Contains strong language! Well, it would be hard not to, wouldn’t it? Editor
The Horny Honey Monster is on the ropes, so I think it’s time to take a quick look at the runners and riders poised to take over from Boris Johnson.
It's an inspiring list.
The kind of foreign minister you'd expect to find on Gumtree. A LibDem, then a Tory. Opposed Brexit, then wanted it. Said she'd resign over it, then that she'd do anything to deliver it. Eventually decided it was too complicated and hid.
Thatcher from Elizabeth Duke.
A demonic pixie with persona of a polyester-blazered assistant in a soft-furnishings shop. As health minister he spent his hours auctioning your wellbeing off to – well, I’d like to say the highest bidder, but I doubt he’s competent enough to get a good price.
A real person, and not a minor Addams Family character. Has all the experience needed to be PM: a former magician’s assistant with a famously lavish swearing vocab, who failed to reach the last ten in a celebrity diving show. Currently fourth favourite. No, really.
Thick-necked, box-faced rugby club boor. An Etch-a-Sketch thunderc*nt who stands in for the PM when Johnson is too pissed or shag-happy to turn up. His career peaked when he – genuinely – managed to resign in protest at his own achievements.
Voice of the moderate (yet highly-militarised) centre-right. Proved himself squeaky clean when Tories decided to prove they aren't all nepotistic twats by running an independent audit of govt contracts. The contract for the audit went to Tugendhat's cousin. Obvs.
The larval form of Miss Trunchbull. A trundling horcrux who oscillates between evil smirks and looking like she's about to bite you savagely about the face and neck. Described by MoD officials as "completely potty", so clearly a strong favourite.
Rejected early draft of an Aardman sidekick who is having a go at Chancelloring during his gap year. His primary skillset: avoiding tax, pretending he drives a Kia Rio, applying to be a citizen of another country, and taking his jacket off on Instagram.
His career was ended – as so many sadly are – by a combination of love and genocide. Craves a comeback, under the demented assumption voters will be drawn to an inept and toe-curlingly sinister accountant who looks like PeeWee Herman reflected in the back of a spoon.
A child's drawing of pure evil, superimposed onto a competitively evil gonad. Was *literally* in charge of collateralized debt obligations, the financial tool that caused the 2007 global crash, so clearly the ideal man to solve our massive financial problems.
Nosferatu attempting to blend in at a bible study group. A physical manifestation of entitlement and stupidity, displayed for lols by bored TV execs, and utterly convinced his accent means it's impossible for him to be wrong. He's wrong. Constitutionally wrong.
A novelty pencil-eraser who is is only in the list of possible candidates because there's a war in Ukraine. If he succeeds in ending the war, he vanishes into obscurity again. So we have a defence minister who's career progression depends entirely on him failing.
A beef-witted, one-woman riot of idiocy. Fiercely loyal to Johnson for as long as she remembers, which on a good day can be up to a minute. Seemingly recruited into Tory ranks directly from a fight over the outcome of a meat raffle outside a flat-roofed pub.
The nonentity’s nonentity. So devoid of personality that his official portrait is the curtains behind him. His DNA profile reads "404 error". You will have forgotten Steve Barclay exists before you reach the end of this sentence, even if you ARE Steve Barclay.
Boris Johnson's emotional support turbot. Boss-eyed, conspicuously sniffing minister for partying-down and levelling up, which he's done so well that rich pupils get twice as much from the levelling up fund as poor pupils do. A shite in sheep's clothing.
Thinks he's rock hard, and is, in the sense that rock hard things are also very, very dense. So thick you could stand a spoon up in him. Quite a short spoon.
Gnome or Mr Nice Guy? Gnome. Definitely gnome.
Chief architect of global finance at noted success story Lehman Brothers. Has the ever-so-pleased air of a man who desperately wants you to ask if he's solved his Rubik's cube yet. Career highlight: being filmed asking a man to beat him up by the bins. Twice.
Dependable Boris loyalist with – don't doubt it – a large backstabbing knife hidden about his person. Has more false identities than Jason Bourne, somebody else who people would travel halfway around the world just to punch.
Ceaselessly muddled, blank-eyed error-magnet. An absolute clattering halfwit with a deranged fish and Brexit obsession, who was once called "the nastiest man in politics" by his own wife.
Obscurial crammed in a suit, and forced to work in an office whilst plotting your destruction. This man of the people used tax havens while claiming MP’s expenses for the stables at one of his mansions. The other three horsemen of the apocalypse think he’s a bellend.
Cigar-chomping Uncle Fester impersonator who opposes gay marriage and refused to criticise phone hacking. It won't help her: the elaborate scattering of accents in her name would terrify the editor of the Daily Mail, so rule her out as a serious candidate.
These are the major competitors to be next Tory PM.
And because we're a modern, functional democracy, the winner will be chosen by the 1 in 250 voters who have paid money to become members of the Tory party.
The loser, obviously, will be you.
Also, you can pre-order my book if you like this sort of thing. I don’t. It’s f**king horrible.