTF also hates the moulded titties; if Venus de Milo went to a fancy dress party as a flapper, this is what she would look like.
Also on the Red Carpet was actor Charlize Theron (Calypso), wearing Givenchy.
As a former model, Charlize knows how to wear a dress, which is wowzer. But what the fuck are those things on her arms? Are they glove pupets?
Seriously? The coat is a voile version of the one worn by Richard E. Grant in Withnail & I, while the white frills look like the stuffing is coming out of her, like a teddy bear. Ludicrous.
And finally, here is singer Ed Sheeran, with his wife Cherry Seaborn, attending the wedding of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce at Madison Square Garden in Manhattan.
A team of rocket scientists is currently working around the clock to try and solve the conundrum of how it is that Ed always looks like a sack of shit. On this occasion, he is wearing a shiny tie-dye suit and bears an uncanny resemblance to a garden gnome in trainers.
This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from everyone in the UK. We are all tired and sleep deprived because of the heat. Enough already with the heat!
This country is not designed for heat. Anything about 23 degrees and everything falls apart. The trains stop working, insofar as they ever did. Nowhere has airconditioning. Bedrooms are like a sauna, but without the decongestant steam. The tube is like the seventh circle of hell, only hotter. There is insufficient concealer on earth to disguise those bags under our collective eyes, and swiping your sodden hair back flat on your head like Tilda Swinton only works if you look like Tilda Swinton. We all cannot bear another minute of it. It’s Got To Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got to Go, and do not stint on the comments either. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x
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