Calling the Toons
Hat tip to Darren for spotting this piece of hilarity that, I think, sums up everything I've wanted to say about recent politics, but just haven't been bothered enough to write:
From Tribune, and the incomparable Martin Rowson ("The violins inherited in the cistern" titter).
I started off by saying that the reason I hadn’t done any cartoons of [George Osborne] was that, until this evening, I had no idea what he looked like and, until a few weeks previously, I’d never heard of him. This, I continued, was because of the abject hopelessness of the Conservative opposition, who through arrogance and self-indulgence had left the real job of opposition to the cartoonists such as myself and Steve Bell, who was also enjoying his ennobled namesake’s largesse.
However, I went on, should the dark day ever arrive when he, George, managed to climb to the top of the greasy pole (he gave an enthusiastic bark at this point), then it was only fair to warn him that every day of his life, my colleagues and I would be emphasising his weak chin, that weird cleft in his nose, his bad skin and everything else about his appearance, while also depicting him eating babies while wading thigh-high through a vast lake of human blood and shit. And I finished off by telling him that if he didn’t fancy a future of crying himself to sleep every night, he still had time to retire from public life and get into interior decoration or run a pet shop or something.
It was at this point, with his lower lip trembling slightly, that the future Chancellor of the Exchequer suddenly burst out: “I wasn’t expecting this kind of thing!”