We are all BoJolievers now... or else!

The clown approaches the sawdust filled ring. His stage, his platform, his home, his country. The audience awaits pearls of wisdom to gush forth from the painted red smiley lips below the trademark mop of blonde hair. Words are uttered, many words, many many many words. They sound right. The audience breaks into ecstatic applause, certain of what it has heard, certain that what was imparted was life affirming, certain that good times were soon to return. Days of wealth and prosperity and happy smiley people dancing around maypoles and clacking sticks together and all sorts of other weird and wonderful things from days gone by.

And behind the painted smile, there is a real smile, a smile of a clown that knows he has the people in the palm of his hand and all that it takes is to repeat platitudinous statements about good times, about strength about glorious pasts, about having faith because not to have faith is negative and that's just the kind of thing that destroys countries. Because countries are built upon platitudes, because if the country fails then everybody that believed should hunt down the non-believers and squirt them in the face with a plastic flower attached to a lapel until the conform and believe in the words of BoJo like all the good people that desperately want to believe. Because believing is good and unbelieving is bad.

So the clown stands in the middle of the ring and feeds off the adulation afforded him from all the millions of believers. The believers that believe. And so it came to pass that the word of BoJo was to go across the water. First east and then west. First to poke some people in the eye with a blunt Cornish Pastie and, while they blink and clear their collective pastie filled eyes. Go forth he does, west, because west is where his kindred spirit lives. His twin, his brother from another mother. And there, in the wild west, will the twin clowns, BoJo and Dumpy, stride, like twin colossus over a world of unbelievers and berate them for their unbelieving ways and with their oversized red shoes and exploding cars they'll make them laugh until they cry. And if they don't laugh, they'll get a custard pie in the face, made with real custard, the best British custard.

And so all is good. Because BoJo said so and to doubt BoJo means you are failing your country. You'll be an enemy of the state and castigated for being so until such time as you will conform.

Now what's for tea...

Oh wait, why are the shelves empty, why do I feel hungry, why did those stores close, what are these red letters delivered by the post robot. Somebody must not be believing, we need to find them and change their ways so that we can eat again. Maybe we should make them wear a shiny red nose until they start to believe. And if they don't wear the nose, they'll have to be kept somewhere safe so their negativity does not infect the good believers. And if they do wear their shiny red nose then nowhere should offer them comfort or tea or beer or crumpets because they are not BoJolievers and so they are causing the lack of stuff and so stuff must be denied them so that when there is stuff the real BoJolievers get stuff first, because that's the right way, the right order and that's what is required, order and BoJolievers served first and the best BoJolievers will be those that emulate the BoJo and his pure blonde hair of many strands. Purity will win through. Purity and believing and making sure non-believers are excommunicated from society until they believe.

That's the way, the way of the BoJo, the year of the BoJo, the year of the BoJolievers, the year of the Clown... All hail the clown, all heil...

Oh dear!