My Application to Be a Conservative Party Press Officer

It's official… life is the pengest munch and summer is bossman's most succulent creation. To frolic around Zone 1 in the sun… to sniff the beer garden soil with Jimmy Delingpole and Danny Hannannannan… to just sit back and cotch with a fatty for an' old school theory sesh on the patio… now that's heaven daddy :)

And who would be spend their summer being anything else than a freelance hack? The freedom… the bon mots… the lewd dinners and snatched snifters of moonshine at Keith Vaz's villa… the lie ins… the sore heads… the briefings… the laughs… the banter… the copious plonk and huffs on the policy wonk. Oh my jolly little bruddas… isn't it just a marvellous thought! We started at Eton and now we here g… aha x

But that was then. Having suffered cataclysmic financial losses after the launch of both my SDP Every Flavoured Beans and Third Way Triwizard Weekend Retreats… I've to have a 'likkle rethink aha and decided to jump back on the job wagon. Chyyyyz indeed!

And guess what my don dons? Looks like CCHQ – that's Tory Party HQ to you – are hiring some hackwackys with attitude. Or as they put it…

Which is kind of sick 'cos say what you want about the nasty Slytherin Wazz*cks they sure know how to have a laugh… and if you don't laugh, well, you're probably gonna cry :)

So here's my application. Pray for me.

You know that mad feel my gs.. (Course you do…. You man are working at HQ aha) when you've been on a maud one… like, the patties have been stonking but the bunsdem are starting to get a likkle dry? When it feels like the Gammer Ray has smashed mans head in and it's only Meantimes to come? When the Blue Moon's rising and some likkle SPAD tries to buy man a Stella but his name ain't Creasy… chyyyyyyyyz. It's just been that kinda month, ya smell me?

Yeah, I'm taking about one of them ones there. And one of them ones is this one. That is to say… this application. They say the press is like a game of Quidditch yeah? Either you grab the snitch or die trying broski. And lets face it… we know who the snitch is… the rasclart Corbonoob press.

Certain man (and by certain man, I mean the more lewd and morally bankrupt sections of the British media) are acting like Corbyn is on some Dumbledore flex but we know better aha, yeah? You know what I'm saying… so my guy's stumbling about to trying hug up some hoodies when Dave was moving on some mad compassionate flex TEN YEARS AGO…

Try telling that to these lentil munching yobbos… you'd have more chance getting Kenneth Clarke to share out his butterbeer… ahaha nah I'm serious, that guy is thiiiiiiiirsty ;)

Anyway, lets leave the policy back in wonk city (population: me!) for a momento. And talk turkey. And by turkey I mean how we're going mash these dudes back on their sandals, aha.

What you see is what you get… I'm whacky, I'm cute… I'm centrist to boot. If you pi*s off me, or my bruddahs *metaphor alert!!* I'll let Gove a few bulletins… and I'm ain't talking briefings…

And if you DARE fling shade at me and my team… I'll be smearing a few Broadsheets of my own across the corridors of power… extreme? Sure. But that's Michael like my name is Deacon….

Chyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyz

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