Boris Johnson Claimed He Only Had His Birthday Party Because He Was Ambushed by a Cake While Drunk at a Garden Party
Identity crisis afflicts scarecrow on the other side of the pond
Boris Johnson is making some bad choices. When he told the public he was ambushed by a cake, it had a Jussie Smollett vibe. Nobody believed him except my pet unicorn who’s cohabiting with my leprechaun.
Boris tried wearing fake glasses so people thought he was a serious person but the only frame that fit his woolly mammoth head were specially crafted from the defunct Barnum and Bailey Circus. Even then, the plastic lenses kept busting out of the frames making him look like Hermoine poured some poly juice into his tea.
Boris considered becoming a lesbian because he heard LGBTQ+ was a big algebraic number. Unfortunately, national health care wouldn’t pay for his sex change. He asked plastic surgeons if they could turn his tummy into boobies, but they said with COVID, push-up boobies were not considered essential surgery.
On his way out, one surgeon chased him out and whispered, “When boobies become essential again, I’ll do it. You have enough material for an impressive rack.”
Boris went to the Queen of England for advice but her 95-year-old eyes thought he was Prince Phillip. She told him to lose some weight, get his boobs properly fitted for the correct bra, stop sleeping with tweens and, lose her number.
Hoping to garner some support from Black people, Boris claimed African roots but, when he flew to Africa his pasty skin sizzled off and he’s still recovering from six degrees of having skin like bacon.
Boris pondered becoming a dictator but with Trump gone, he couldn't remember how to do it all by himself. Established dictator, Kim Jong-il had given up on hair-like-hay blonds since Trump went from describing their relationship as “We were in love” to “We were just friends.” Kim Jong-il couldn’t educate another ginormous scarecrow to destroy democracy and his heart wasn’t in it.
One of Boris’s younger staff members suggested Boris follow the current microtrend to get youth support. The current fad was called Kidcore, where older men dressed like tweens.
Boris loved the idea and donned a hot pink, faux-fur floor-length coat, Benetton baggy sweater, and mom jeans to a speech explaining his birthday cake ambush. Upon seeing him walk upon the stage, all of England projectile vomited as one.
England had not been that unified since concurring Meghan Markle was not a white American. After wiping the vomit from her lady chin hairs, the Queen sent in the Swiss Guard.
Carrying pikes and supported by sticks up their asses, the Swiss Guard ushered Boris to the support dormitory for pervy Royals. It’s quite a big group if you must know.
Now, Boris wakes up in his dorm room every morning at 1:30 am, eats the giant birthday cake that ambushed him, and sugar dials Biden. He frosting-slurs into the phone, “Why don’t you talk about me as much as Putin?” and huffily closes his flip phone. Even as a small boy, Boris was too chicken shit to put the receiver up to his ear when making a prank call.
Biden never hears the calls, however, because Jill redirects her hubby's world leader booty calls after 7 pm. Biden is almost 80, needs his sleep, and must arrive at his mall walk at 530 am sharp, or the Old Yellers walk without him.