Former Downing Street communications guru Nick Timothy has claimed that World War Two was started by a pissed off Nazi party staffer while Hitler was away on his holidays. Previously best known for taking a colossal fucking shite on the Conservatives’ 2017 election campaign, these shocking revelations catapulted disingenuous wankbiscuit Timothy back to the forefront of the public consciousness for the best part of an entire afternoon.

Writing in racism-fuelled, bastard-pleasing hate brochure, The Sun, Timothy said,

“That whole massive fucking six-year barney wasn’t even Adey’s fault. He’d gone off to Benidorm with the lads for a bit of sun and a few lagers, and some other dickhole invaded Poland while he was gone. Naturally, he was furious about it when he got back, but what could he do? It would have been embarrassing to roll the whole thing back at that point so it was really out of his control. If you think about it, he had to do at least a little holocaust or he’d have looked like a right fucking pie.”

Mr Timothy went on to say that his claims were definitely true and that he had the documents to prove it but they were secret documents that only he could see and anyway why would he lie.

Reaction to the story has been mixed in the same way that responses to stories about puppies being shot in the face are mixed: the only people who don’t recoil in horror are full time fucking arseholes. In this case, that arsehole was shite-flinging toad emulator Nigel Farage, who said,

“I’ve been saying for years that The Führer gets a bad press and this proves I was right all along. He was a bloody good bloke, actually. Bloody good bloke. I used to love singing songs about him when I was a nipper and his book was the fucking tits. Shame he only got to do the one, really.”

We attempted to contact Sun editor and greasy, unfuckable malice-repository Tony Gallagher via Twitter, but it turns out he’s a big, wet, fluffy snowflake who has to hide behind a protected account to avoid outing himself as a pathetic, snivelling cunt.

Theresa May has today reacted with indifference to the news that the consumer goods giant Unilever will move its corporate headquarters to Rotterdam.

In a statement, Mrs May described Marmite as being ‘fucking horrible’ and said that Dove soaps and shower products ‘make your coochie itch’.

She continued, “I bought a Magnum last year to cool myself down after I’d had a little run through some wheat fields, and as soon as I bit into it a big fucking lump of chocolate fell off onto my dress. If that’s the kind of shit they’re peddling, they can piss off.”

While some have expressed concern about what this says about the UK’s attractiveness to large businesses following the Brexit vote, the Prime Minister was adamant that the move represented no real loss.

“I’m led to believe that the plebs enjoy something called a ‘Pot of Noodles’, but I’m reliably informed that the same effect can be achieved by adding strips of cardboard to a Cup-A-Soup, so they really need to stop their malnourished whining and get behind this.”

A spokesman for Unilever said, “This has absolutely nothing to do with Brexit. It is entirely coincidental that we chose to jump ship in the middle of your transformation into a petty, isolationist little island whose chief exports are imperial nostalgia and shouty racism.”

Jeremy Corbyn is said to be considering a full time career as a Nigel Farage impersonator following his recent attempts to emulate the amphibious, racist jizzmop in a series of increasingly bizarre speeches.

Mr Corbyn first indicated that he was a fan of Mr Farage, who is best known for his resemblance to a disconsolate salamander, last week, when he parroted his comprehensively discredited claim that there will be some sort of ‘Brexit dividend’ after the UK leaves the EU. At the time, it was assumed that Mr Corbyn had fastened his cardigan up too tightly, thereby restricting blood flow to his brain, but this theory was later discounted because he was wearing a shirt and tie at the time.

Corbyn’s apparent admiration for Britain’s least electable Nazi was further crystallised yesterday afternoon, when he went ‘full UKIP’ with the claim that employers are using EU labour to undercut British workers, despite a plethora of studies showing that EU migration has had no negative impact on wages and conditions.

A spokesperson for Mr Corbyn said, “It just seems like a natural progression. He’s taken off his sandals and dipped his toe into the pool of lazy dog-whistling, and his supporters don’t seem to give a solitary fuck. At this stage, he could wank a horse off live on Channel 4 News, and his base would almost certainly refer to anyone who found it even slightly distasteful as ‘Tory scum’. As far as we’re concerned, he’s a tweed jacket and a Poundland lizard mask off making an absolute fuckton of cash. He’s also very much looking forward to his fortnightly Question Time appearances.”

One of Mr Corbyn’s most loyal supporters, Summer Meadows, was fully supportive of his new career, saying, “If Jez wants this, it simply has to be the right thing and no amount of evidence to the contrary will convince me it’s not. Hashtag JC4PM.”

Mr Farage was unavailable for comment as he was attending the EU Parliament like he’s fucking supposed to. Kidding, LOL, he’s in America desperately prostrating himself in front of a guy who wants to fuck his own daughter.

