Our sceptered isle wept in grief today, as the lovable ex-political correspondant John Sergeant announced he was bowing out from Strictly Come Dancing. It’s understandable since as far as I can gather viewers have been voing for him simply to see him lurch around the dancefloor like Frankenstein’s christmas turkey, though that’s based on the Metro’s description of his choreography. Leader of the Shadow Cabinet David Cameron was quoted as saying:
Strictly will not be the same without him. The nation will not have the same spring in its step on a Friday night.
Er, wait. What?
Yes, Cameron’s jumped on another bandwagon, and I think he’s just panicking and picking them at random these days. I particularly like how he shows off being on first-name terms with Britain’s finest waste of a Friday night, showing a level of familiarity the average forty five year old female hairdresser would find creepy.
But this isn’t even a new low for Mr. Cameron on his quest to become London’s cuddliest Tory. Remember the excruciating WebCameron?
I’d be worried about Mr. Cameron’s determination for the common public to love him before he and his cronies rape them like it’s 1983 all over again, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s hilariously bad at it and still comes off as that R.E. teacher pathetically desparate for his kids to like him. I’m fairly certain this whole thing’s going to come to a head in a few years when he finally snaps and we find him on a dead male prostitute wearing a suit made of Boris Johnson’s flayed flesh like out of off of Silence of the Lambs. As all the best political careers end.
Stacking Cattle 