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03rd May 2017

Theresa May’s inner monologue as she awkwardly eats a cone of chips

She wants to live like common people like you

Ciara Knight


Theresa May was photographed eating a cone of chips on Tuesday in Cornwall. Yes Cornwall. A place famed worldwide for its pasties. So naturally the PM had a traditional cone of chips.

The campaign trail always offers up some exceptional photography ripe for a good old ribbing, and we’ve certainly got the meme Gods shining down on us this week, Britain.

Here’s the inner monologue of the PM as she posed with her chippy treat. In Cornwall. Home of the pasty.

‘Goodness me, I’m feeling rather peckish. I’ve been campaigning for nigh on twenty minutes now and my birdlike features are positively exhausted. This feels like a prime opportunity for me to appeal to the British public on their level. I will eat something substantial, common enough for me to seem relatable. What do the poor people eat? Perhaps a Freddo, I can jest about how reasonably priced they are. Or a non-phallic ice cream? No, I prefer the phallic ones. They’ll see right through me. Come on T-dogg, think. You’re in Cornwall. What’s Cornwall famous for?’

‘CHIPS! I’ve nailed this one, as the kids say. When in Cornwall, etc. A good old cone of plain chips washed down with a cup of weak and milky tea. This will surely sustain me. I hope the cameras are getting a good angle on my relatability. I may as well throw on a pair of grubby training shoes and tuck my pants into my socks, the good British public are going to eat this up (pun intended!). Gosh I am funny, why doesn’t anybody ever write about that?

‘Alright, simmer down now Theresa. We’ve essentially got this situation in the bag (or cone!!). Now I just need to find the perfect spot with favourable lighting so that I can eat one single solitary chip for what I can only assume will result in hefty political gain. Oh, maybe here, where a gaggle of photographers have gathered.’

‘Man oh man I am nailing this. MAYDAY indeed! These photographers sure are a jovial bunch. I expect the footage might even make the news this evening, such is the momentous significance of my work here today. A sip of weak and milky tea may scald my rancid mouth right now, but in the long run, it is the haters and trolls who shall burn. I will flagellate myself for this country.

‘Perhaps I will offer up a chip to these humble spectators. Should…should I momentarily lessen my harsh exterior? No. Theresa. They will think you are weak. But imagine the photos. Fuck it.’

‘Okay what a prick. This geeky fuck won’t take a fucking chip, what an ungrateful little shit. I shall request his national identification number at a later date and have him lynched. What a c**t. I, the prime minister of Great Britain, have offered you a chip and you have the downright audacity to refuse it. Too busy trying to take an up-skirt shot I’d imagine. How very dare he.

‘My friend, you will live to regret this until the end of your days. I haven’t popped my collar like some chill college professor for you to refuse my offerings. Say goodbye to your loved ones, sir. Yours is a card marked. I shall politely mutter c**t under my breath in a most dignified manner and hopefully nobody will take any heed.’

‘I must smile and remain composed in the face of such senseless victimisation. Here I am, basically on my knees at the helm of the British public. I shan’t rise to this attempt at conflict. My paper cup says ‘enjoy’ and that is exactly what I shall do. I shall enjoy ending the life of an ignorant man.

‘Ok, steady yourself T-Dogg, remember there are cameras present. I must make some type of quip to show that I have indeed got the upper hand in this situation. Is there anything funny we can scrape together here: Poor people, disadvantaged, homelessness? I’m coming up blank. Shit. Wait, I’ve got it. Prepare to crumble, mister photographer.


‘Nailed it.’

‘Now I face my greatest challenge of all. I must convincingly eat a potato chip to prove to them all that I am fun, likeable and a regular consumer of fast food. It’s not ‘Theresa May Eat Chips’, it’s ‘Theresa Can And Will Eat Chips’. It’s just one chip. All I need to do is pick up this greasy abhorrent delicacy and rest it in my mouth until I reach a suitable depository location. Simple.

‘It’s basic mathematics. If you take one Theresa May and add a Cornwall chip, the result is a landslide victory in the election. I will thank the people of Cornwall in my acceptance speech. Remember that.’

‘OH SWEET JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THIS IS DISGUSTING SOMEBODY PLEASE JUST ZAP ME BACK TO OUTER SPACE FROM WHENCE I CAME. Who the fuck eats this shit? I can’t swallow this, it won’t go down. I can’t even penetrate it with my dentures, my tongue is recoiling in horror.

‘I am not cut out for this spectacle. Why couldn’t we just visit a town that is famed for bottled water. I fucking hate this country and all who inhabit it. I DEMAND RESPECT FOR I AM THE PRIME FUCKING MINISTER.’

‘Chips are for poor people, disgusting snivelling poor people who are leeching this country of its taxes. I live solely on a diet of caviar washed down with the tears of small children. The public will see right through me. I’ve brought enough shame on myself at this point. I need to reel this in. The situation is getting away from me. I am losing control. I need to do something to show them who’s in charge.

‘BINGO! I’ll give them a blast of my Danny Dyer impression. Theresa, you are a genius. I am a genius. This election is MINE.’


‘Nailed it.’