Sheersy's manifesto

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Ding-dong knock knock knock

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Ding-dong ding-dong knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock ah, you are in. I thought I could see you moving about in there, ha ha! Milk no sugar, before you ask.

OK, well, hello, I’m Sheersy and I’m just canvassing the area to see whether you’ll be voting for me in the upcoming – and, let’s face it, highly anticipated – General Election. I’m running on a benevolent Stalinist agenda that prizes fear and confused obedience above all other qualities. That’s not to say that I’ll be an entirely cruel supreme master, er, democratically elected leader, but I’d urge you to concentrate less on the ‘benevolent’ and more on the ‘Stalinist’, if you know what’s good for you. It’s a long-held aim of mine to reimagine the carrot/stick equation and then eat my big orange bat afterwards to dispose of the evidence, that’s all I’m saying.

My most noteworthy policies - the four sturdy pillars of my leadership bid - are as follow:

Pimp all rides Britain’s roads are boring. Just go for a drive – or, hey, even a walk – and see how excited you get. Clue: not very. Silver car, silver car, silver car – oh look, a red car - silver car. Boring. “But it helps hide the dirt.” BOOOOORRIIIIIIINNNG. Now try this: chrome rims, hydraulics, Cherry Bomb exhaust, custom paint job, blown engine, sick sound system. Why you whip be rollin’ on they lame-ass biscuits, dog? Precisely.

Bring back dinosaurs The worldwide annual budget for space exploration is an estimated 35 thousand million pounds. Yikes, that’s some serious money. We should be sending out sleek, hyperdrive-powered starliners like spores from some overactive puffball by now, right? Uh, no. In fact, we’ve only just about been to the moon a grand total of six times in the last 50-odd years. If this were a private company, the shareholders would be asking searching and pertinent questions like “Where’s my jetpack?” This simply isn’t paying the sci-fi dividends we were promised. Enough is enough, it’s time to knock this space bunk on the head and try a different tack. Let’s plough that sweet mountain of cash into questionable, carte blanche genetic projects run by disavowed and quite possibly unhinged scientists on remote tropical islands and see what they come up with.

Give our athletes some ‘pep’ Our fine sportsmen and women have a really tough time navigating the labyrinthine drug laws enforced by such bodies as the planned National Anti-Doping Agency, at the same time as trying to get some kind of product licensing deal [AKA genuine income] off the ground. Aah, poor them. In addition to that, as a group they’re not generally known for their incisive, high-brow appraisal of any given situation. “Coach said those special vitamins would be good for me, but now the unfriendly men want to stick me full of pins and make me wee in a cup.” They’re more like livestock, really. Now watch the over-toned idiots run round and round a track: yawnarama. Let’s scrap all this anti-doping nonsense, pump them full of all sorts of experimental concoctions and watch the fireworks. Eat my dust, Bannister, you four-minute-mile loser! Think of the military applications. It’s win-win, smiles all round.

Ban golf Take that Pringle-sweater-having, tasselled-shoe-wearing, self-important, new money waste of everybody’s time and effort underground and maybe, just maybe, like the London Orbital warehouse raves of the early ‘90s, it might become vaguely interesting. But I doubt it.

It’s a revolutionary approach, I grant you, but hope you’ll see sense and opt for my policies over those of the other [what I like to call ‘lesser’] candidates. Remember: vote Sheersy!

Thanks for the tea - I’ll see myself out.