This was written by Bernard Chalk.
The ‘mouse’ is someone who supports political party UKIP. He uses his description of Nigel Farage to scare off David Cameron, Nick Clegg and Ed Miliband, who are preying on undecided voters.
A middle aged closet racist took a stroll through the deep dark wood. A Tory saw the middle aged closet racist, and the closet racist looked good.
‘Where are you going old chap? Come and rest in my home, it seems as though you could do with a nap.’
‘It’s terribly kind of you Tory, but later I’ll get the chance for my body to recharge. You see I’ve got plans to meet with a man named Farage.’
‘A Farage?’ The Tory quipped. ‘What’s a Farage?’
‘A Farage? Why didn’t you know? He has big yellow teeth behind his plump haughty face, and enough chauvinistic jokes to put you back in your place.’
‘Where are you meeting him?’ cried the startled politician.
‘Right here, we’re going to drink coffee, and rumour has it that his favourite snack is roasted Tory.’
‘Roasted Tory?! I’m off!’ The Tory said. ‘Goodbye good sir.’ And away the Tory sped.
On went the middle aged closet racist through the deep dark wood. A Miliband saw the middle aged closet racist, and the closet racist looked good.
‘Where are you headed my fellow working man? Come and have a drink with me, if you are without a plan.’
‘It’s frightfully nice of you Miliband, but no, you see I’m on the charge for a creature called Farage.’
‘A Farage?’ Miliband pondered. ‘What’s a Farage?’
‘A Farage? Why didn’t you know? He drinks pints of bitter down the local pub, and has more than enough excellent immigration laws for you to try and snub.’
‘Where are you meeting this monster?’ cried the terrified MP.
‘Right here, on this very land, and his favourite food is skewered Miliband.’
‘Skewered Miliband?!’ sniveled the empty shell of a man. ‘Goodbye my friend.’ And away Miliband ran.
On traveled the middle aged closet racist through the deep dark wood. A Lib Dem saw the closet racist, and the closet racist looked good.
‘Where are you journeyed my good friend? Come and have cake with me, for I have to try and prove that I’m not a massive bellend.’
‘That’s wonderfully good of you Lib Dem, but I’m already far too large. Besides, I’m aiming to meet with a person called Farage.’
‘A Farage?’ the Lib Dem mused. ‘What’s a Farage?’
‘A Farage? Why didn’t you know? He’s more English than a jam filled scone, and it is because of him that your party will soon be long gone.’
‘Where are you meeting this devil?’ blubbed the petrified Lib Dem.
‘Right here, by that tall oak tree, in this well opinionated town of Clacton-on-Sea!’
Alas, silly reader, didn’t you know? There’s no such thing as a…. oh no.
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