Wears the soap. Bath time at Conservative HQ looks much the same now as it did 15 years ago – only the loofah balance has shifted.

December 22nd, 2005
Fucking Christmas again then festive reader. And what’s in store for us this yuletide? Well, Santa has already emptied his capacious sack onto David Cameron, who beat off Davis for the Tory leadership – a method of winning he presumably learned at Eton. But that’s in no way to suggest Cameron is in line for a newly introduced civil partnership anytime soon, he’s just not that fussy. Years of felching Mrs T’s ringpiece for ideas recently left the poor old dear in hospital, quite ruining the marvellous widowhood she was having with Mark in jail and Carol in the jungle. But they still enjoy a close relationship, going right back to before Cameron helped Thatch’s pet badger destroy the economy.
However, Mr C has of course filled his shadow cabinet with moderate, progressive Conservatives who care about the little people and really are ready to listen, like Liam Fox and Oliver Letwin. Young moderniser Georgie Osborne has already proven he’s in touch with the country’s youth, as has Tory success story William Duncan Hague. Mind you, with Alan Duncan at shadow Trade and Industry, there’s still hope of a front bench woofter’s wedding, if only that lovely Michael Portillo would come back.

Fuck you voters! The shadow cabinet practice their victory salute.

So far, Cameron’s tactic is to agree with Blair about everything to reinforce the impression amongst the public that there’s no difference between New Labour and Old Tory; his public-school educated brain-mess unable to grasp that this is a good part of the reason why the general public can no longer abide our Tony – so what fucking good is it going to do you Davy you toffee-nosed tit?

[enormification by clicky] Preparing for government. Boy George resents that statement and Frank Skinner is flung from the house.

In other political news, the Lembot Opek robot from last month’s rant has belatedly stirred up some Liberal shit as all three parties attempt to implode. The Obot prodded old Minger Campbell into prodding Charlie with a whiskey-soaked stick, causing “special K” to take some very special measures to cling on. Although surely there was an easier way than publicly depucelating Simon Hughes with the mummified corpse of David Steele, who was dressed as David McCallum as he appeared in early 80s time travelling detective travesty “Sapphire and Steel”. This unholy triumvirate was completed by installing the remains of Shirley Williams as Joanna Lumley – even though she’s not dead. Well it livened up Prime Minister's question time anyway.
Ah well, the Queen will die next year and Camilla will lord it over us while Chuck does things to her beneath the throne that make even the Wasp Box sick and no doubt young Harry will be wanking all the while.
Enough, gentle reader, tis the season of goodwill, so let's take what Santa has to offer us and get pissed up and fat. Enjoy.

Satisfied! Little Charlie Kennedy celebrates clinging on to the LibDem leadership with a cocoa and a look at weebls-stuff.com.

November 5th, 2005
What happened dear reader, where has you normally loquacious Wasp Box been? Rumours abound as to the reasons for the long absence. Was the Wasp Box a victim of the terrorist attacks in London? Or more commonly, was the swarthy Box one of the failed bombers, now on the lam from the law? Did the celebrations for London winning the Olympics get out of hand leading to old WB drowning in a stinking pool of his own venom? Did one of the many natural disasters claim this young wasp and send him to the great whoring box in the sky? Has it merely been just a prolonged period of interminable laziness?
None of these things could be further from the truth, the Wasp Box has been on a noble pursuit to end the needless, yet incessant, political bickering that blights this once great democracy. Yes, the Wasp Box has spent the summer attempting to become leader of all three main parties simultaneously! It seems crazy, doesn’t it! How can one semi-incarcerated vespulae have the wit, the strength, the guile and the outright audacity to fight and win three leadership contests in 3 weeks – not even mentioning the fact that two of the parties weren’t even planning on having leadership contests! But where there’s a will there’s a way, and this box was on a mission.
This naturally took months of preparation prior to the start of the conference season, first up was the Libdems and can you imagine you your lovable Wasp Box successfully passing himself off as a woolly, bumbling faff-brained liberal? No, already the hurdles seemed too high. But then your intrepid Wasp Box hit on a plan, one that could be used at each conference and was practically infallible – kill a leading contender, hollow out his over-privileged guts and fit his skin over one of three remote controlled androids that happened to be lying around the corner of the whoring box. These politibots would easily infiltrate the conferences, take over the leadership and bend the party to the will of the Wasp Box.

David "Rent Boy" Cameron. Choose tax cuts, choose loss of public services, choose the end of the NHS, further degredation of the transport network, choose unemployment, homelessness, the redivision of the classes. Choose Cameron.

