Dear Mr Cameron,
I’m reluctantly forced to respond to the news of your depraved sexual exploits of the 80s. (And just when I thought we could get away with never mentioning that decade again – perhaps we should just tie some police ribbon around it and leave it in a mine in Cornwall?)
Firstly, the many new unearthed photos of you in the embrace of pigs. You must know us enough by now to know we never reject anything without trying to eat it. I wouldn’t have said No to your penis, it would have taken one nip to detach it. I can bite through bone. One posh, flaccid wang is just sausage meat to me.
If your so-called initiation ceremony was really a coming of age event, you would have tried to place your member in a live pig’s mouth. But you didn’t have the balls for it. (You wouldn’t have had, once I’d finished with you). Instead you had to make sure my head was wrenched off first. When I say you, I actually mean that one of your chums got a lackey to go down to Smithfield the day before, pick their unaccustomed way through the afternoon slime and gore and shakily ask for ‘one pigs head, please.’ And then carry it back to town in a dripping bag. On the underground. Someone beneath you, doing the unpalatable and, frankly, useless errands on your behalf, mopping up disgusting stains that most likely will never go away.
Which takes me neatly to the NHS. I suspect that, had I eaten your Crown Jewels you would have ordered your lackey not to carry you to Royal London hospital, Whitechapel (which, in 2013 was so short of funding that they had to start a ‘one-in, one-out policy in the Emergency department). Instead you would have jumped on your lackey’s back and rode him all the way to Portland Hospital. His shirt? Oh, first blood – it’s a honour for him really.
You have forced through NHS budget cuts of 40% since 2010. Your lackey went shuffling around special meetings, he organised trade fairs for tendering companies. He had to put up with all those protesting women with placards, telling him their mothers had died of dehydration or their still born babies were accidentally burned in the waste furnace. All those stains, all those guilty smears. You have to feel sorry for a guy.
Another thing: the NHS is entirely dependent on immigrant staff. Isn’t that a hole you’d like to bung?
Also, all those central London footprints: Great Ormond St takes up about 1/10th of Bloosbury ffs. You have a pal in Qatar who would love a house there.
You might have made an error of judgement in sticking your dick into my decapitated head all those years ago, but you know perfectly well what you’re doing when you roger the NHS. Free healthcare is the sort of looney-left thing Corbyn and his ilk would come up with. Oh, they actually did. There is NOTHING more embarrassing to you than a social, egalitarian ideal. Really, compared to where your willy has been, the NHS is a trough full of cringe. All you need are enough goons and lackeys to force it through and push those protesting mothers out of the way.
By way of invitation, I would like to invite you over to my sty one night to relive old times. Sorry about all the sexual innuendoes- but you’re giving us all a massive pig in a poke.