Mr. Speaker: Order! In the name of our Most Glorious Sovereign Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 2.0! Just my little joke. Moving right along. I command the House to acknowledge this mighty and ancient Chair [and Booster Seat] which signifies the Power of the Speaker. Behold my Mace...

Hon. Members: relaxed chatter, phone-checking, masturbation.

Mr. Speaker: Order, I say! The Mace, signifying democratic justice. Or something. These robes, which...

The Prime Minister (Mr. David Cameron):  You’ll love it, honestly. There’s a little bakery down the road, locals are brilliant. That peasanty French stuff they all wear, brilliant. Women have tits out to here, blood, I’m telling you. [Indicated curtilage of giant imagined breasts.] Like fucking traffic cones. Scenery’s totally gorgeous...

Mr. Speaker: Order!

The Deputy Prime Minister (Mr. Nick Clegg):  If you’re sure. Sounds fab. Have to check with the nanny, obvs. Maybe come for a long weekend...

The Prime Minister: Let us know, seriously. Any time. Sam’s got caterers organised for the fucking whole five weeks, dude.

Mr. Speaker: Order! Prime Minister, we’re ready to start! Please, I crave your indulgence.

The Prime Minister: Oh God. Comprehensive Twig’s making that awful bloody whining noise again. Better get on I suppose.

The Deputy Prime Minister: Oh, the Twig? Bum the Twig.

The Prime Minister and the Deputy Prime Minister: ‘Bum the Twig, Bum the Twig, all the way to the tuck shop!’

Hon. Members who attended public school: ‘Bum the Twig’! Ha ha ha! Brilliant!

Hon. Members who didn’t attend public school: simulated recognition, seeking the approval of those hon. Members who attended public school.

The Deputy Prime Minister: Hold on.

[The Deputy Prime Minister rose to address Mr. Speaker.]

The Deputy Prime Minister: Mr. Speaker, may I summarise the feelings of this entire House when I say you are an absolutely insufferable fucking little clitwart? I am TRYING to have a conversation with my hon. Friend the Prime Minister of Great Britain, Northern Ireland and whatever suburban dystopia you sprang from. You shitty little oik. Look at you man, with your fucking chav haircut and inadequate fucking height. Keep your state-educated fucking townie trap SHUT. OK, you arse-plunging cumhose? You dwarfish buggerfuck. Or I’ll come over there again and give you a fucking Chinese Burn, yes? Anyone else?

[The House fell silent.]

The Deputy Prime Minister: Excellent. Ha ha ha! [to The Prime Minister] Boom. Green grow the rushes-o.

The Prime Minister:  Boom. Green grow the rushes-o, mummyfucker.

Hon. Members: Hear, hear! Well nang!

[The Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister performed an ‘Eton-Westminster Fistbump-Handshake’ and kissed.]

Mr. Speaker: Yes, good. Don’t forget I’m still in the Chair here. Right, who’s...

Mr. Justin Office (Vaguely Cotswolds): Would the Prime Minister list his engagements for the day, and look while I’m on my feet can I just say I think the Coalition is doing a terrific job, it really is, and I can tell him as a very able and ambitious backbencher I am more than willing to to do anything really...

Hon. Members: Kiss his arse! Kiss his arse!

The Prime Minister: Well, fag? WOULD you kiss my arse?

Mr. Office: I...loyalty, of course, is very important in these, these difficult times.

Hon. Members: Kiss his arse! Kiss his arse!

Mr. Speaker: Order, order! For goodness sake, this is all very rude indeed.

The Prime Minister: It’s just that there IS a vacancy arising soon in the Treasury for the right sort of chap. What would my hon. Friend do for THAT? Suck my cock?

Hon. Members: Suck his cock! Suck his cock!

Mr. Speaker: Order, ord...right that’s it. Balls. I’m ignoring the lot of you now. I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. I’m just going to do my Sudoku. 

Mr. Office: Mr. Speaker, I can assure my Right Hon. Friend that I will suck cock for anything in the Treasury above £130,000 p.a.

Hon. Members: rising laughter, mental calculation, moral adjustment, dying laughter.

The Prime Minister: Mr. Speaker, this morning I had meetings with ministerial colleagues and others...

[The Prime Minister was tickled by the Deputy Prime Minister.]

The Prime Minister: ..ministerial colleagues and ha ha ha...

The Chancellor of the Exchequer (Mr. George Osborne): Medes and Persians!

Hon. Members who attended public school: Medes and Persians! Who? Who?

Hon. Members who did not attend public school: Mm. Yes! Ha ha!

The Chancellor of the Exchequer: Blunkett! Do Blunkett!

[Hon. Members converged on the hon. Member for Sheffield Pussywagging.]

Mr. Speaker: Oh yeah. Order. Whatever. Just mind the dog, we’re not insured.

Mr. David Blunkett (Sheffield Pussywagging):  Get...what...get off you cunts, I am registered blind!

