The door opened and Edwina walked in.
"Haven't you heard of knocking?" said John.
"Oh, John, you're so square." replied Edwina.
Edwina perched herself on the desk edge.
"Whatcha you doing?" she enquired.
"I'm reading some economic proposals," replied John.
Edwina mimed a yawn.
"Look, we don't want another Black Wednesday."
"I'm more of a black Friday person myself."
John looked perturbed. Edwina moved over to John and sat herself down on his lap.
"Do I scare you with my sex talk?" she said as she ran her fingers through his hair.
"Well... errr..." he stuttered.
"You're going grey in the face."
"I know, I can't blush conventionally, something's wrong with my capillaries."
Edwina grabbed his tie and drew herself closer to him.
"Oh, fuck off and do me."
Edwina shoved her hand down John's trousers and kissed him.
"Wow! You certainly have won this erection."
John tried to distance himself.
"Errr...I.. Edwina... I need to finish this document."
"Finish me first. Put your vote in my ballot box you grey faced dull bastard."
"Wha..err... what do you mean?"
"Penetrate me vaginally, John."
They proceeded to make love physically, as was the style of the time.
"I think I'm going to blow my budget," a panicked John remarked.
( $$ ✅, Fri 1 May 2015, 13:27, 11 replies)

2 of the Feckers.
1) Kenneth Clarke was MP for the part of Nottinghamshire where I grew up. On my 18th birthday, near to an election, he was in my local pub after attending a "chat to the locals" - long before Farage turned going to the pub as part of election night.

"I hope I can count on your vote in the next election"? he asked.

"I hope you get the beers in"! I replied. And he did. Still didn't vote for him.

2) The anti-christ of teachers, Michael Gove, came to the school I worked in. I asked the Head to not come near my room. So he brings Gove into the classroom when I am teaching the lowest set in the school.

He walks in and asks Ashley* what he is doing.

"You're that twat off the TV." Ash says to him.

"I have been on TV, yes"! replies Gove with a casual dismissal of the remark..

"Did you get caught shagging kids"? Ash throws back...

Never seen anyone leave a room in such a hurry.

*Ash was not his real name. I think it was Tom.
(The Kitchen Sink, Thu 30 Apr 2015, 23:34, Reply)

I once saw Gyles Brandreth's cock.
It was in the toilets in Chester at The Grosvenor, I was pretty pie faced and blatantly stared at his bell end.

For the record it was pitted and scarred, a bit cratered like the Dark Side Of The Moon, and from what I could gather he was circumcised, as he never pulled back his foreskin. He may have had some cock-pox in the past, IDK, I'm not a professional cock judge or anything.

He saw me looking and got a bit embarrassed. Finished his piss and left.

I think he wanted a bit of the old sausageing, but was to shy to ask for some. It looked to be about 1.7 inches on the flop, so Mr. Brandreth might be a grower, not a shower for all I know.

He still managed to finish his piss with some knob head mugging at his cock though, which is more than I could probably manage.

Good for him and his ciggie burned japs-eye I say.

Good for him.
(yeswehavenopasties, Sat 2 May 2015, 8:45, 3 replies)

Not my story but my dads
He was in a juicer after work when some guy burst through the doors.
It was Douglas Hurd, topless. He shouted "Who's the hardest person here?"
Some meat head replied "I am you Mr Whippy haired twat."
Douglas walked over and picked up the guy's pint glass and smashed it over the bloke's head.
He went down like a sack of shit.
Hurd then shouted "Who's the second hardest person here?" No one replied.
"Thought so," Hurd said.

He lit up a cigarette and walked out.
( $$ ✅, Sun 3 May 2015, 11:52, 5 replies)

I saw...
...Robin Cook walking through St James' Park. A few months later he died.

I saw Mo Mowlem walking through St James' Park. A few months later she died.

I'm on the look out for George Osborne.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Tue 5 May 2015, 0:44, 5 replies)

Saw Michael Gove jumping out of a Vauxhall Zafira on the A5
he was in a layby and was squatted down doing a watery shit. He told us not to watch.
( $$ ✅, Tue 5 May 2015, 19:43, 1 reply)

not my story but it does make me laugh
one of my friends was making her way home from the pub in a somewhat inebriated state. she stepped into the road and then reeled back as she was nearly run over by a massive white thatch of wig barrelling along on a bike. realising who it was, she yelled,

"I LOVE YOU BORIS!!!!" at the top of her voice.

he didn't turn a straw-like hair.

