Brexit: a lobster allegory

theresa lobster

Picture the following: Theresa May, a chef with no previous cooking experience, has been tasked with humanely disposing of a lobster, before boiling it to perfection, in order to present her gourmand voters with the perfect Brexit feast.

Now, being humane doesn’t come naturally to Theresa, so she tries to kill the lobster with a wooden spoon, ignoring the perfectly sharpened set of knives that could have delivered a quick kill. Fuck that, murmurs Theresa, as she bashes the poor lobster repeatedly, whilst daydreaming about the days where running through fields of wheat was spine-tinglingly exciting. After a while, so convinced of her brilliance that she fails to notice the lobster is still alive, she just chucks the numbed creature into the cooking pot.

However, rather than having the water boiling and at the ready, Theresa May thinks she should, once again, ignore everyone else’s better judgement and go for a very, very slow cook, leaving the flame at minimum heat. The lobster, at this point, is just trying to perform harakiri – or seppuku for the pedants among you – with its own claws, rather than suffering through this existential purgatory at the hands of an incompetent fool, but its claws are tightly shut with an elastic band. The creature is stuck in a red, white and blue pot, not quite cooking because the water is not boiling, but certain that, with enough time, it will die of exhaustion.

As all of this goes on, and Theresa leaves the kitchen for a bit, a few parliamentarian chefs come in and start playing with the pot. Some turn up the flame to the max, while others rapidly pull the pot away. They all laugh and throw witty jibes at each other, before the chef speaker patronisingly asks them all to behave, before he too has a bit of fun with the pot and the poor lobster. The creature looks up in hope, but is met only with eyes exuding sadistic glee.

Theresa pops back into the kitchen and the other chefs clear their throats, complimenting her excellent skills before leaving – they take the sharpened knives with them and look knowingly at each other. Theresa looks into the pot, and is surprised that the lobster is still quite lively. So she leaves everything exactly as it is, because, why change something that isn’t working, right? Instead, she gazes at the wooden spoon in her hand, daydreaming once more. This time, she’s imagining a blue-clad fairy appearing and turning her into wood, just like the spoon, because she’s exhausted of unsuccessfully pretending to be human. A reverse Pinocchio, that’s Theresa May’s greatest wish.

Of course, if you think Theresa’s lobster is bad, imagine how would a lobster alla Gove taste. Or, heaven forbid, lobster with Boris on the side, served with a Rees-Mogg reduction. No, Theresa May, masterful cognoscente of all thinks democratic, and agent of the people’s supposed and outdated wishes, will make sure that we all eat her disgustingly cooked lobster. It’s her buffet or no one else’s – just the tyrannical seasoning that British democracy has been asking for.

Hours go by before sheer exhaustion finally claims the lobster’s life, but not without it having one last epiphany. I’m fucked, the lobster thinks. But not as fucked as those who are about to eat me. Theresa May rings a bell, tells that Brexit is ready to be served, and evaporates out of existence, her satanic purpose fulfilled: a country’s population sacrificed to keep the Conservative Party… conserved.

Theresa May is roadkill – someone drag her out of the road

alex-holyoake-443098-unsplash

Today, on what has been dubbed Brexit Day (even though we’re already into our first short extension), Theresa May brought her deal to Parliament for a third time. Again, it was overwhelmingly rejected by the House of Commons, not in the least thanks to her own backbenchers, as 34 Tories voted against their leader.

Theresa May’s political capital is now so exhausted it has run into the negatives. She’s roadkill. She’s a carcass run over by a mix of her own lack of leadership, and of the cutthroat civil war raging within the Tory Party. Show no hint of pity for her – she has shown none for the innocent victims of her hostile environment. What’s left to us now, is for someone in Theresa May’s own party to step out of their car, and remove the carcass blocking the way, so that normal traffic may resume – we can’t continue this insane ping pong over a deal now thrice defeated.

Theresa May has failed as a party leader. She has failed as the leader of the United Kingdom. She has even failed in her bribe to the DUP, who couldn’t wait to stab a political knife on her back. She’s a failure, and that’s how she’ll be referred to in the brief footnotes of history.

What creature will the Tory party spawn next?

Getting rid of Theresa May will ameliorate none of our problems. For those of us who see the Tory party for the nasty, greedy, self-centred institution that it is, there’s no hope that they will ever produce a leader remotely agreeable to our palate. But there’s no way that we can move on with Brexit while Theresa May stays.

Gove? Rees-Mogg? Leadsom? Johnson? Cunt? Oh, Hunt, I mean. Sorry. They’re all different facets of the same nasty party, no doubts about it. Different flavours and shapes to the same vapid, poisonous stool water that comprises the political expedience of their illustrious politicians. But it will allow the UK government to move ahead with a different plan, and allows us all to organise the opposition to it in a different way. Theresa May’s deal is done and dusted – enough.

I still think these are all pointless delays to the inevitable People’s Vote. But one thing at a time. For now, there’s one thing we should all say to Theresa, at least those of us in Scotland absolutely scunnered with this whole process: away an’ shite, hun. Cheerio.