Theresa May pulled up her knickers and quit the toilet.
She left the Commons behind with a smirk on her face.
No handbag, she strode with both arms swinging.
Her Jacob had 54 sons, eight daughters and a double-breasted suit.
He hung limply like a collage cut from Goliath, Jonah & Judas – with a Pharisee’s mouth thrown in.
“My whisky, my whiskey, my kingdom for a dram” she muttered to her driver.
“Take me to the tenth house, and give me wand to cast ten plagues on both their benches”.
- May the River Thames turn balsamic
- Let the legs of frozen frogs hail down
- Feed the scoundrels snails smothered in stinking slime
- Grant every remaining voice a swarm of beasts of burden
- Feed the traitors mad cows & bullocks
- Give them sour kraut for bedfellows
- Eclipse their sun, moon and stars
- May their red palms burn in hell
- Breed locusts in their hair
- Bury the firstborn of both parties
And bring me Cameron’s head.”
Leaving the House
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From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 