Like a savage pack of jackals, the Tory Party are feasting on Boris Johnson’s rotting flesh. The Tories are tucking the linen napkin into the shirt collar, sharpening the silver knives and ordering in those little biscuits that go so well with sweetmeats.  

No longer able to defend himself, abandoned by the pack he enriched, ennobled, and promoted above their ability, the party salivates at the feast to come.

It’s a blood bath, come and join in! It’s lovely

A Tory Grandee

Second, only to making money, there is nothing a Tory likes more than feeding on the flesh of a badly wounded leader. The chance to scheme, backstab and undermine is like nectar to a Tory. Prolonging death only serves to increase the suffering and agony. Apparently, this enhances the flavour.

The trouble is we have had scant picking in recent years.  With Theresa May already a walking corpse, there was nothing to feed off, but now, this bloated carcass will feed us for years!

Jacob Rees-Mogg is particularly delighted.

Yes, it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten so well. My energy levels have been low, but this will bring me back to my full glory. I’ve been surviving on stolen blood bags from the local children’s hospital.  I mean, it’s alright as a snack, but it doesn’t sate the hunger.

Jacob Rees-Mogg, Vampire

Newer party members will only have heard tales of what happens when the Tories turn on a wounded leader. Accounts of the good old days, when rivers of rich blood flowed freely, echo through the kitchens of Westminster.

I remember when we turned on St Margaret, oh, how we feasted. Her liver on an oat biscuit, with a smidgen of Gentleman’s relish, was a gastronomic delight. There was a sharpness to her bile that caught at the back of the throat, delicious. As for her tears, there’s no taste like it. They were salty, with a hint of crocodile. I don’t understand why I never see this kind of cookery on Masterchef, there is really nothing like it.

Not everyone is keen to join in.

I’m stuffed, I couldn’t eat another thing!

Priti Patel

Plans to turn the feast into a Hollywood horror movie were dropped after George A Romero said it was too gruesome.