HOW TO SOLVE BREXIT (HEAR ME OUT)
My solution to Brexit is that, effective immediately, I should be invited to be Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. It’s been 96 years since a Canadian last served in that position - the wonderfully named Bonar Law, of whom not enough is ever said - so although I don’t think I could thrust my way into British politics with quite his length and breadth of talent, not the stately girth of his political acumen, I still think I could do the job fairly well - at the very least I will bend over backwards to stop Britian from being screwed by Brexit. The criteria have not changed since Bonar Law’s time: I just need to be able to command the confidence of the House of Commons. This is trivial, really: I am very commanding, and since nobody in the House seems to have any confidence in one-another, it cannot be well argued that I - a total stranger - command any less confidence than anyone else. I meet this sole criterium just as much as the current incumbent, undoubtedly more so. Since I do not have to be an MP, or a Lord, or be a British citizen, or even be in Britain (Her Majesty can Skype me, hmu on the DM, ma’am), there is no legal impediment to me taking the job. If it sweetens the deal, I have been to Britain more than once, like bits of it very much, think roast chicken crisps are divine, can quote an awful lot of Monty Python, enjoy cricket immensely, and once happily consumed deep fried Haggis - which will make me winsome enough to win-over the SNP and put to bed all this independence nonsense (you might think you want it, but when you go to watch your favourite BBC series and realize that iPlayer no longer works in your country you’ll regret everything and curse the heavens for your short-sighted folly.) As for Brexit, my solution is this: I will telephone President Juncker (and party-line in M. Macron so he doesn’t get all snotty) and have an amiable chat about this and that - how are you enjoying being EU President, do you like the curtains in your office - really stretch out time until he get impatience and goes “What about Brexit?” and I’ll say What about whatnow? And he’ll say. “Brexit.” And I’ll say Cereal, usually - Shreddies with brown sugar for the last week - hey whatever happened to Freddie and Eddie? And he’ll say “Not Breakfast - Brexit!” Brag sit? And what that when it’s a home, then? ”BREX! IT!” I don’t - remind me? “Britain’s departure from the EU!”
I don’t think we’re planning to leave, Mr. President. Seems like an odd sort of idea. Exit the EU? And miss out on cheap flights to Monaco, home to the historic Iron Man 2? Nonsense. Somebody would have said something. “You are leaving!” he will cry - hopping mad, I am sure. (Unconscionably rude of me, I know. Under normal circumstances I would never behave in a manner so unbecoming of a gentleman. but needs must: as your new Prime Minister it would be my duty.) Er... “You are leaving! You triggered article fifty.” ... oh. Oh bugger. Devil’s fardles and ambergris - this is all very embarrassing. Yes, right - they did mention it to me, and they blushed the whole time, and this has been the most MORTIFYING thing you could imagine, but the burden has fallen to me, and I can’t shirk it. Alright, Mr. President: I am afraid there has been... well... something of a cock-up. A truly monumental cockup, but everyone over here has been so super shamefaced about it they couldn’t bring themselves to say anything - hoping it would just sort of be forgotten, go away on its own - but it never did, and now they’ve had to bring me in - a colonial and everything - because nobody here could bring themselves to come clean, its all supremely awkward. Gods, alright, here goes. I am afraid, Mr. President, that all this “Brag Sit” kerfuffle is the most terrible misunderstanding. A mis-hearing, in fact. They... gosh this is hard... they... they... sod it: They didn’t trigger Article Fifty, Mr. President. They triggered ... sigh... they triggered Article Schwifty. ... ... ... ... ... “what?” It was 2017, Mr. President. It was 2017 and Rick and Morty was terribly popular - the third season was all set to start that Monday and, well, the country just got so excited it rather lost its head and did something big and dramatic to show its fandom colours. It took a bit for anyone to notice that the rest of the EU seemed to have misheard them - Britons tend to be a bit neglectful of things on the continent. Also everyone was super cross that there was that two month hiatus after the episode came out and that had everyone distracted - not to mention that whole Szechuan Sauce thing. Anyways, Mr. President, by the time anyone realized the mistake cultural opinion on Rick and Morty had begun to sour and the United Kingdom found itself unwilling to admit that it had been that excited to watch it - they’d already had a fandom fall-out with something called “Briscuit” the year before and nobody wanted to stir-up old drama. Somebody suggested that they pretend Schfifty Five had been a popular retro-meme that month, but nobody thought they could make it sound convincing. So, as has become very obvious by now: after two years of going through the motions, the country is tired of being oppressed by cringe culture. They have made me their Prime Minister in order for me to tell you that although they no longer enjoy the show, there was a time that it meant something to them, but even so they’re very sorry that their intense display of fandom was so insensitive and hurtful. And they’re equally apologetic they didn't try to fix their mistake sooner. On behalf of the United Kingdom, Mr. President, and speaking as Prime Minister, I formally apologize for Rick and Morty and the harm it caused our union. “Uh...” he will say - speechless, utterly speechless. As a way of recompense, I’d like to convene an emergency of meeting of the EU council to discuss extending the reach of BBC iPlayer Europe-wide. “Mr. Prime Minister I - I cannot simply overlook two years of-” Did I mention Mary Berry has a new cooking show already available for streaming? “Two years of .... er... years of... of the United Kingdom not bringing roast chicken crisps to EU council meetings.” Heavens! What barbarians my predecessors were - there’ll be a lorry stuffed with Walkers in the Chunnel in twenty minutes. if you’ll excuse me, Mr. President, I’ll make the call right away. Toodle-pip. And that, ladies and gents and honourable non-binaries, if how I will swiftly and efficiently get rid of Brexit. Your Majesty, my Skype is open: I await your DM for my contact info.