"thank you. thank you very much," he called back over his shoulder like some kind of 2 wheeled elvis, and disappeared into the night. she was devastated when she remembered it in the morning. she's somewhere to the left of tony benn in her sober state.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 1 May 2015, 10:57, 1 reply)

Maggie
Not me but a tale related from a mate.
Back in the dim and distant 80s Maggie was due to visit some community enterprise thing.
Cue a long line of dissenters all waving their fists in the air and chanting 'Maggie Out'
The car pulls up and out gets our severely coiffed Prime Minister.
Who then proceeds to walk right up to the line of boo hooers, straight up to some huge tattoed vest clad skinhead.
At which point she extends her hand out and the guy perplexed at what to do next takes it and shakes it.
Big guy instantly deflated, Maggie walks away apparently according my mate who was there, with a smug/serene expression on her face
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Sun 3 May 2015, 0:48, Reply)

Boris Johnson stuck his johnson up my bot bot :(

( broadsword now that's fresh, Thu 30 Apr 2015, 19:18, 4 replies)

I got first prize in a raffle of political statues.
I never expected to win stone Churchill.
( edjogs Collared doves are shit., Thu 7 May 2015, 8:28, Reply)

I'm not that posh, honest
I was at Glyndebourne a number of years back as my mum loved the opera and would go there a number of times every year.
Mainly I was there as we got to have a great picnic, lots of booze and could people watch the great and the good in some fantastically hideous clothes.
It used to piss my mum off that so many people would get the really good seats and not bother coming back from the interval for the second half (mainly these were corporate folk on a jolly who had done their deals over the interval meal and wine and wanted to get back to London). She would eye up these seats and had quite a good record of upgrading herself from the £10 standing seats to the couple of hundred pound locations.
One year Michael Portillo was sat a few rows in front of us and after the interval I looked down and saw he hadn't returned quite yet.
I told my mum I was going to go down and upgrade myself but she was adamant that I couldn't do it as there was still time for him to come back.
I replied that if that happened I would have the perfect quip to come back with:
"Well Michael, it isn't the only seat you've lost this year"
However, I bottled it, didn't take his seat, didn't get to use the line on him and missed out on what would have been a great story to tell and is now really rather crap.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Sun 3 May 2015, 14:43, Reply)

Australia, I have failed you.
Years ago, I was walking up the stairwell of the multi-storey car park in Manly, when the Rt Hon Tony Abbott MP ran past me in the opposite direction. These days he's MP for Warringah and Prime Minister of this fair land, and would obviously have bodyguards with him, but back then he was merely MP for Warringah and leader of the opposition, and was thus on his todd.

He was clearly in a hurry as he was sprinting down the stairs (maybe Rupert had texted to say his arse needed wiping, don't know), whereas I was sauntering upwards in a leisurely fashion, and it was only a few seconds later that I realised I'd missed a golden opportunity to extend a sneaky foot and send the jug-eared twat crashing down a flight of concrete stairs.

Obviously there's no way the resulting catastrophic head trauma could have made him any dumber or any uglier, but I've often wondered whether the months of painful post-surgical rehabilitation might have curtailed his political career somewhat, and steered the fate of the nation in an entirely different direction.

Australia, I have failed you. And I'm sorry.
(Joy Division Oven Gloves Death to false metal, Sat 2 May 2015, 7:31, 5 replies)

Apologies for being Tory Boy.....
Many years ago I was a young Conservative. I attended a rather fine dinner at a local hotel where Jim Davidson was the entertainment and, just before a general election, we were promised a very special guest to speak.

Jim was quite funny, but did seem to spend most of the night telling jokes about his ex-wife, his heavy drinking and battles with alcohol, and how he felt his demons would eventually ruin his career. Clearly he was tanked up at this point.

Anyway, at the pinaccle of the evening the guest arrived. To a hushed room, the door opened to reveal the high hitting politician just about to fight the election.

"Jeffrey you Cunt", yells Jim. "How the Fuck are you?"

Mr. Archer was not impressed.
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Fri 1 May 2015, 14:51, 2 replies)

When John Major was PM he visited my school
Nothing amusing or of interest happened and we all went about our day as normal.
( Peej, Fri 1 May 2015, 14:48, 4 replies)

Can't remember if I was told this, read it or just made it up
Boris Jonhnson's dad, who looks exactly like Boris, was cycling along the road when a member of the great unwashed shouted "Oi, Johnson, you twat".

