The McGuffin Effect: Getting out of Labour Mindcamp
Any election campaign needs a clear power thruline. Bottom of the pyramid, party workers.
I take my hat off, seriously. Poor bastards and their crappy diets. The fuck is “curry sauce”? And what kind of goddam maniac would put that shit on FRIES? Oh Jesus and they all got that weird-ass “thrift store” smell, too.
In the pyramid’s center - regional apparatchiks and national admin guys. The fixers. The shmoozers. The property-owning adulterers. The Labourgoisie yo.
Yeah, say what you want about that self-serving, hyprocrital, motherfucking Mr Bean cumsock Tony Blair. But he knew how to build civilized consensus. Transformed a traditional center-left-ass cakes-and-ale party into a center-center-ass wine club.
Right at the pyramid top, the VIPs. Ed and his Shad Caballerros. Senior think tankers. Wonko broncos. The ritzeroony dick-swinging donors without whom, etc.
And right at the very top of this strategically planned pyramid? Yours truly. The McGuffinator. The man who put a black guy in the White House TWICE and who now strives to put a talking donkey on the throne of King’s Landing. That is who the fuck is at the very top of the pyramid.
And the instructions from me, the Man With The Golden Balls, were unequivocal. “I’m heading back to America for a couple of weeks. Do not deviate from my masterplan. Above all do not attempt to think for your sorry fucking selves, you shower of atomized shit. Because if you do, everything will unravel like a fucking spaghetti poncho and I will kick your chump Brit asses all the way from Whitehall to Stratford-upon-fucking-Avon.”
They were always going to fall apart. But I had no choice. I needed to head home to promote my new book, which I am pretty sure you must have heard of by now, right? Called The Fuck I Can: Adventures in Political Possibility. By Joe McGuffin, former senior head chief advisor to President Barack Obama.
Don’t wanna be all swagabraccio. But yeah, it carries testimonial pull-quotes from Al Gore (“Joe? Jeez, that guy is super-loud”) and from Jimmy Carter (“You need a policy punching up - or anything, or anyone – call McGuffin!”) and from Hillary Clinton (“Obnoxious bully ") and also from the Big B-O himself, though tbh that’s more his autograph on a photograph we’re both in.
Had a terrific two weeks promoting The Fuck I Can hard at bookstores and colleges. Signing, shaking hands, shooting the shit, engaging in political discourse with the American People, OK maybe having one or two heated arguments with an occasional fucking dicktard who apparently needs to turn an animated conversation into a fistfight because that’s just the kind of self-medicating ballsack he is, I can’t say any more right now according to my lawyer. SUMMARY: definitely a huge success and that fat fuck’s lucky I didn’t put him on the bus to Comaville. Calling ME a “fucking faggot” when I spent YEARS pushing equal rights? Asshole. Memo To Self: zip it Joe, enough already. Sub judice, as we say in the Latin quarter.
Whatsoever the fuck. Man, it was just so NICE to be out of the Labour Mindcamp for a little while. Everyone’s been in Kentucky Boneless Chicken mode since I soft-polled a bunch of target voters on recognition issues and just over 70% of them thought Ed Balls was EWAN MCGREGOR’S DAD. Yeah, forget the hundreds of thousands of first-time voters who haven’t registered, son. We got half a dozen last-chance bozos who haven’t fucking registered with the voters.
Imagine, if you will, my surprise when I get back to jolly old London and discover that the Two Eds are no longer wearing ties in public. Additionally, they’re now regularly hosting suspiciously rowdy Mediterranean-style press lunches. Grilled octopus, tzatziki and whatnot. They’re making off-the-record jokes about Angela Merkel and the EU’s austerity program. And – seriously, fuck me gently with a 16lb salami - they’ve now started HOLDING HANDS on the way to Prime Minister’s Questions.
I finally corner them in that Victorian Mary Poppins-ass office Ed hides in, the one underlooking the Thames. Wisely, these scorchmarks don’t even make eye contact because they KNOW I’m genuinely ready for some knuckle and knee contact.
“But…but everybody LOVES Tsipras…” blubbers Ed 1. “Yeah AND the other one, the baldy chancellor…” mumbles Ed 2. “Someone in the Guardian said ooh you watch, Labour will go all austerity-lite now, so…”
I am about to administer to The Milistone what we in Chicago call a torquefuck and what you guys call a Chinese Burn.
Then pause. I am overcome with a sweet, sweet epiphanation. Chill, Joe. Just a few weeks, this election will be over and we’ll ALL be heading home. Namaste, peeps.
Joe McGuffin is also a consultant for Ian Martin, who is a writer for Veep and The Thick of It