[Hon. Members piled on top of the hon. Member for Sheffield Pussywagging, giggling in Latin. The hon. Member’s assistance dog, ‘Dusky Lady’, sought refuge by Mr. Speaker’s Chair, where she was doubly incontinent.]

Mr. David Blunkett: inaudible.

Ms. Harriet Harman (Organic Camberwell): Mr. Speaker, if the Prime Minister could stop showing his tiny weeny little penis to the Deputy Prime Minister for fucking two minutes, maybe he could answer a Parliamentary Question. So far he has dodged the issues of Afghanistan, Sure Start centres, police numbers and public sector job losses. Let him give a straight answer to this, Mr. Speaker. Why...

Hon. Members: Wanker!

Mr. Speaker: Shh.

Ms. Harriet Harman: Why...

Hon. Members: Wanker!

Mr. Speaker: Oh, do be quiet.

Ms. Harriet Harman: Why, Mr. Speaker, if the Prime Minister has been so busy with the affairs of State, which are traditionally conducted indoors, is he so fucking tanned? Would he not agree Mr. Speaker that his head looks like a fucking mahogany-coloured aubergine? Mr. Speaker, they say one cannot polish a turd. Yet the Prime Minister’s burnished appearance would suggest otherwise. He is a glistening fucking extruded slithery arsenugget. A big posh fucking human gherkin of shit.

The Prime Minister: Point of Order, Mr. Speaker. The hon. Lady can fucking talk. Her face looks like a fucking cat’s anus. Squeezed tightly shut. Fearful, perhaps, of inquisitive fingers. The inquisitive fingers of certain Labour backbenchers...

Hon. Members: Wanker!

The Prime Minister: ...certain Labour backbenchers, Mr. Speaker, who know only too well what the inside of a domesticated animal’s vagina feels like.

Mr. David Blunkett: inaudible.

The Home Secretary (Ms. Theresa May): Mr. Speaker, I wonder if the hon. Lady opposite is perhaps just a tiny bit envious? Of course, FHM didn’t describe HER as “The hottest cock-vixen we’ve seen prowling the Front Bench since Squirting Maggie Thatcher in that hilarious porn spoof Jonathan Ross keeps talking about” did it? SHE isn’t plastered across two pages of the Daily Star as a ‘PILF’ is she? No wonder. The hon. Lady looks about as fucking glamorous as a road sweeper with thrush.

The Jazz Chancellor (Mr. Kenneth Clarke): Mm, what? Tss tss tss, Mr. Speaker, wabbeda wabbeda wabbeda pish pish ga-dap jazz, you say? Mm. Bap bap ba-diddly widdly bap. Tish pish ba-pish. Blap.

Ms. Harriet Harman: Mr. Speaker, is the hon. Lady joking? She has the sexual charisma of a fucking Eccles cake.

[The Home Secretary removed her outer garments to reveal fetish underwear.]

Hon. Members: Hear, hear!

The Home Secretary: Perhaps the hon. Lady opposite would care to comment on THIS, Mr. Speaker. [to the hon. Member for Organic Camberwell] I don’t think the hon. Lady is ready for this jelly. I don’t think the hon. Lady is ready for this jelly. I don’t think the hon. Lady is ready for this, ‘cos my body’s too Coalicious for the hon. Ladybabe.

Mr. Ed Balls (Manboobhampton): Mr. Speaker, I would like to report the fucking so-called Secretary of State for Education. He’s pulling faces. Oh, wait. It’s his own. Ha ha ha. He looks like a fucking veal calf in a suit.

The Secretary of State for Education (Mr. Michael Gove): Mr. Speaker, the hon. Gentleman is not only guilty of using un-Parliamentary language. He is also a cocksucking bastard fucking mingebulb. Look at him, Mr. Speaker. It’s as if someone had shoved a tractor tyre inflator up his fucking arse and just kept going until the gauge said “120 per cent normal size”.

Mr. Speaker: Done, excellent. I’m going for a sandwich. Just talk among yourselves.  

Mr. David Miliband (South Shields): May I draw the attention of the House to the hon. Gentleman, the Foreign Secretary. He looks like a fucking kiddly-fiddler. If there’d been an Eighth Dwarf, he would have been it, and his name would have been “Paedy” and he...

Hon. Members: Wanker!

Mr. Speaker: absent, browsing sandwiches in canteen.

The Foreign Secretary (Mr. William Hague): Fuck you, monkey boy! You’ve got a shitting nerve, calling ME weird. You sanctmonious fucking cocklump...

The Jazz Chancellor: Point of squee-bop fuddler duddler pish pish ba-tish, Mr. Speaker, daddio! Mm bubba bubba. Mm bubba bubba bubba fudubba blap blap tish tish ka-pish necessary amendments ga-dish ga-bosh ga-wabbeda wabbeda tss tss drr-ap!

[Moment of Jazz Interruption]