First up, Lembit Opek. The weird named freak is sure to be the next leader, with only Minging Campbell to contend with. And sparking a contest should be easy after slipping a bottle of vodka and some temazepam into Charlie’s water. Sadly, this plan back fired when Suzanne Charlton undressed in front of the Robopek; old Waspy here was blinded by the horror and accidentally smashed the remote control. The Lembot now runs free, terrorising all Liberals with his smarmy charm and unusual face.
The attempt to take over Labour was even more short lived. Having successfully lured Gordo into a trap with a large cheesecake, at a crucial moment your foolish Wasp Box moved both eyes at once. The plot was in tatters and the metal Chancellor was replaced with one of his many clones to be prudent another day.
But surely things would go better at the Tory conference, after all they were actually having a leadership contest! Not only that, it seemed to be between Ken Clarke, a very dull man, and an overly young little junkie. No contest. Ken was duly lured with a packet of Embassy #1, flayed, digitised and released. Everything was going fantastically and the leadership was in the bag. But whaddya know, the Tories don’t want to win the next election!
Back to the drawing board.

June 15th, 2005
What cunt let Geldof back out of his box? Yes, “Sir” Bob “give us yer fuckin’ attention” Gandalf and his whining, balding cohorts have returned once more to badger us into watching a bunch of shite bands whilst not even vaguely considering the plight of Africa. Does he not realise, even after he drove his wife to A: Michael “where’s my tangerine and longest scarf” Hutchence, and B: suicide, what his incessant, sweary style of brow-beating conscience-raising does to people? The Wasp Box doesn’t wish to sound like Michael Howard, but why can’t he harangue people in his own fucking country anyway? It was even worse when he was campaigning against Britain joining the Euro – why not harass your own government first Bob? Is it because they’re already in the fucking Euro, and you didn’t even raise a whimper, let alone an incitement-to-riot style rant-off? Leave us the fuck alone you arrogant whinging fuckwit!

Bob's bald mate Midgie. A faithful companion who carries the great one's hair straighteners, but does he have a darker side beneath those soft, smiling, Scottish eyes?

Anyway, the wind has been somewhat stripped from his sail since our very own Gordon “Gordon” Brown brokered almost exactly the deal that Bob and Midgie “Tiny irritating insect” Ure were after. But still Geldof wants schoolchildren to skive off school to meet up with him in a McDonalds-trashing trip to Edinburgh – just because Whacko got off Bob, don’t push your luck! The G8 isn’t even fucking in Edinburgh you dopey fucking bigmouthed twat. Why don’t you ship your invading force of French fisherman to Gleneagles where the actual conference is, like they’ll fucking turn up anyway! Do you think that fresh from voting that the word “constitution” is a bit too much really, and that – like Ireland – we’re doing quite nicely as we are thank you very much, the French will turn their talents to a more global cause? You fucking joker! Meanwhile, irrespective of what ebay are or are not selling, regardless of whether Elton wants to or Damon doesn’t, notwithstanding whether Jacko is allowed to prance about on stage with a troup of crotch-grabbing cub scouts or not, Africa is being brought to its knees by War, Famine, Pestilence and Death…
wait a minute, that’s the four pricking horsemen of the twatting apocalypse! The end is pissing nigh and only a single shitting shaggy-haired, do-gooder outcast has the guts to speak out and try to put an end to injustice and mans’ inhumanity to man. Jesus cunting Christ! He’s the second coming! Let’s all raze Edinburgh to the ground and bow down at Sir Bob’s dirty, stinking feet, for he is the son of man and we are not worthy.
The bigheaded arse.

[extreme enormification by clicky] Fight Fight Fight. Finally the election campaign proper is under way, and Howard immediately goes for half nelson, can Blair bite back?

April 5th, 2005
Have the seas risen as the ice caps melt, reclaiming large chunks of Europe ? Has the latest earthquake/tsunami/volcano claimed the whole of China ? Is it nuclear war? Have Martians fucking invaded? No, it's just some wobbly old parish priest who finally poped his clogs after 30 years of endlessly pontificating about the true meaning of life and how many ways there are to add to the world's population problem. Jesus Catholics, get a grip; we've all got our crosses to bear! Have your period of mourning by all means, but the 24-hour corpse watch has got to stop. Was it really necessary to delay the election announcement or postpone the royal wedding? Especially since no one a gives flying monkey's fuck for either of those! Popeye wasn't single-handedly holding back a tide of moral interpitude was he, our last defence against the inevitable Apocalypse? Or was he? Is this the beginning of the end, has the titanic battle between good and evil come to a head? No no, Camilla and

[bigger harder faster] Toytime. Little did Charles realise, the problems between Diana and Camilla were nothing to do with any of them's adulterous ways, more about whose turn it was with the jumbo love beads. A dangerous game that would ultimately lead to death.

