But it’s not your fault. It really isn’t. In the history of British politics there isn’t is a single example of prime-ministerial hair doing a better job. I mean, sure the tangled mess that Lord Palmerston sported during his years as PM (and as foreign secretary) was effective, but only in combination with his prodigious mutton chops. Without the face fuzz, Palmerston’s coiffeur was less of a hairdo, and more of a hairdon’t.
You are to be congratulated on your hard work. You have been relentlessly ludicrous. So incredibly distracting. It’s almost impossible to pay any attention to the moronic and mendacious things the mouth that occupies the face below you utters. You aren’t the problem at all.
You have been perfect.
I mean, that time you diverted media attention from your skull-manikin’s potentially explosive row with its female partner? Genius. The photographs looked so different, and they were taken within hours of one another. And sure, there were some hair-splitters who said it couldn’t possibly be you in both pictures – nay, they insisted it wasn’t you – we know the facts. You are brilliant.
You can look like anything. The tousled mess of an upper-class twit who’s been sleeping rough in a gutter redolent with urine. The scarified, on-end, faux-blow-out of a man who just watched a video of his own appalling political dismemberment and death. The limp sass of nihilist hair that just doesn’t give a shite. Mate, you can do them all.
And still, it’s not enough. We understand you, Boris Johnson’s hair. We get you.
But. But ”¦ it’s time to stop trying so hard. It’s just not going to work this time. You have taken your head and its attached buffoon as far as you can. No new tricks are going to work. You can use modeling clay to make yourself look like Big Ben – and sure, the tabloids will cover it – but it just won’t stop reporters from noticing the emptiness of the cranium beneath you.
You have been so outrageous, I can sense you’d rather go out with a bang, not a wimple. But I urge you, cut your losses, and let the rest of Boris Johnson’s tale fall on the shoulders of history.
Wishing you good locks,
Mark A. Rayner
Finding current events just too hairy? Enjoy some hirsute fiction instead!
Get a free ebook!
If you’d like to check out one of my previous novels, before you buy, I’m happy to just give you one. Not only that, you can choose between Marvellous Hairy and The Fridgularity. (They’re both great in their ownways.) Just join my newsletter to get started!
An Open Letter to Boris Johnson’s Hair
Dear Boris Johnson’s Hair,
It’s really not going very well, is it?
But it’s not your fault. It really isn’t. In the history of British politics there isn’t is a single example of prime-ministerial hair doing a better job. I mean, sure the tangled mess that Lord Palmerston sported during his years as PM (and as foreign secretary) was effective, but only in combination with his prodigious mutton chops. Without the face fuzz, Palmerston’s coiffeur was less of a hairdo, and more of a hairdon’t.
You are to be congratulated on your hard work. You have been relentlessly ludicrous. So incredibly distracting. It’s almost impossible to pay any attention to the moronic and mendacious things the mouth that occupies the face below you utters. You aren’t the problem at all.
You have been perfect.
I mean, that time you diverted media attention from your skull-manikin’s potentially explosive row with its female partner? Genius. The photographs looked so different, and they were taken within hours of one another. And sure, there were some hair-splitters who said it couldn’t possibly be you in both pictures – nay, they insisted it wasn’t you – we know the facts. You are brilliant.
You can look like anything. The tousled mess of an upper-class twit who’s been sleeping rough in a gutter redolent with urine. The scarified, on-end, faux-blow-out of a man who just watched a video of his own appalling political dismemberment and death. The limp sass of nihilist hair that just doesn’t give a shite. Mate, you can do them all.
And still, it’s not enough. We understand you, Boris Johnson’s hair. We get you.
But. But ”¦ it’s time to stop trying so hard. It’s just not going to work this time. You have taken your head and its attached buffoon as far as you can. No new tricks are going to work. You can use modeling clay to make yourself look like Big Ben – and sure, the tabloids will cover it – but it just won’t stop reporters from noticing the emptiness of the cranium beneath you.
You have been so outrageous, I can sense you’d rather go out with a bang, not a wimple. But I urge you, cut your losses, and let the rest of Boris Johnson’s tale fall on the shoulders of history.
Wishing you good locks,
Mark A. Rayner
Finding current events just too hairy? Enjoy some hirsute fiction instead!
Get a free ebook!
If you’d like to check out one of my previous novels, before you buy, I’m happy to just give you one. Not only that, you can choose between Marvellous Hairy and The Fridgularity. (They’re both great in their own ways.) Just join my newsletter to get started!
Categories:But is it art? Commentary Parody & Satire