Fetch, Boy

Readers of a certain age will recall the characterisation of the Reverend Blair, at the outset of a previous Middle East massacre, as the poodle of chimpanzee chief executive George W Bush; and the CEO of Team Starmer has scampered eagerly to ensure his own pride of place in the White House kennels. When the head-tribble temporarily lost control of the Trumpster's tiny hands and let some documents fall to the ground, there could never be any question of the emperor, in the ongoing prime of his vigour, picking up after himself. At the same time, anyone else attempting to grovel at the tangerine feet ("not that any of you rushed to," sneered the favourite) might have undergone protective disassembly by heavily armed security staff; hence the CEO of Team Starmer was once more saving innocent lives, actually. Just as he is only facilitating genocide abroad to make the world safe for democracy; and just as he is only kicking cripples at home to make Britain fit for working people to learn financial self-reliance; so he scrambled to scoop up the Trumpster's droppings purely for the protection of others.