Thousands of Americans turned out to British polls yesterday to participate in the quaint English custom of “voting”, where their utter lack of comprehension of the situation resulted in a silicone-brained media whore being given complete control of the lives of the UK’s sixty million inhabitants. “It was such fun going into the little booth,” said holidaymaker Sarah Bob Sipowicz. “Your pencils are so sweet.” “I loved those little forms you have with those cute little names on,” added husband Wayne N.W.A. Sipowicz. “And seeing the name “Jordan” made me think, well, who better to govern a country than another country?” His family agreed by nodding, their slack jaws flapping in the breeze.
“I wasn’t quite sure how to fill it in,” said housewife oil tycoon Jal Levenseen of Vaginal Itching, Wyoming. “After hitting it against that adorable little wall you have in there I finally thought, well, why not use a pen? So I hit the pen against the side of the wall as hard as I could but that didn’t seem to work either, so I though, goldarn it, I’m just going to put a little cross in the box next to that pretty squiggle and hang the consequences.”
UK officials were unsure as to how quite so many lard-arsed ignoramuses had been given the vote. “Well, I suppose it dates back to the demise of the feudal system at about the time of Magna Carta,” said senior civil servant Tarquim Pubic-Moustache. When it was explained that we meant Amercan lard-arsed ignoramuses, he turned a very pale shade and quivered slightly.
Jordan has, as yet, been unavailable for comment, having an important engagement today to be slapped about a bit by a footballer then display her ignorance on a humorous panel show. She is, however, expected to be surly and aloof in a pretence of being cool, only opening her mouth to make patently false and rather fuckwittedly facile observations, or, as they will soon be, decrees of absolute incontravertable power, applauded by hordes of yes-men lest they be beheaded or forced to take over “boob duty”.
The Americans, however, seem rather pleased with themselves; “Fucking up national elections has long been a hobby of mine,” said ex-Motley Crüe singer Vince Neil. “Obviously, last year I was delighted when I could vote in an utter imbecile in my own country for no reason other than sheer spite and inability to make a hole in a piece of paper. But doing so in another country is always a pleasure. Have a nice day!” With that, he bounded off to catch the next plane to Uzbekistan where he intends to vote in the embalmed corpse of Josef Stalin, animated and controlled by an immense, evil supercomputer. “At least they won’t have it too bad,” said some grizzled old hack, downing another shot of single malt.