It’s hard not to feel sorry for Henry Bolton, isn’t it? Following a series of occurrences largely outside of his control, the noxious divorce-enthusiast has achieved the unlikely feat of being unanimously declared too toxic for a party whose previous leaders have included a morose, Benson and Hedges-smoking turtle who only turns up for work every third Wednesday, and a facist Ade Edmondson lookalike who claims to have invented peas.

Bolton, of course, is rightly outraged by the gross miscarriage of justice that has caused UKIP’s NEC to expect him to take ownership of whether or not his penis ends up in a person who lacks the necessary restraint to ensure that the really bad racism stays within the party, and that only oblique, plausibly-deniable references to hating brown people make it into the public sphere. And, if we look at things dispassionately, how could he possibly have been expected to avoid the situation in which he now finds himself?

It’s a tale as old as time itself: he puts on his best Farah slacks and his smartest brownshirt, kisses his third wife goodbye, and goose steps off to his work’s festive party, cheerfully humming “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas,” and allowing himself a malignant little smile at the pleasing double meaning hidden within the lyrics of his favourite yuletide ditty.

Everything seems normal on arrival. He trades a few jokes that Bernard Manning rejected for being ‘a bit tasty’ with Godfrey Bloom, then heads over to the vol-au-vents, sipping contentedly at his second glass of white wine. Then, all of a sudden, he sets eyes on the woman who will change everything. She’s slim, blonde, less than half his age, and possessed of the hot, fiery brand of racially-motivated hatred that brings ‘Little Henry’ to the kind of urgent tumescence he last enjoyed when it was still ok to throw bananas at black footballers.

Fast forward a few days, and wife number three is well on the way to becoming ex-wife number three, as poor, biddable Henry ignores the pleas of his pre-school daughter and shacks up with the objectively abhorrent Kellyanne Conway tribute act who caused him to wander from the path of faithful devotion just a few days before the anniversary of the birth of White Jesus.

I suspect you’re probably thinking that the 54-year-old leader of a political party must bear some responsibility for his life choices, but what the hell was he supposed to do? Honour his marriage vows? Consider the feelings of his children? Not broadcast the fact that he was conkers deep in a Poundland Helga Geerhart all over Twitter like a horny, pant-spaffing member of the 2017 Hitler Youth?

None of this is reasonable. You might as well hold Bolton responsible for the fact that he thought pretending to ‘end the romantic element’ of their relationship would solve everything, as though it’s totally fine to have friends who assert that a mixed-race woman will ‘taint’ the hitherto exclusively white family she’s about to marry into, as long as you don’t shag them.

No, the blame must be laid squarely at the door of Nazi nork-model, Jo Marney, who has destroyed a marriage and a political party, along with, presumably, her own ability to ever close her eyes again without seeing Bolton’s leering, salivating face gazing lustily back at her, and his hairy, mid-fifties mantits bobbing up and down in unison for approximately ninety gag reflex-testing seconds.

I suspect that by mid-March, when the dust has settled and UKIP has finally expired in one last pant-shitting spasm of intolerance, history will judge Ms Marney as being the Eve to Bolton’s Adam, the Delilah to his Sampson. Because, if history teaches us anything, it’s that whenever anything bad happens, it’s ultimately never truly the fault of the well-off, middle-aged white man.

We fucked it, lads. All of it. The entire thing.

Ever since our distant ancestors stopped flinging their own shit at each other, stood upright and took their first, tentative steps into the realm of self-awareness, we’ve been in charge of more or less everything. But, stop now: pause for a moment and look around. Depressing as it may be, I’m pretty sure that even the most ridiculously optimistic among us would probably now admit that very little of anything remains unfucked.

The climate’s changing, the oceans are acidifying, species are dying out on an industrial scale; a flabby, semi-literate, incoherent, megalomaniacal tosspot with piss-coloured hair and the temperament of an intoxicated toddler is in charge of one of the world’s largest nuclear arsenals; Nazis walk among us, and you’re apparently not even supposed to punch the hateful cunts; the planet has been in a state of more or less perpetual war for the entire duration of recorded history; and, to top it all off, we seek to excuse the nastiness, stupidity and racism of one of our most senior British politicians by saying, ‘Oh, that’s just Boris’. It’s all quite irrevocably fucked, and we were the fuckers doing the fucking.

We set ourselves up as leaders, decision-makers. So concerned were we that women might try to have a say in how things were being run, that we actually invented entire religions designed (amongst other things) to keep women down. Women were a spare rib, an afterthought.

“Need something to stick your cock in when you get bored, Adam? Here, have this.”

They were the reason for our fall from grace, the ones to blame for their own misfortunes and ours, and they were certainly not to be trusted.

Fast forward a few centuries, and little has changed. Sure, women in western society, at least, have been granted something we men like to call ‘equality’, but in reality, it’s little more than a veneer. An illusion. We grant them the minimum amount of ‘equality’ we think we can get away with, as though it’s a thing we own and that we get to dole out as we see fit. We drip feed rights that ought to be inalienable, then have the temerity to expect gratitude in return.

