Vainglorious imperial slide-rule salesman Nigel Farage is proclaiming to literally no-one bothering to listen, that his LBC sacking is instead a massive triumph having bested “bully-boy unelected bureaucrat bosses”.
Bestriding the white cliffs of Dover, draped in a Union Jack, Mr Farage refuted suggestions that he was fired after barely several hundred racist, inflammatory and generally thick shouty spitballs too many.
“This is just typical of the namby-pamby, right-wing, left-wing, middlebrow, reactionary, leftie, metrosexual, gender-muddled, dusky, Thornton’s Continental-loving press,” he yodelled, adding, “And women,” to remove any confusion.
“Attempting to break the system from within, like my time in the European Parliament, I whinged about taking their cushy money for years, like the unwelcome neighbour at a party hectoring the benefits of real ale while guzzling all the free boxed wine.
“In a total victory for my masterful negotiation skills, I refused to accept anything less than a rolling 10-year contract, shares, dividends, bonuses and pension. Being dumped out of a side door with barely time to pack up my Amstrad Emailer and Enoch Powell calendar is a clear victory for me.
“My heart-warming triumph is a total vindication of my crusade to free every stout Englishman from the shackles of rationality. The good ship Farage has sailed free of the shady 5G-loving LBC mandarins, hussah!”
Mirroring the ever-decreasing circles of his ‘political’ ‘career’, Mr Farage can now be heard broadcasting his pre-Beeching balderdash to all residents of Berry’s Green, Cudham and Downe equipped with a Brain’s Faggots tin can and long enough piece of string.
Weaving tantalisingly close to the precipice, Mr Farage trumpeted, “Just like these magnificent cliffs, my triumph is a great British landmark, milestone, insurmountable barrier, suicide hotspot, and let’s face it, saucy attraction.
“Hang on, is that deceitful northerly breeze wafting the taint of garlic into these doughty British nostrils? Right; I’m off down the nearest hostelry for a good old medicinal knees-up.
“What do you mean, they’re not open? This is road safety gone mad.”