Grant Shapps. Perhaps.

Grant Shapps, perhaps
Sebaceous Fox,
Obscure of fact,
More often than was not,
In times gone back, did jot
Obscenely under pen of
Michael Green on how to
Make a ton of cash
Fantastically quick
By selling Stinking Rich
Until the day, by public pay,
Was seen and heard in deed
And word, his alter-ego(s)
Did dispatch.

Except for that by overlap,
Did slip the shifty triptych chap
Who, dipstick keen on witticism,
Hastily deployed his bluest cryptic
Euphemism on diluting accusations
He had proper lied to “over firmly”
Had denied.

Fans said he wasn’t cheating or
Deceiving anyone but merely
Honing skills required as a member
Of the Cons. And anyway, the Party
Claimed, a pseudonym’s a long
Established vehicle in the Arts and
How to Corp is where we find the
Talent part within our I’m a Tory
AmDram market glorifying heart.

And thusly, Call-me-Dave, by name,
Expressed his fullest confidence
– again –
In yet another Jackanory.

Encore.
Exeunt.

“End of Story.”

Advertisements

#torybingo

I’d like to see a selfie of that
Walking troika prat
With a whippet and a tankard
And an old flat cap

I’d like to see him at the old
Joanna playing bawdy tunes
And singing for his supper in
In a working man’s saloon

I’d like to see him do his very
Finest Colin Crompton at the
Wheeltappers and Shunters
And for Stewart Lee to mock
Him

I’d like to see him in the bookies,
Down to his best guess in a worn
Out pair of slippers and a C&A
String vest

I’d like to see him at the Bingo
Marking down his desperation
Working hard to find his House
Competing for his aspiration

Most of all I’d like to see him, in
The interests of the nation, do one
– Yes, just do one – Shapps

Quick! Run and save that boorish,
Grubby, pompous Tory ass before
The proles stop laughing at you and
Come calling out your numbers and
Start baying for your brass.