Blond Ambition: 2019 In Review

Welcome to the Twitmericks 2019 limerick review of the year – when Britain edged towards Brexit and Trump towards impeachment. I’ve picked some highlights divided  into three sections – the last one is for random weird shit, but there’s some pretty weird shit in the other two sections on UK and US politics too.


So farewell to 2019

When Boris burst onto the scene

Hid, lied and then won

With ‘Get Brexit Done’

And hijacked the Tory machine.

The year began with Theresa May PM still trying and failing to get her Brexit bill through parliament – and having to go back to Brussels to renegotiate her own deal.

Dear Brussels, I hope you can see/ That though I did freely agree/ The deal we both signed,/ I’ve now changed my mind:/ I’m sorry – it’s not EU, it’s me.

But even pro-Brexit business leaders like vacuum king James Dyson were voting with their feet.

James Dyson, who says Brexit’s pukka,/ Who knows how to make one a sucker,/ Says now Singapore/ Will suit his firm more,/ The great hypocritical fucker.

EU President Donald Tusk had harsh words for the Brexiteers. 

Said Tusk, those who sought to propel/ The UK to Brexit, pell-mell/ Without a clear plan/ Must carry the can,/ They’re in a handbasket to hell.

Transport Secretary Chris Grayling came in for much mockery for hiring – then firing – a shipping company without ships to help out with post-Brexit cargoes. 

The fellow they call failing Grayling/ Should bow to the wind that’s prevailing/ By walking the plank,/ Since stormy seas sank/ His vision of vessel-free sailing.

In March, a bid to reach consensus by a process of indicative votes on a range of Brexit options found nothing that could command a majority among MPs. 

When members were polled in the end/ On which polished turd they’d commend,/ Indicative voting/ Left no motion floating,/ They all disappeared round the bend.

Commons proceedings were enlivened in April when environmentalist protesters stripped off on the public gallery and pressed themselves to the glass above the MPs.

Some activist women and guys/ Took parliament quite by surprise,/ Protesting half-nude,/ A brief interlewd/ That caused a few members to rise.

Among the casualties of the last days of the ancien regime were defence secretary Gavin Williamson, sacked by May in May over alleged leaks about security policy on Huawei.

The Cabinet row over Huawei/ Unfolded in quite a bizawei:/ Theresa got piqued,/ Said Gavin had leaked/ And told him “Mawei or the Hawei!”

And so, the end of May saw the end of May – she announced her intention to stand down as leader of the Conservative Party and make way for a new PM. 

Embattled Prime Minister May,/ Who struggled to get her own way,/ While those who’d be leader/ All fought to succeed her,/ Reluctantly called it a day.

Labour and Tory MPs dissatisfied with their parties tried to start over as Change UK, butt when it flopped in Euro-elections half its MPs left, including Chuka Umunna.

A party whose prospects were fucked/ Decided to auto-destruct;/ Six MPs resigned/ And so left behind/ A CHUK even Chuka had chucked.

Boris Johnson quickly emerged as front-runner to succeed May – though a noisy row with his partner Carrie Symonds reminded MPs of his unpredictable side.

Police were called out to a flat/ Where neighbours reported a spat/ As Carrie slammed Bozza/ And told him he wozza/ Red wine-spilling, unfeeling brat.

The Lib Dems meanwhile picked a new leader in Jo Swinson, who defeated Ed Davey in the race to succeed Vince Cable.

A Lib Dem MP named Jo Swinson/ Was chosen to follow old Vince ‘n‘/ Become party head/ By seeing off Ed,/ Her lead being fairly convinson.

Johnson powered on to victory, and went on to pack the cabinet with his own supporters and Brexit hardliners – like Dominic Raab.

A man with a shaky majority/ Attempted to stamp his authority,/ But naming a cabinet/ With Dominic Raab in it/ Is showcasing inferiority.