Women can run for office now, but most parliaments and legislative chambers are still predominantly, often overwhelmingly, male. The US has never had a female president, and when it looked like there was a chance of one being elected, the old boys’ network came together to ensure that misogyny won out. And whilst we have had two female Prime Ministers in this country, neither of the two largest ‘progressive’ parties in the UK has ever had a female leader.

Similarly, it’s illegal to discriminate based on gender in matters of employment, and yet, there is still a huge problem with women being paid less for doing exactly the same job as their male counterparts. Even our publicly-funded broadcaster was recently found to be guilty of such unequal treatment.

“Ah, but,” the half-brained twat cries, “if women take time off to have children, they can’t expect to have the same pay and benefits when they return to work as a man who hasn’t had a break.”

Putting aside the obvious point that not all women do take time off to have children, this is a line of argument that neatly encapsulates the problem:

“Hey, women, we can’t have children, so you’ll have to do it for us. You’ll have to pause your careers to bring the next generation of doctors, nurses, teachers and scientists into the world. Then you’ll have to clean up their shit, amuse them, nourish them and care for them until it’s time for you to re-enter the workplace. When that time comes, we’re going to give you worse pay and conditions than men who are doing the same job as a punishment for your dereliction of duty, even though we were unable/unwilling to do this vital job ourselves.”

And while we’re on the subject of equality related to reproductive rights, the whole abortion debate is another area dominated by men when they don’t have any fucking right whatsoever to a say. Once again, we use religion to justify our staggeringly unpleasant treatment of women:

“You can’t get mad at us, God wants us to behave like arseholes.”

If men had to carry children and give birth, not only would the gender pay gap not exist, but we’d be as over-stocked with abortion clinics as we are with tired excuses for our unreasonable behaviour.

“Can you fit me in for a quick abortion this afternoon, Jeff?”

“Sorry, mate. I’m booked solid ‘til six.”

“That is indeed inconvenient.”

“Try three doors down, Dave. There’s another abortion clinic there. Failing that, there are three branches of ‘Abortions R Us’ in the next street.”

And then there’s the sex thing. I suppose there was no way I could hope to get through writing an article like this without discussing the ongoing sexual abuse scandal, much as you might consider it better if I did. Now, I know what you’re thinking:

“Ooh, good. That’s just what the internet needs: yet another man’s take on the sexual abuse and harassment of women.”

With that in mind, I’ll keep it as brief as I can, but suffice to say, I have been nothing short of ashamed of my gender over the past few weeks. It’s not just that we’ve been exposed as having abused our power to perpetrate some fairly hideous crimes against women, but also that our reactions to the revelations have, in far too many cases, been so utterly fucking horrific.

There have been the cries of ‘witch hunt’, the lamentations that ‘we can’t even flirt anymore’ and, most sickeningly of all, those seeking to lay responsibility for the death of Carl Sargeant earlier this week at the door of women who have reported sexual crimes perpetrated against them.

I won’t dignify any of these arguments with an individual response, but I will say this:

If a culture of hyper-vigilance surrounding the sexual exploitation of women adversely affects you in any way, you might want to consider being less of a creepy, sexually-aggressive, breathtakingly contemptible fucking jizzstain.

All of which ties back to my earlier point. We’ve had absolute power forever, and we’ve used it to lay waste to everything we ought to hold dear. It’s not even like we just stood passively by and watched as things gradually turned to shit. No, that wasn’t enough for us. Instead, we decided to mould a gigantic passenger jet out of shit, and crash it gratuitously into the stuff we were supposed to be looking after.

So maybe it’s time for the women to have a go. But, y’know, a proper go this time, unlike all the other times when we’ve just patted them on the arse and said,

“Sure thing, sweet cheeks, you can be equal. Right after you’ve made me a sandwich.”

The time has come for us to relinquish our grip on power. Uncomfortable as some of you may find it, we’re shit at being in charge. And let’s face it, there is literally no way that women being in control of the world could make things any more unrelentingly fucking awful than they currently are.

It’s time for true equality, and we all have a part to play. If women are shouting about something, ask yourself why they need to shout. Then shut the fuck up and listen to what they’re saying. Don’t stand by while casual misogyny goes unchallenged – even stuff that might seem harmless on the surface helps to create a culture in which it’s the norm for women to be treated as second class citizens, as objects for our amusement and sexual gratification.

Even if you’re not one of those men who actively seeks to discriminate against women, we’ve all gained an advantage at some point from a system that favours us in more or less every way. At least, on the face of it we’ve gained an advantage. In reality, we’ve gained nothing, for we are still part of a society that treats half of its members as being beneath the other half. I firmly believe that, when that changes, we all stand to benefit in innumerable, immeasurable ways.