But What Is the Back Story Behind Every Facial Expression in This British Cabinet Photo?

WELCOME, NEW OVERLORDS, PRAISE TO THEE O MIGHTY LEADERS:

No: it's not the launch of M&S's new range of at-all-sizes wide-and-long suits and their complimentary purple ties: it is instead the new Conservative Cabinet, all clattered together for their first official photo, huddled together to plot. There's Theresa May, resplendent and angular; there's Jeremy Hunt, the middle-manager-who-just-this-year-got-really-into-cycling face of doom; there's Chris Grayling, the terror, the terror. All the big ones, all the hits. What a majestic joy to see the grey and grizzled face of power.

But, as you might have noticed, somehow this photograph defies both laws and physics and has each facial expression some how escalating in toriness, from low-level Quite Tory to high-level Extreme Toryism. What is the backstory behind each of these folds, these quizzically pursed lips, these greying temples? Who and how and why did they got here? I am, as ever, glad you asked me. Together we are going to find out:

They Ran Out Of Alive Tories So Just Resurrected One From The Dead, #1

Dentists had to intervene because, without medical assistance, he is so posh his teeth would have never stopped growing.

Bit of a 'funeral director appears in local paper to defend his decision not to bury gay men' vibe, here.

A coven of witches decided, for some reason, to curse a large soft teddybear to instead live out the rest of its life as a tired human man, and after a series of misunderstandings it (we must call the bear-monster 'it', it is not human enough to earn a distinct pronoun) it rose to the position of Chancellor of the Duchy. "It will not die for a hundred summers more," it says. "It will not die for a thousand years. This sad bear shall stroll the face of this earth until the sun doth consume it."

Your dad's posh mate who always turns up to dinner half-pissed already despite driving his Porsche here, stumbling at the threshold, slightly, your dad's mate, bottle of red just leaning forward before he does, soft driving shoes, "Hello," he says, plummily, and then with a low growl, "… and my, haven't you grown," and then he spends six hours talking about ISAs ("Well frankly they're a load of old thrubbers") and not-even-subtly pinching your mum's arse.

There is no more Tory face than this. This is the Toriest face in the world. The only way this face could be more Tory is if a fox hunt were happening across the forehead of it. The only way this face could be more Tory is if it was complaining very loudly to the Little Waitrose assistant manager that "too many povvy fuckers on five-figures or less come in here to use the coffee machine and nothing else". The only way this face could be more Tory is if it sent its son, but not its daughter, to private school ("Oh, God, don't worry darling: Samantha will marry rich"). There is no back story for this face beyond hundreds of years of inherent privilege and oppression. N/A.

Starred in a '"I Just Don't Care – I've Got A Ferrari!": Why THESE Women Don't Care What Their Stepsons Think of Them, Because They've Got A Ferrari' MailOnline piece posing next to her furious, lank stepson and, later, her really fast Ferrari.

Andrea Leadsom, face taut like a drum, is here to offer you money to say that it was actually you who pelted the swimming pool windows with paintballs, because if they find out Monty did it it's one more strike and her son won't go to Oxford.

If there were an Olympic event for 'shutting your laptop screen closed before anyone could see what you were looking at' then this lad would win gold 20 consecutive tournaments in a row.

'Why THIS Up-And-At-'Em Young Mum Who Doesn't Even Let Her Hair Dry Before Pulling On A Fleece And Some Karrimors And Going On A Hike Of A Sunday Morning Has Had Just About ENOUGH Of The Sloppy Recycling Some Of Her Neighbours Have Been Displaying In Recent Weeks And So Dobbed Them In To The Council So Hard they All Got Fines'

"Sorry I'm late to the photoshoot, some bigger boys stripped me and used me as a bowling ball"

"Yeah I wouldn't go in there if I were you. Clotted it right up. Real bangers and mash job. Had a load of Guinness and ham for dinner, so it's probably that. Anyway, there's the key back. Right: how much do I owe you for the petrol?"

