A dead ant has more dignity than Boris Johnson. In north London, the day that Johnson inconclusively resigned was also Flying Ant Day, when thousands of frenzied male ants, and a few new queens, fly the nest to mate. The males are largely useless and, after spaffing, expire on the pavements and die. But unlike the noble male ants, having been commanded to leave his nest, Johnson, his spaff spaffed, refuses to budge. Look at a dead ant, Boris Johnson, look! And learn what it means to serve.
Last weekend, Rupert Murdoch’s mysteriously motivated Sunday Times released a recording of then London mayor Johnson talking to a woman he appeared to know well. He loses his temper as he gives her the brush-off – “I’ve been incredibly fucking busy! I tried to meet you! Jesus fucking assholes!” – and explains that Kit Malthouse has been unable to give her a job because she was considered “too friendly” with Johnson. Did anyone notice that story? What did it mean? Johnson’s serial shit no longer makes any impact. How do we satirise it? I am worn down.