He powered ahead with plans for no deal Brexit, resisting attempts by MPs to scrutinise his plans, and sacking those who backed greater parliamentary control.

As Boris attempts to dodge scrutiny/ And head off an internal mutiny/ While talking of traitors/ And collaborators/ He seems to be going all Putin-y.

But Johnson’s negotiations in the EU looked to be going nowhere – and at a summit in Luxembourg he cancelled an outdoor press conference when faced with protesters. 

Perceiving the level of odium,/ Brave Boris abandoned the podium,/ The brown-trousered haste/ With which the man raced/ Suggesting a need for immodium.

In an unprecedented step, Johnson prorogued parliament in September to stop MPs from scrutinising his Brexit plan – a move ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court. 

Presiding in court, Lady Hale/ Made clear Johnson’s mark was a fail,/ And ruling as one/ Against what he’d done,/ The judges were not pro-rogue male.

As Johnson insisted the UK would crash out with no deal on Halloween if necessary, it was suggested that lorry drivers stuck in Kent might frequent its many dogging hotspots.

When lorries, post-Brexit, get stuck,/ A driver marooned in a truck/ Will just have to stay by/ Some Kent doggers’/ lay-by And watch exhibitionists fuck.

Yet another Johnson subplot came from reports about his relationship with pole-dancing tech entrepreneur Jennifer Arcuri, whose business he helped when London Mayor.

An entrepreneur known as Jennifer/ Boasts skill at enamouring men of ‘er,/ Her dances on poles/ Attract simple souls/ Like Johnson, whom she has antennae for.

Johnson insisted Brexit would happen on October 31 ‘Do or Die, and that he himself would rather be found dead in a ditch than request an extension. But MPs forced him to anyway.

Despite Johnson’s desperate pitch/ His programme encountered a glitch,/ A setback that caused/ The bill to be paused,/ But nobody died in a ditch.

So Johnson called an election, and things started to go right for him when Nigel Farage backed down, announcing that his Brexit Party would not contest Tory-held seats.

The Brexiteer Farage will dump/ His promise to go on the stump/ In Tory-held seats,/ A climbdown that meets/ The wish of his boss, Donald Trump.

Ahead in the polls, Johnson tried to avoid doing anything to risk his lead – like a Channel 4 climate debate. He was empty-chaired, represented by a melting block of ice.

The Tories gave Johnson advice/ To shun Corbyn, Sturgeon and Price/ And Berry and Swinson,/ For he’s less convincing,/ On climate, than that block of ice.

And on the campaign trail, he avoided a live TV ambush by Good Morning Britain by hiding in a refrigerated lorry.

Old Boris, when things get too hot’ll/ Escape from the scene at full throttle;/ The member for Uxbridge/ Ran into a truck’s fridge/ With milk in, to look for his bottle.

On winning the election with the support of many former Labour voters, Johnson promised public spending – though economists warn Brexit will leave him less to spend.

“My party, as Britain expexit,/ Will press on with full-blooded Brexit,/ And then disburse wealth/ On things such as health (Unless the aforementioned wrexit).”

For Labour, the result was dismal – Jeremy Corbyn said he would not fight another general election, but called for a period of reflection, rather than his instant replacement.

Responding to Thursday’s election/ With calls for some time for reflection,/ A leader named Corbyn/ Is slowly absorbing/ The scale of the voters’ rejection.


So farewell to 2019

When Donald, the Great Tangerine

Was found to be hiden

His dealings on Biden

With Kiev’s very own Mr Bean. 

The Mueller report into the Trump campaign’s links to Russia came out in April, but didn’t quite live up to what it revealed was Trump’s response to Mueller’s original appointment.

The President tried to obstruct/ The Mueller inquiry, and ducked/ Its questions, and though/ He’s crowing, we know/ He greeted its launch with “I’m fucked”.

In June, he made headlines on a visit to Britain by appearing to fist-bump Her Maj.