Without skipping a beat J Snr replied "I think you mean my son"
(LetsGetDownToIt, Fri 1 May 2015, 12:04, 2 replies)

Saw Search Results Norman Lamb MP doing a shit into a crisp packet just south of Cambridge

( $$ ✅, Fri 1 May 2015, 8:46, 3 replies)

I once met Alex Salmond in the northbound car park of Keele Services on the M6.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Fri 1 May 2015, 8:24, Reply)

Nigel Farage knocked on my door and I told him he can stuff his manifesto up his arsehole and
fart it out of his cunt. Then I roundhouse kicked him across the street into a brand new Ford Mondeo. Then pissed on him.

True story actually happened.
( $$ ✅, Thu 30 Apr 2015, 19:52, 3 replies)

My MP
I won't name him specifically, but he's a Scottish Labour guy who is thankfully quite likely to be replaced on May 7th.

My correspondence with him started with me sending him a template email via Amnesty International (I'm still quite supportive of that organisation, and at the time I was sending these things off without a second thought, kind of like signing a petition), basically to encourage him to oppose a bill that the Tories were pushing through that would allow the government to hold the trials of 'terror suspects' in secret, and in short violate their human rights. To my surprise, he actually responded, and to my disappointment he and his party had voted for an amendment that pretty much did jack shit to the actual bill. He even sent me two letters informing me of the progress of the bill, something I discovered he's keen on doing to maintain some kind of reputation as one of 'Britain's most responsive MPs'.

Doing some digging, I discovered that he had claimed nearly £300,000 in expenses since his election and that he employs his partner as his secretary. Thanks to the miracle of First Past The Post, he was also voted in despite over 60% of the constituency voting for someone else.

He came in to talk to our school a few times (and yes, as a few of you guessed I am still roughly school age), which led to some rather interesting discussions concerning his actions in Westminster. I brought up his conspicuous failure to vote on several key bills regarding fracking, further welfare cuts and Trident, to which he responded that he had 'other responsibilities'. When I subjected him to the same sort of scrutiny on social media, he blocked me from his Facebook page and still goes on about 'bullying trolls' to this day.

In fairness to the man, he is very responsive and is quite good as a local representative. He went out of his way to justify his position to me at first, so maybe I pushed him a bit far. Anyway, he'll be going soon.

Important clarification: Scottish Labour are not like the Labour party in the rest of the UK. In their intense hatred of the SNP they have almost entirely abandoned their left wing principles and by sharing a platform with the Tories during the independence referendum they have lost the confidence of the majority of the Scottish electorate. They're now just a bunch of Blairites, and my MP is no exception.
(a humble reindeer herder serial milk-drinker, compulsive liar., Thu 30 Apr 2015, 19:31, 13 replies)

I wiped cat poo on a politician
We have three cats, one of which is a horrible great ginger sod who shits in our garden, on the grass, and makes no attempt to bury it. If I want the kids to play in the garden I have to go out with a roll of plastic bags and pick up all the turds. One of my sons' friends is over, and I was clearing the garden so they could play. Most of the shit went in the bags, but I got some on my hands. It really stank; my wife keeps feeding him cheese which gives him the squirts. Gagging a bit, I finished up and went to wash my hands. Just before I got to the sink the door bell went, so I diverted to the front door, making sure I didn't touch anything. My younger son opened it for me so I wouldn't get any poo on the handle. Standing there was the Liberal Democrat candidate for my area.

My wife is really getting into this election malarky, developing an interest in the process and candidates' policies. Interestingly, it seems there is a (very) remote chance that the Liberal Democrats might oust the Tories here. She did a tweet that she hadn't got a leaflet from the LDs and one of the LD people tweeted back that if she'd like to help deliver leaflets then they would be most grateful. She agreed, so there was the Liberal Democrat candidate on my doorstep with a bag full of leaflets. Hello he said and thrust his hand towards me. I hesitated a second, torn between not sounding like a lunatic or "sorry, I can't shake hands I'm covered in cat shit". In the end I thought "fuck it" and gave him a firm turdy handshake. Sorry Mr. Liberal Democrat candidate. You seem like a nice bloke.
(Naich, Thu 7 May 2015, 14:17, 1 reply)

Last election I was working for a largish advertising agency who took on the Tories as a client
I did some work for them, mostly just image editing and a couple of websites. Then, over the weekend, without asking anyone at the agency, their central office went ahead and launched this:

www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/mar/22/cash-gordon-twitter-tories
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Tue 5 May 2015, 15:42, 6 replies)

I almost worked for an MP.
Well, I say "almost worked for"... I probably wouldn't've stood a chance, but it's close enough.

