I came into office
because in my possession was an ancient grimoire,
at a time of great economic and international instability
from which a few will profit, the system working as it should.
Families and businesses were worried about
being suspended over a bottomless chasm with sharp teeth;
about how to pay their bills;
about flesh chewed down by ice, no help forthcoming.
Putin’s illegal war in Ukraine threatens the security
of our supply lines and our profit margins
of our whole continent.
We do not think about those huddled in shelled buildings.
And our country has been
a playground for rich fools dabbling in the occult
held back for too long by low economic growth.
All hail eternal expansion, the flame that never flickers.
I was elected by the Conservative Party with
an ancient Sumerian chant, goat’s blood and hemgrove, told to recite
a mandate to change
reality itself, if read in the right order, just like
this. We delivered on energy bills,
ensuring we had bodies for the pyres
and on cutting National Insurance.
The abyss gurgled with joy. We praised the great devourer.
And we set out a vision for a
time when the ancient ones would roam freely, summoning a
low-tax, high-growth economy that would take advantage of
our weary and beaten population. How many will we sacrifice to gain
the freedoms of Brexit.
I recognise, though, given the situation,
our rituals were ineffective. We were so certain.
I cannot deliver the mandate on which I was elected
because the stars have grown cold, destroyed
by the Conservative Party.
I have therefore spoken to His Majesty
Mammon, the destroyer, the hungry void and
of all that lies below,
to notify him that I am
merely a sack of skin hollowed by atrocities, so I am
resigning as leader of the Conservative Party.
I preached consumption and was surprised when I was consumed.
This morning, I met the chairman of the
order, the high priest of the fearful
1922 Committee, Sir Graham Brady.
I offered my neck in penance but was denied release.
to sleep in shadows, waiting the perfect time. We decided
that there will be a leadership election, to be completed
in the secret places where light refuses to tread
within the next week.
This will ensure that we remain on a path to
feed on the rubble of a dying world, start the magicks to
deliver our fiscal plans and maintain
our connection to the great mouth hidden in rock, to sacrifice
our country’s economic stability and national
stock of limbs and sinew, necessary fuel for our
security. I will remain
a squelching thing, a writhing mass of tentacles acting
as Prime Minister until a successor has been
pulled from the sucking mud, annoited with methane to become the
one to lead us into the eternal night.