|This face will provide enough cash |
to pay for Dave's botox injections or
a week's worth of doggy treats for Nick
The new wrinkle tax was pushed through parliament by that waste of lily-white manicured skin Cameron while some grey men in expensive suits slept off lunch.
The initiative, which aims to charge people for ageing, is a new and exciting way of ensuring old people die leaving plenty of debt for their already poor families, thereby maintaining the enormous gap between the old and impoverished and the overfed aristocracy.
Nick Clegg has attempted to appease angry local old people on his visit to Truro when he reassured the crowd of angry, starving ancients that they would not have to pay the new tax as long as they remained stone cold, shut up and ultimately die as quietly as possible.
“We understand what the old Cornish ball-bags are saying”, said the lady-boy who sold his soul to satan for the price of a fisting from a toffee-nosed twit, “we have a lot in common with the unwashed commoners and pongy bumpkins of Cornwall, in that we are all inbred and not very bright. The only difference is that we were born incredibly rich so we run the country and do what we fucking want. But I can assure the worthless pensioners of Cornwall that as long as they remain in their tawdry homes without the heating on, which they can't afford anyway thanks to my over-privileged boyfriend's worthless government, they'll soon die of hypothermia and this tax will not affect them any more.”
Later Clegg petrol-bombed a psychiatric home in Redruth, then visited Rick Stein's Death Star in Padstow where they tortured lurchers and laughed at youth unemployment before cracking open a bottle of peasant tears and performing a naked ceremony in which they urged the great cosmic entity Cthulhu to spit poisonous muck all over Jethro.