Cor, Blimey! Make me prime minister, guv'nah!

No, I’m not a citizen of the United Kingdom. I’ve never been there and my passport has expired. If I were British, I would not be a Tory. I don’t know anything about running a government. I don’t even know too much about macroeconomics or how to fight inflation.

 

But I was reading about how Liz Truss is entitled to a pension of £115,000 a year for her 44 days as prime minister, and now I want the job. So I’m sending a job application to King Charles III on Indeed, or however one applies, and standing to become the political leader of 67 million people (or do they measure people in kilograms? I forget how the Brits do it) and the world’s sixth largest economy.

 

I mean, shit—I can hang on for seven weeks of turmoil and scandal and screw up my (their) country at least as well as Truss did if it will net me a cool $129K a year for life. I’m not even 50 so that money will buy me plenty of new gold-embroidered suits and diamond-encrusted kitchen backsplash.

 

Here is my proposal for my premiership:

 

·      Eliminate all taxes for anybody making more than—oh, let’s say £115,000 a year—and double the taxes for people making less than that. The money the rich save will literally slide down a hill to the poor people.

·      The National Health Service will be converted into a fireworks factory. Nobody will be able to get dialysis, but we’ll all have plenty of fireworks for a Fourth of July (that we don’t celebrate)!

·      Pantsless press conferences outside 10 Downing on Thursdays. Get ready to see a lot more of me!

·      Fish and chips will now be combined with bubble and squeak.

·      All Britons will now be required to pronounce the “c” in “schedule.”

·      At Question Time, I will only answer questions from MPs with a yes/no response.

·      The Crown will be illegal to screen. All current and former stars of the Netflix show will be executed. So will Dame Judi Dench, just for the hell of it.

·      Oh, and I’m also cutting funding for all social services in half, including government pensions and child care funding. Good luck!

 

It won’t be an easy 44 days, that’s for sure. All the U-turns I’ll have to do will be exhausting. Plus, I’ll have to stand in the House of Commons while the MPs berate me with savage witticisms and beat me with the Mace. I’ll also miss some of my son’s basketball games. But perhaps I can fly the family over for Thanksgiving at Chequers as I tank my adopted country’s economy and try to hang on for the full 44 days. Then I’ll come home with $129,000 worth of presents in time for a nice American Christmas! 

 

So pick me, Tories! It’s not like you can find anyone better.

 

(Please read the preceding to the tune of “Yakkety Sax.”)