"Ah, yes, hello my pretty, hello my pretty darling, won't you get ever so closer to me, my pretty little darling, please, Daddy's hearing isn't so good these days, and: my, don't we smell just delightful, haven't we got a musk, my my my, yes, very pretty, very pretty indeed. And just a dangling little cross on a chain, so innocent, just whispering against your blouse there, just the ever-so-slightest hint of a breast, yes, like the fresh scent of flowers on the breeze, my darling, you remind me of the summ— oh… sorry, I must have got distracted. I'll have a double-shot latte, please. In the name of 'Chris'."

They Ran Out Of Alive Tories So Just Resurrected One From The Dead, #2

"Sorry I'm late for the photo, I got in an explosion and now it looks like I'm permanently faceswapped with Alan Titchmarsh"

Got down to the last two to play The Demon Headmaster but CBBC producers decided he was too quote-unquote "fucking eerie" to take the part.

Ate her twin in the womb. When asked about it ever she just says "born a winner" and orders another bottle of champagne in.

"Come closer now, yes, hmm, so young, so seductive: tell me, pretty darling: do you like to be licked?"

Sat down in the wrong meeting in 1990 once and was too polite to get up and now he's Business Secretary for the entirety of the UK. Nobody on earth says, "Ooh, lasagne? My fave!" while walking into a kitchen and sniffing more than Greg Clark.

'Just going to check my pulse to see my heart's still beating.'

Your mum's hard mate who "knows gangsters" and somehow you end up being forced to apologise to after her son stole your BMX.

'Mummy I plopped my knickies again.'

Amber Rudd really has to shoot after this photo gets taken because she's got an appointment speaking to a group of primary school teachers to remind them – and gently chide them – that Muslims are ruining Christmas, so to keep it safe, we really must make them sit through our Christian assemblies to learn about our ways.

"It's an extraordinary feeling, so I've read, so I've heard, one quite distinct from the usual… quite delectable – an acquired taste, so you hear – once you have a tweak of it. Yes. Yes. There are plenty of guides for how to do it, online. One must thoroughly clean the area first, of course, and use plenty of lubrication. Condoms are a must. Thin fibres, so it is. But yes: I like to squirm my way up there like a playful fish and just be the naughtiest of all naughty boys. Naughty Chrissy, dirty boy. Sorry, what was I saying— yes, can I deposit this cheque please? And I have a couple of direct debits I need to cancel."

"I would like to say, categorically, that reports that I sleep in a coffin are hearsay and false."

They Ran Out Of Alive Tories So Just Resurrected One From The Dead, #3

Leaves Amazon reviews on Myleene Klass albums that say "fantastic - just fantastic……. xx" in the vague hope she'll read them and, through a complex turn of events that Defence Secretary Michael Fallon plays out in the cinescreen in his head every night before he sleeps, finds him and fucks him.

This is the exact pose your mum pulled when she found a baggy in your bedroom and sat at the kitchen table, poised and silent, for five full hours before you came home from Glastonbury and got the grounding of a lifetime.

Winner of the Eddie Stobart 'Cheeriest Murderer of the Year' award at the annual companywide Christmas party.

Stifling an unexpected erection with his hands.

"Well I don't mind it, of course: back in my day they all had them, great bushy plumes of them, riddling hither and yon, O, far beyond the crotches: my, my, my, what a real treat it was to plunder your head into a majestic big bush and just inhale the scent of it… but nowadays, of course, they trim them all off – or worse, shave them away to naught! – and I have to say I'm a traditionalist. Yes, we've all had a caramel-coloured honeypot bent over our knees and smacked them, bald as a coot, smacked them absolutely silly – but if you ask me a real woman comes with a few scars, a few stories, and a billowing bush full of hairs… sorry, officer, what was I saying? No I've had nothing to drink this evening—"

when u nut and she keep suckin

when u nut and she keep suckin

when u nut and she keep suckin

when u nut and she keep suckin

when u nut and she keep suckin

@joelgolby

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