C'est très amusant, mes chères! The big-eared, pompous git has been relegated to the unwashed backbenches (Chucky, dear, you should've gone far sooner really, shouldn't you now?) and the unpleasant oaf has been, it would seem, stripped of much of his Ministerial privilege (sticking round for a few more horny slob newspaper revelations, are you, lad?). The dishonourable bar stewards deserve far worse of course, but Edna does like a good gloat on a Friday after a disastrous local election for New Labour. Ahhhhhhh...Well, now that I've enjoyed that, and on a more serious note, Edna is still not satisfied. No. The central evil of British society still remains very much ensconced on his blood-stained throne: yes, our beloved treachery-spinning, warmongering, dirtbox-filthbucket, slimeball-eyesore-on-the-landscape Prime Minister is still there. Hubris must surely get him in the end the way it got Chuck.
O come forth, eldritch demons and Necronomicon warlocks of Cthulhu, come forth, wool of bat and tongue of dog, spew your gobshite on these unrighteous devil's spittles and get Bush too while you're at it. This is Edna's will. Bring down elephantine brown elevens' on their ignoble heads. PULL THE STRING! PULL THE STRING!
