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What went wrong in the UK election?

Clearly I failed to insult people I disagreed with frequently enough

December 13, 2019

3:52 PM

13 December 2019

3:52 PM

Boris Johnson won the UK general election with a huge majority. My country is officially dead to me now. How could this have happened? I was absolutely certain Jeremy Corbyn and his woke Labour comrades would win a resounding victory. The celebrities were out in force posting their achingly sincere videos telling the plebs how they should vote. Actor and comedian Steve Coogan posted a fantastic speech in which he branded anyone who voted Leave in the EU referendum as ‘thick’, and at the time I was sure this would sway any undecided voters. Hugh Grant selflessly took it upon his shoulders to educate the masses on why his opinions are more important than theirs and advised them to ignore their own insignificant voting preference in favor of his far superior assessment of the political landscape. 

On the day of the election, Jeremy Corbyn’s Twitter feed was shooting out down-wit-da-yoot memes and pop culture references like he was auditioning for the supporting role in a Judd Apatow movie. But alas, as the exit poll result was revealed, the dark wings of fascism ominously enveloped my hopes and dreams, and cruelly dashed the Golden Chalice of Compassion from our country’s empathy-parched lips.

I spent the rest of the evening in a blind rage, occasionally lashing out at the television as one-by-one the results of the various constituencies were announced, wincing in pain as I witnessed the CGI blue bar signifying Boris Johnson’s impending victory slowly inching its way across the screen.

christmas banner

My profound fury must have eventually overwhelmed me because the next thing I remember was waking up on the sofa to the sound of Jeremy Corbyn’s voice. It filled my ears like a siren’s call and I momentarily forgot the tragic events surrounding this gentle awakening. But then, as the words ‘loss’, and ‘defeat’ drifted from the TV and burrowed their way mercilessly into my consciousness, my memory returned with the force of one of J.K. Rowling’s Dementors, and my head exploded with the painful realization that all is lost. Evil hath triumphed. The endeth cometh.

I took to Twitter to see if I could excavate some sense from the murky pit of insanity my mind had transformed into. Scrolling through the hashtag #NotMyPM gave me some brief comfort. Fellow comrades were venting their frustration and coming up with reasons as to why Jeremy Corbyn did not win. 

Labour activist and political commentator Owen Jones laid the blame firmly at the feet of Brexit:


https://twitter.com/OwenJones84/status/1205246679835910145

While actor and comedian, David Schneider felt that Tory lies, spun during the electioneering campaign played a major part:

Jeremy Corbyn himself didn’t seem to have the faintest idea regarding the reason for his humiliating defeat:

Some people are blaming the soul-crushingly embarrassing massacre of Labour on the problem the party has with anti-Semitism, or the fact that Corbyn has never clearly defined his stance on Brexit, or that the idea of an extreme-left socialist with historical links to terrorist groups gaining so much power was a far worse proposition to many people than the idea of Boris the buffoon taking over the helm. Of course, all of this is a nonsense dreamed up by far-right bigots in order to slander our Dear Leader.

After calming myself and giving the situation some thought, I believe I have uncovered the reason for this unfathomable calamity. Before December 12, I had asked my friends and family members who they planned to vote for, and apart from Uncle Hector, who between you and me is a [EDIT: alleged] sex offender, they all said without hesitation: ‘Jeremy Corbyn!’ Literally a massive majority right there. Alas, this was my fatal error because it resulted in me resting on my laurels. I spent the following few days on social media insulting any accounts I saw espousing Conservative opinions in order for them to recalibrate their moral compass and set a course for a socialist utopia. But I admit, I did not invest enough time into this strategy. I had allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security and so in the days leading up to the election date I had called just 263 Twitter accounts ‘sweaty gammon’ and accused only 98 people on Instagram of vile racism. If only I, and others, had devoted more hours to abusing random strangers on the internet, perhaps Jeremy would be warming his feet in front of the fireplace in Number 10 Downing Street right now.

It turns out that many other Labour voters feel the same way. 

So, take heed, America. When it comes to getting Trump out of the White House, what you need to do, is exactly the same thing you did the first-time round: call Trump supporters as many names you can think of. Insult and abuse them on social media until your fingers are sore. Sneer at them in the streets until your face aches. Sooner or later, it has to work, right? I mean, I’ve seen toddlers in supermarkets screaming at their parents and most of the time it ends in them getting the candy they wanted. When the next UK election comes around, I’ll be ready with my most devastating insults.


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