About a decade ago, I was wondering if I'd ever find paid work in my preferred area: it was beginning to look doubtful. My parents were beginning to wonder something similar, and every so often they'd send me details of job ads they'd seen in the paper.

One such was from The Times, advertising a vacancy to work as PA to a high-profile MP. There was a phone number, and so - for want of any better ideas - I rang it.
"Good morning; Office of Ann Widdecombe," said the voice at the other end of the line.

I put down the phone.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 5 May 2015, 15:22, 10 replies)

Talking to the local Labour representative in West Yorkshire
M, yes. I was living in Slawit in West Yorkshire at the time, working there. Came to meet this guy working for the labour party in my local - and on the subject of Mrs Blair, he uttered that he did ont like her a lot. Fine, I said, I'll email you this animation of her, It's funny. Cue: this is at the time of Crazy frog, which I hate, but Hillarious when somebody had animated her face as Blair frog. He did not think it was very fonneh...
(Holmeuddedal, Fri 1 May 2015, 19:10, 5 replies)

William Hague
I went to the same secondary school as William Hague, he once turned up with news crew in tow to do an interview. It just so happened that at the time, we were waiting outside a classroom in a corridor that overlooked the interview and t'old Billy had his back to us - queue a bunch of spotty 14 year olds making every rude gesture we could think of in the direction of the camera.

I thought it was hilarious - however my dad didn't when he spotted me on the news later that week.
(Cow_Tipping_Samurai, Fri 1 May 2015, 13:42, 3 replies)

Northern Ireland secretary Sir Patrick Mayhew came to my school in the 90s.
If you don't remember him, imagine a cross between Rowley Birkin QC and Colonel Mustard.
I and a friend were chosen to show him a computer program I'd made in visual basic because they had to show off the newest thing the school had and it was the 90s and apparently we had nothing better than that.
As soon as he arrived it was obvious that he'd never been in front of a computer before, and my demonstation turned into five minutes trying to explain what a mouse was. He thought it was funny that it was called a mouse. No he didn't want to touch it. Whatever do you mean by click the mouse? These young people with their gadgets, jolly odd what what. Are we done yet?
Then they took a photo which appeared on the front of the local paper the next day. I was labelled as my friend, he was labelled as me, both names were misspelled. They got Sir Patrick right though.
( Zuowan, Fri 1 May 2015, 11:36, Reply)

Kilroy
Robert Kilroy Silk was doing the rounds in my quaint market hometown of Melton Mowbray, trying to drum up support for either UKIP or that other thing he did for a bit. Being a naive 13 year old, and recognising his face from days off school watching TV, I turned to my friend and simply asked 'Is that Kilroy?'

One of his leaflet buddies, overhearing, turned to us and said 'Yes it is. Now don't make fun.'
(Conthortius, Fri 1 May 2015, 10:40, 1 reply)

Cyril Smith paid me a pound to fart on his bollocks
Cheers
( $$ ✅, Fri 1 May 2015, 9:57, Reply)

Does this count?
She's an election blagger of sorts so she will have to do

Bestival 2008...*wavy lines*

Spent most of the afternoon getting pissed under a stage (it was raining)
and on surfacing into the cloudy wet field I spotted a lass sat with a bloke 'chilling' with a pint of cider in hand looking a bit hippie and that with festival hair.
Convinced I recognised her from Bristol I looked, looked again and asked 'Oh, do I know you from Bristol? Aren't you friends with Fiona, Fiona * from Bristol? Interpreter?'
They both looked at me, then gave each other a wry smile.
Me 'no? You know, haven't I met you at her house once? Fiona? No?'
Again no answer, just knowing looks to each other and an 'oh dear how we feel sorry for her look'
erm....ok...not really knowing why they wouldn't even answer with a 'no' apart from the fact they looked like they were incredibly stoned, they then stood up and wandered off.
I turned to my mate a bit confused.

Then the penny dropped.

'Oh for FUCKS SAKE, I thought that was one of Fionas friends, I fucking KNEW I recognised that face, it's that fucking awful woman off the Apprentice, Jesus....The fucking shame of it, She could have at least said something'

So there you go, my encounter with lady Katie la-de-dah Hopkinsface in a muddy field while she drank a pint of cider out of a cardboard cup while wearing what can only be described as 'clothes of a hippie' and apparently enjoying herself amidst the great unwashed.
How times have changed ey Katie?
( Herb Alpert's Taxi Driver I have very beautiful lips, Thu 30 Apr 2015, 23:29, 2 replies)