An openly corrupt and patently narcissistic leader, surrounded by a phalanx of complacent acolytes, enriched his followers with liquidated public assets and spurious government schemes, flagrantly violated international treaties, shattered national political standards, flooded social media with fake news, used their power over the pressured to spread disinformation for many decades, sought to destabilize the EU, had fruitful meetings with far-right figures in Europe and America, weaponized nostalgic nationalism, and allowed refugees to be used as cannon fodder in a border dispute. in progress. But now is not the time for Keir Starmer to call for Boris Johnson to resign. (Did you see what I did there? I’m here all week! Try the fish!)
Britain shamefully allowed Russian oligarchs to pay their way to the highest echelons of society, and is internationally despised for it. It is probably the only area of the current conflict where we genuinely “run the world.” Did the presence of wealthy outsiders shield Putin from significant criticism? Kill a British citizen in a Salisbury park and then sarcastically claim that his trained killers were tourists, of ecclesiastical bent, eager to see the cathedral en plein soleil? Come right this way, sir! And would you like to play tennis with the prime minister too? Stick your head between them and say “Blubby blubby blubby.”
The fringes of the home counties are now populated by oligarchs who seem to have seen a Jack Vettriano painting of a woman pulling on stockings while a smoking man masturbates through a French window, and instead of just throwing up, they decided they that was the lifestyle for them! The Intelligence and Security Committee’s July 2020 report on Russia warned, as cautiously as possible, about its influence on British media and politics, but downplayed the danger that Jack Vettriano’s suspenders and the aesthetics of oligarch-driven sports cars dominate fine art. market for decades.
Instead, the report suggested that “the UK has been seen as a particularly favorable destination for Russian oligarchs and their money,” highlighting cash-for-visas, the reputation-laundering power of British institutions and the danger of British lawyers, financiers, and PR professionals, such as Tory party chairman and oligarch enabler Ben Elliot, presumably becoming de facto Russian state actors. Having learned in Telegraph that the best way to believe something is to link it to Brussels, Turds Johnson dismissed their concerns as those of “Islington renegades”. But the people being bombed in Ukrainian basements don’t seem too interested in Russian influence either. And they love the EU. Is it possible to be an Islington remoaner if you live 2500 miles from Islington and spend all day pouring gasoline into milk bottles or hiding? I’m just asking about a fellow comedian.
Fifteen months before the report, while still foreign secretary, Turds evaded his bodyguards for an unapproved excursion to a party in Italy hosted by the playboy son of a former KGB agent, Evgeny Lebedev, whose name sounds as if someone tried to say “Do you have any liver please?” underwater (I’ve checked with Alexa and this joke is officially “non-racist”).
Abramovich’s assets were eventually frozen and stored in the ice compartment of the Downing Street closing party wine fridge.
Turds was then seen admitting to fellow passengers that he had “had a rough night” at San Francesco d’Assisi airport on his way home. One viewer observed of the future prime minister: “He was a disaster. He was quite disheveled and his pants were crooked and wrinkled. It looked like he had slept in his clothes.” To be fair, Turds always looks like this, but the fact that his pants were “crooked” is exceptionally disturbing. What horrendous act could the host of Turds who left the pants from the future prime minister so tangled, and could it have something to do with Lebedev’s access to the House of Lords two years later, at Turds’s request, despite Turds being told to the contrary by security agencies?
Suddenly, the suggestion of Russian interference is taken more seriously, and Carole Cadwalladr, automatically maligned, is quietly transforming from Andrew Neil’s “mad catwoman” into the Oracle of All Knowledge of Sinbad’s Golden Journey. The Tories’ own use of disinformation in the last election, where 88% of their online communications were false, showed us that the approach can work, and it was always obvious to me that I was being targeted by Russian trolls. Every time I wrote about Russia around the time of the EU referendum, patriotic counterattacks appeared in the comments section below the newspaper line in not quite correct English. In the end I settled on the writers of these clearly targeted contributions by including deliberately incomprehensible comments about Russia in my satires, peaking in June 2015 with the following paragraph (sorry if I quoted it earlier).
“To me, Vladimir Putin is a giant, prolapsed worker bee sucking on the ridiculously hot cephalothorax of prawns. Let’s see what crunchy, expansionist boudoir honey this notion makes Russian keyboard parthenogenetic hrends puff up for us this week, in the shadow of Paul McGann and his artistic gnome.” But I suspect that the author of the later comment, “Even if Putin is a bee, he fights for a better colony much better for the world than the colonialist western wasp Lee tries to wave the flag”, what a great Observer the reader joins.
Has the profitable cyber campaign of the Kremlin trolls finally run out of steam? Trump handed over the White House, eventually; the anticipated domino effect of leaving the EU was cut short by the reality of Brexit; across Europe, the assets of oligarchs are being confiscated; Even in Britain, Roman Abramovich’s assets were eventually frozen and stored in the ice compartment of the Downing Street closing party wine fridge. Putin turned off the Wi-Fi and sent in the tanks. Russia messed up British pants, as surely as Lebedev messed up excrement on that fateful Italian night. First, we must hold the Home Office to account, neutralize the anti-refugee aftertaste of the Brexit campaign, and match European hospitality for displaced war victims. Then we must untangle our pants. permanently.
• Rescheduled 2022 domestic dates for Stewart’s 2020 Snowflake Tornado tour are on sale now; just like the edinburgh fringe shows, here and here