It was almost possible to feel sorry for Jim Murphy this week. Almost, but not quite. Fortunately it was a whole lot easier to have a smirk and a spot of gloating as the Great Careerist’s career tripped over a prittstick and came unstuck amidst a stickiness of glue puns. This is an embarrassment that’s going to adhere to him for a good while to come.
The glue related merriment, for everyone but Jim that is, was all due to a question asked of the leaders of Scotland’s main political parties during a debate at Glasgow University. And Wee Wullie Rennie was there as well. When asked if they’d ever taken drugs, three out of the four admitted that they’d toked a joint when they were young and shtupit. Because if you didn’t smoke cannabis when you were young and daft then you’ve never been young and daft at all, and you are in fact a humourless party drone who’s never had a life and has no business legislating for the rest of us, who still have lives.
Nicla, Ruth the Tory Action Krankie, and Wee Wullie all said they had partaken of a wee spliff. Although all were just as quick to assert that they didn’t like it much and it had no effect on them. Which can only mean that they weren’t doing it properly. You’re supposed to inhale, and then you’re supposed to traipse down Great Western Road at 3 am in search of fag papers and a curry shop that’s still open, while saying things like: But like, wow, like if there’s an infinite number of universes then that means there’s a universe somewhere where Jim Murphy got a degree, but there still aren’t any where he’s got any principles.
But still, kudos for honesty. It’s nice to discover that three of our leading politicians are actually human beings.
The only one who didn’t admit to inhaling a magic rollie was the great doobie of the Labour party. This is almost certainly because Jim was as much fun to be around at university as he is now, so that must have been a pretty miserable nine years then, and he didn’t even get a degree to make up for the lack of partay as opposed to party. But not to be outdone, Jim sort of hinted that he may have said Uhu to a spot of glue, because finding your jollies in a puddle of bostik at the bottom of a crisp poke is the sort of thing you’re tempted to do when you sleep in a drawer on a council scheme. Jim’s far too butch for giggly hippy drugs. Not for Jim an admission of effete middle class cannabis smoking in a student dorm. Oh no, Jim’s far more authentically working class in the way that only an inveterate careerist can imagine.
Sadly Jim was unable to adhere to the story and later admitted that he’d just stuck a crisp poke to his face with some blu-tac because he hoped that people might confuse him with Darth Vader and take him seriously. After all, he’s already got the creepy voice and figured he was halfway there. But then he released a statement denying that he knew what PVA was, quickly followed by a statement saying that he couldn’t remember exactly as he’d just been innocently blowing his nose on a copy of the self-help manual ‘Fake Streetcred for Careerists On the Make’ and it slipped up his nostrils. He didn’t inhale. Or exhale. But whatever it was it was all the fault of the SNP. Jim had no way of knowing that you can make adhesives with egg white. Or something.
It remains unclear how it’s possible not to remember whether you’ve ever sniffed glue. Unless sniffing glue has caused such dreadful brain damage that entire sections of your life are blank to you, in which case you’d probably remember that sniffing glue was the cause of your memory loss. Or at least your care assistant would be on hand to remind you to stick a post it note on your fridge, with glue, and that would bring the traumatic memories back.
Alternatively it’s more likely that Jim is suffering from another type of memory loss – dementia opportunistica. This is a type of dementia which careerists on the make are sadly prone to. It’s caused by an overweening sense of entitlement and a desire to rewrite the past in order to maximise expenses claims in the present. Symptoms include speaking softly to sympathetic BBC interviewers and appearing in backlit photies in the Guardian which make it look like you’ve got a halo on yer heid. The condition makes Jim forget that he’s really a right wing advocate of privatisation, illegal wars, nuclear missiles and an opponent of further devolution. This can be the only explanation for Jim’s current insistence that he’s really a Scottish socialist politician who wants doublevowplusness. But that assertion is as plausible as Darth Vader with a crisp poke on his gob, and considerably creepier.
Meanwhile David Coburn, or as I call him, Davie the tittiferous twankmonkey, has got himself into a spot of bother. Oh sorry that was just a slip of the tongue. I really meant to say David Coburn the UKIP MEP and self-regarding self-abuser with the IQ of a mayfly and a political life expectancy that’s not much longer. Easy mistake to make eh. Just about everyone and their granny has called on Davie to apologise, resign, and then tie himself into a sack and throw himself into the Forth and Clyde canal, but so far he’s staunchly refused. Being bereft of any sense of shame, or indeed sentience, is a precondition for being a UKIP supporter in Scotland.
Anyway, japing Davie called Humza Yusaf, the SNP foreign affairs spokesperson with the Bambi eyes, by the name of a convicted terrorist because it was just a wee joke and they’re both Muslim. It’s the sort of joke that plays well to people who say they’re not racist but who follow it with a but. As in – I’m not racist but … I’m a UKIP MEP. Or even – I’ve got nothing personal against UKIP party balloons, but Davie Coburn is still a tittiferous twankmonkey.
Davie thinks that because his comments were made “off the record” then they don’t count. Which clearly means that if you overhear someone calling you a dickhead, then you have no right to urinate in their beer when they leave their pint unattended in the pub. Davie better keep a very close eye on his pints in future then.
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