I’ve always been known as ‘Big John’, even when I were a bairn – and it weren’t cos I wore a size 16 girdle, oh no! I always knew what the ‘big’ referred to though. And now, so do mi constituents. Oh yes.
Well, it were just after election day and I’d been for mi Big Mac to build up mi stamina for another encounter with Porking Portillo. And he was called Porking for a reason. I was wearing a big trenchcoat and precious little else. Apart from mi girdle of course and a rather fetching cod-piece. Black lace and see-through. Oh yes. Well anyway, all the pressure of being deputy prime minister (ha! Screw you Laurie Quinn – ho ho ho, maybe later!) were getting to me in the trouser department. So me and Porty had arranged what we liked to call a ‘session’ in the gents after Prime Minister’s Question Time. It had got pretty heated that day and young Porty was looking pretty flustered. He always looked flustered, like a nicely cooked Porty Pie – as I like to call it. He were waiting for mi in the second cubicle. I could hear im and Mo Mowlam at it like warthogs, so I waited mi turn, all the time the tension was rising with every moan.
“Oh!” Mo’s voice sounded like freshly grated cheese, soft and yellow. I know something else that’s soft and yellow….
“Uh!” Portillo, so strong, so manly….
I could hardly wait to get stuck in to mi Porty pie. Mmm. As I were waitin, tiny Tone (not called Tiny for no reason, ho ho ho) came in. The pressure of Prime Minister’s Question Time was getting to him too. I could see it in is bell bottoms.
“Oh Prescott!” ‘e said
“Oh Tony!” I said.
“You look good” e’ said
“Ay” I said
An’ then off came the bell bottoms and out came little captain dinky. Small but firm. Hairy but soft. And smelling like a newly cooked roast dinner. I was always partial to roastings. Especially those involving the 3 sex beasts of the commons. The cubicle door opened revealing Mo’s tits to all and sundry. Ripe and plump, ready to feed a thousand tots. Or a hungry deputy prime minister. So I sucked and I sucked hard. No milk. Not impressed. Prescott. I moved onto young Porty. His clothes were draped all over an old statue of Maggie Thatcher. She looked pleased. So young Porty was revealing all his prize assets, and trust me they’d win first prize at Crufts any day. I got down on mi knees and bit into his sausage hard. I always did like a bit of sausage, especially with Porty pastry.
“Oh Prescott” he said
“mmm… poirwr….dadas…” I said. Mi mouth was full of juicy meat, and gravy. I always were partial to a bit of gravy with mi pork. Not that I’m queer like.
Then before I knew it, Tiny Tone were coming up behind me.
“I thought you might like a bit of Pork” ‘e said.
I always was partial to a bit of pork. Shame it weren’t in a pie like, but who am I to complain?
Then suddenly, young Tony’s captain dinky drooped in horror – oh ‘orror, ‘orror, ‘orror – at the sight of a dirty Tory popping up – in more ways than one – from the next cubicle. It were Michael Howard. Or horny Howie as ‘e were known to those of us ‘in the know’. Ho ho ho.
“Bugger off ya dirty Tory” I said.
