Stanley Johnson is a cunt, isn’t he?
Want an opinion on BoJo’s latest idea? Call Stanley.
Need a talking head for your lowly-viewed, Channel 38 “Current Affairs” programme? Call Stanley.
Require somebody who knows Boris to blither on about how he spoke to Nanny rather rudely, or didn’t use to pick up his jim-jams from the floor? Call Stanley.
Usually nepotism runs in the opposite direction, yet that’s not going to prevent this garrulous old terrier from cashing in on his son’s notoriety. The till must be dinging away as this greedy duffer is available at the drop of a hat.
For anybody who hasn’t been paying attention, allow me to elucidate: Boris has a pop at the unelected gangsters over at Club EU; his father is there to give a contrary point of view (Oooh, controversy). Johnson younger is accused of squeezing some bint’s thigh twenty years ago; call in Johnson senior to opine on the matter (Oooh, controversy). Boris calls Extinction Rebellion a “bunch of crusties stinking of hemp”; That’s right, Pater is there to seemingly take the other side to earn some easy folding stuff (yawn, mundanity).
There hasn’t been anybody working this hard since the last dozen Gimmigrants worked a pedalo across the English channel. Such is his thirst for exposure or a tv gig and the subsequent filthy lucre, he works every channel he can. His huffing and puffing and rushing and nodding is frenetically exhausting, and fabulously rewarding. He’d put a Lithuanian whore to shame.
For bookings, call his agent. No job too small! Johnson is available for TV, radio, newspapers, magazines, appearances, jungles, parish pamphlets, walk-ons, walk-offs, the closing of a college ceremony or the opening of a fucking Poundland; this shameless, salivating, old spiv will do them all.
Nominated by Captain Magnanimous
