There are reports this morning that several of the Liberal Democrats that went missing after the general election have been spotted in the mighty and monstrous maw of Conservative polar bear-man, Boris Johnson. New information on how the ousted MPs came to be mayoral mouth-fodder has also been brought to light by a resurfaced, junior minister who has asked to remain nameless:
“The night of the general election started out bad enough, but as the evening went on it became more and more like a horror film. At the beginning of the night, we were in the same room as the Conservative MPs, but as things started to go their way they slowly began to file out, one by one, staring at us with their hungry, piggy eyes as they left the room, smirking.
“By the end of the evening it was just us, huddled in shock as a terrible gale blew outside and the willow trees scraped against the windows. We were getting ready to leave, when the lights began to flicker and then cut out altogether. We cried for help, but nobody came. That is until a solitary figure came through the door, wearing some sort of ceremonial cloak and carrying a lantern. As the figure approached, we realised that it was the Prime Minister – his hands stained in the blood of whomever it was that they’d sacrificed to bend the powerful forces of pre-election polls to their will.
“As the shadowy figure approached, he said to us, ‘you know that if you all went missing now, nobody would even notice.’ Then there was a terrifying titter that seemed to come from everywhere at once – a horrible sound that shivered through your balls like a razor-winged hummingbird. And then, Cameron summoned his familiar.
“Boris!’ he screamed with glee. ‘BORIS!’
“That was when the man himself burst into the room – a hellish red light behind him – clearly brimming with the daemonic power of whatever it was that they’d summoned. We began to run immediately, as the malevolent mayor screamed like a stuck pig and gave chase.
“‘Some sort of malignant presence had clearly possessed the building, as the hallways swelled and swayed as if we were running through the intestine of some foul colossus. Boris didn’t seem to be trying to catch us either: I think he was just toying with us. We kept sighting him in the distance – his legs like snapped pool cues beneath a swinging, simian body – the bestial brute chortling like a rutting gibbon.
“I don’t know how long we were in there for – it felt like hours – but eventually we found the exit. Vince Cable was first out, but when the door opened we were confronted by Boris once more – his head the size of a double-decker bus – his fang-lined lower jaw snapping at the doorframe, ruining the finish. Just then the floor began to tilt, as if the giant Boris had picked up the building and was trying to shake us all out into his mouth. Danny Alexander was the first to fall to a grizzly death – closely followed by the rest of the party. I was the last out, but I got lucky, I suppose, as I fell into the possessed creature’s nostril. I managed to survive in there for a couple of days – hidden in a thatch of nose hair. Eventually though he blew his nose, and I’ve been hiding out in the man’s waste paper bin ever since.”
When we asked the junior minister why he had reappeared, risking the wrath of a Conservative government that had clearly made a pact with the forces of darkness, the young gentleman had this to say:
“Err, hello? £88,000 golden handshake? With that kind of money, I can finally afford to go full-on Conservative myself.”
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