Diana never saw eye to eye, and whilst Di's supernatural power of appearing as a benevolent angel before the public when she was actually a bitter and dried up old hag gave her the upperhand over Cammie,who simply is a bitter and dried up old hag, for the past few years, the wedding will change that and the malignant spirit of Diana, Princess of Adulterous Whores, will be banished forever. Mind you,shame the same can't be said of ma Cherie who, determined to stay the first lady has once again glammed up herimage now that the general election finally has been announced. This Wasp Box thinks she's one horny lady. But what of policy you cry?What of the war, of taxes, of fees, of ID cards, of education and immigration? Does it matter? Let's face it, if more 100 people can be bothered getting off their arses – as fat as the pope's rotting head – and exercise their brains – as underused as the pope's putrefying prick – there's still no chance that more than say 30% of them are going to vote for Count Howard, is there. Is there? Oh please God no, the WaspBox would rather see the Pope's decomposing dirtbox become Prime Minister.
Or even Gordon Kennedy . Time for a stiff drink.

[if you like being disturbed, click for the Cherie gallery] Going off the rails. Cherie's new wild girl image has Howard running scared.

[Gigantostyle comes for clicky] The day after. "Come on Cherie, just ignore him, he fucking stinks."

[enormification by clicky] The Navajo know. Bill Clinton is aware that whatever happens on November 2nd, there's a little bit of both candidates in him.

October 27th , 2004
Rocking the leader of the free world. It's only a matter of hours until the good citizens of the US of A vote for their President and inflict their views by proxy on the rest of us once more. There can be little doubt that outside of America people only want one thing: Bush out. It doesn't matter what sort of meatbag is standing against him, outside the States the vast majority are of one voice. America isn't quite so certain, however, in fact it would seem like US voters are required to toss a coin in order to decide who they should support: heads Bush, tails Kerry. In the Olde Worlde we think this election will actually make a difference. We all firmly believe that Bush is a fuck-witted, sociopathic inbred carrying on Daddy's good work, getting brother Jeb to suppress those nasty black folks in Florida to help him win, while journeyman warmongers like Cheney and Rumsfeld continue to peddle the policies they initiated under Nixon. We think that Kerry, upright, scholarly and well spoken, surely has to be better than the slack-jawed Texan oilman. But have you actually looked at Kerry? The man's a fucking freak! His huge, grey bouffant helmet, his eyes that make Droopy look like a hummingbird on speed, his enormous nose spread so far across one side of his face that he has permafrost on one cheek, of course his nose only points that way because that's where his weird plastic grin is – up by his fat earlobe. And why the unholy fuck has he decided to fight a Presidential election campaign wearing a gigantic comedy Jimmy Hill Chin? It beggars belief. Whereas on the other side we have little Georgie, with his tiny bright little eyes, cute little spikey nose, and his gormless, little boy's grin. How can anyone hate the cuddly little fella?

STOP! It's Hammer Time.

[enormification by clicky] Happy Days. Gord and the Tonester where best of buddies, but was Sammy the gel that held them together?

Who let the fucking arab in? Ill-informed racist tanorexic elected to Brussels Parliament.

Don't cock it up. This month's Euroerections need a little pharmacological help in order to get the numbers up. This flat-capped Northerner hasn't had a hard on for months.

And everyone is happy and lives in peace™.
Anyway, the Wasp Box recommends we all forget the poxy yanks, as this month European minds turned inward, to, well, Europe. The British electorate turned up at the polling stations in absolute droves, with nearly as many as 40% of eligible voters getting off their fat, apathetic, winnetty arses…
to vote for Robert Kilroy-Silk. The orange scourge of the Arabs it turns out is also the scourge of Europe. Although now he's a member of the very organization he apparently hates so much. As Karl Marx, or one of his comedy brothers, once said, “I wouldn't want to be a member of any club that would accept me”. But of course Mr Kilroy-Silk is going to pervert the parliament from within. No, corrupt it… no, erm… what did he say he was going to do again?
Perhaps this bout of xenophobia-fuelled balloting by the public was a protest at the Iraqi war, or perhaps it was dissatisfaction with last month's EU expansion.

Immagrination. The queues at the immigration office have taken on a rather more pleasant look since the recent EU expansion.

If it's the latter then this Wasp Box is particularly upset with you all. Don't you people realize that the expansion of the Union to countries beyond the old iron curtain will result in thousands of incredibly gorgeous Eastern European girls coming over here and taking our cocks into their mouths and replacing our women? What the fuck were you thinking? Are you fucking insane? God knows the gene pool over here needs a little spicing up, a new little lease of life. Cocking Jesus, bring 'em on! Elsewhere, the Wasp Box is impressed with Red Ken and Blue Steve's tactic in the London Mayoral elections. They claimed that they were neck and neck all the way to scare people into voting properly. Of course this backfired on Stevie-boy as it was him that everyone was scared of.
But enough about elections, let's turn our thoughts back to erections. It is, after all, summer and legions of scantily clad ladies have taken to our streets and our parks, joined by the aforementioned hoards of former-soviet beauties… oh, fuck this for a laugh, the Wasp Box is going out to get its sting caught up in a few bikinis.