A small-handed yellow-haired whiner/ Who came to warn Brits against China/ Was shockingly seen/ To fist-bump the queen,/ Manhandling the royal regina.

A bizarre summer intervention saw Trump offering to buy Greenland off Denmark, then getting the hump when the Danes knocked him back.

Trump cancelled a trip to the Danish/ Because of them making it plainish/ That Greenland’s off limits/ And if you are him it’s/ Enraging because he is vainish.

But meanwhile in Ukraine, a new president had been elected – the former comic actor Vlodimir Zelensky, apparently someone Trump thought he could do business with.

A comic’s successful campaign/ Has brought him electoral gain;/ “They laughed”, he deadpanned,/ “On hearing I’d stand -/ They’re not laughing now in Ukraine!”

Contacts were revealed in which Trump pressured Zelensky to dig dirt on Democrat hopeful Joe Biden. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi went for impeachment.

Trump’s courting Ukraine to harm Biden/ Got Nancy Pelosi deciden/ This serious breach meant/ Some grounds for impeachment,/ Which may be expected to widen.

As the hearings proceeded, the responses of witnesses such as U.S. Ambassador to the European Union, Gordon Sondland, were not always helpful to Trump’s case. 

An envoy beyond US borders/ When asked if Zelensky-rewarders/ Had offered a quid/ Pro quo, said they did:/ “We followed the President’s orders”.


Farewell then to 2019,

When blokes on the tube got obscene,

A man died mid-fuck,

We mourned a dead duck

And sunseekers tanned in-between.

And finally, here are some of the stories I limericked because they made me laugh. These are all true stories (well, anyway they were reported by news media), and I think all pretty much explained in five lines. If not, Google!

A mallard who sadly got stuck/ On Niue has run out of luck;/ A canine attack/ Has silenced his quack,/ The pioneer now a dead duck.

The river that flows through The Smoke/ Takes pee flushed by London-based folk,/ And now it’s transpired/ That eels become wired,/ From swimming through all of their coke.

Three men caused a hullaballoo/ By having a Northern Line screw;/ Enjoying relations/ Through several stations,/ They got off around Waterloo.

A court found no legal protection/ If someone at work’s predilection/ Is rudely to place/ His rear in your face/ And fart in your general direction.

The head of Brazil’s mighty nation/ Who champions deforestation/ Says humans can master/ The threat of disaster/ By one-day-in-two defecation.

A fellow whose folks binned his porn/ Decided, to general scorn,/ To sue mum and dad;/ He said: “Though it’s sad, Dilemma-wise, I’m on the horn”.

A chemistry prof, Japanese, Whose students learnt how to make Es/ Is under arrest By cops unimpressed With MD-MA joint degrees.

A fungus impels the cicada,/ In some psychedelic lambada,/ To shag till it’s dead/ As body parts shed,/ Which doesn’t diminish its ardour.

The Swiss Patrol’s aerial show/ Got townspeople up to high doh/ By drowning their song -/ A terrible wrong/ To lay low a yodeller so.

A French firm was ordered to pay/ When one of its staff passed away,/ For Xavier X/ Who died during sex,/ Pegged out on the job, judges say.

A yard where bull semen was stowed/ Caught fire and went on to explode;/ The fire crews were dumbstruck,/ As vials of come struck/ By blasts began shooting their load.

A well-endowed Stoke-on-Trent shopper,/ Suspected because of his whopper,/ Denied he was stealing,/ And stripped off, revealing/ The bulge in his jeans was his chopper.

A wellness-through-butt-tanning craze/ Has led to unseemly displays:/ You lie back and splay ’em,/ A warm perineum/ Thus soaking up health-giving rays.

About twitmericks

There is an old fellow called Mick/Who's been penning the odd limerick/I admit he's no Keats/But he does them in tweets/So to follow, you just have to click.!/twitmericks "The limerick master of the twitterati" (The Guardian).
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