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By Leppy Pardalis
MPs with several households have hit out at ‘unfair’ new covid rules.
The amoral hypocritical degenerates say Tier 2 and Tier 3 rules about only socialising with people you live with put them in impossible dilemmas.
Typical is Sir Colin Thrush, 52, a horrible oily little gerbil of a man who would undoubtedly be a virgin were it not for the superficial glamour of being able to call himself the Right Honourable.
Technically, he lives with his wife and first cousin, Lady Evadne, 45, and their seven rather peculiar-looking children. As Lady Evadne, thanks to many generations of relentless inbreeding, has an IQ substantially lower than that of the family’s chocolate labrador, she doesn’t realise that Sir Colin has also lived for the last decade in a Pimlico mansion flat with his researcher, whose name is Minty or Flinty or something posh and stupid and annoying like that, and who is under the mistaken impression that Sir Colin will soon keep his promise to leave Lady Evadne. The two have four children.
“What’s a chap supposed to do?” said Sir Colin, who is one of those eminently hangable men apt to refer to women as ‘fillies’. “It’s all very well telling the plebs they should only socialise with people from their own households because most plebs only have one household - but what about people like me?
“What’s the point of my going to all the trouble of fiddling my expenses to keep two families when I’m only allowed to see one of them?”
Also unhappy is Mr Alf Braithwaite, whose real name is Sir Alphonse de Braithwaite (Baronet), and who calls himself Alf to divert attention from his being the fifth-generation heir to a banking empire, and who wouldn’t know hardship if it bit one of his stable of polo ponies on the bollocks.
Mr Braithwaite is currently officially married to a minor aristocrat, secretly married to a TV producer and promising to marry whichever starstruck upper-middle class post-graduate Parliamentary office intern he managed to seduce by dropping a few aitches and making up some quotes from Marx or Engels or Michael Foot.
Mr Braithwaite said: “It’s an absolute scandal, what? Er, I mean ‘appen. How’s - I mean ‘Ow’s - an ordinary bloke like me supposed to understand all these complicated rules made up on the - sorry, on’t - spur of the moment by people I was at Eton and Oxford with - sorry, I meant to say, ‘these heartless capitalists’?”
Even more complications must be negotiated by Mr Ronald Filth-Monger, who is married to three women, none of whom is aware of the others’ existence, and is the father of 19 children, all of whose school fees are paid for by his Parliamentary expenses and the lucrative directorships he receives in exchange for turning a blind eye to illegal arms dealing, war crimes, political murder and torture in foreign countries and the hunting of endangered species with cannon by bloodthirsty psychopathic oligarchs.
He is also involved in an intense sexual relationship with a wire-haired terrier belonging to his elder sister, and with which he has fathered eight exceptionally dim puppies.
“Still,” he said, “at least there’s some light at the end of the tunnel. As one of my party’s environmental policy team, I’m never short of an excuse to head for the woods and meet my favorite horse chestnut tree.
“Sexiest woodpecker hole I’ve ever seen.”