When Zack Polanski hexed Hannah Spencer to run for the Gorton and Denton seat, he must have had to hypnotise up a whopping great pair of tits for her.

What else would stimulate any sane person to get into political bed with the swivel-eyed loon?

If you caught the hapless, mince-thick droid, stumbling through her pre-penned victory vomit, clad in a retina-searing gold and bright pink, special-needs ensemble, you might now cop why.

She’s a weapons-grade space cadet herself.

What a world we live in.

Close to tears, Starmbannführer shrugged off the electoral pasting as quite normal for mid-term, incumbent governments.

Ah, ok – that’s alright then.

This bloke clearly doesn’t do politics, does he?

Other Labour grunts don’t quite share this boss-eyed outlook and have pondered the urgent need for the party just to make clear what they stand for.

That’s a bingo!

The only thing gazillionaire Keir stands for is his seat and the bunce he trousers with it.

Labour is like a crap company cacking it every time the auditors reach reception but never fundamentally fixing what is blatantly buggered.

Unless they start making Labour viable, the country will be left with pesky double bind – a straight choice between Führage fascism and Leftwaffe lunacy.

And the latter suddenly seems more likely, given this recent rout and the gap-toothed gimp’s gumption in hypnotising an increasing number of tits in the commentariat.

The clock’s ticking.