Experimental procedures often take place upon verminous rodents. So who better to try our new novel method on than one of the slimiest rats ever to win and detestably cling onto office in the British government?

That would be one Michael Gove. A Conservative Party serpent so loathsome, so adroit at backstabbing and conniving his way into positions of strength, that he has few friends and is generally received with a wary chill. He’s also rumoured to be on occasional terms with Charlie; certain close friends in China we mean, ahem. All this despite having a very polite and courteous public-facing demeanour to everybody at almost all times! It’s a good thing we haven’t anyone else like that in a position of power, eh readers?!

So ugly is this man’s simpering, amoral mug we’ve had to swap his portrait out for that of a considerably more handsome semi-lookalike. But let’s move onto the matter at hand: it’s absolutely true that Gove, along with other detestably corrupt and utterly inept government officials, has descended to stunningly poor levels of job performance in multiple areas. We resorted to melding Medieval with Modern by torturing the man with the Brain Slicing Vibratome 1000! Only this would send an unforgettable, slow, agonizing message to anyone who might view this piece of walking human detritus as something to aspire to.

Michael was strapped-in and suspended upside-down; his signature goofy-arse specs were on the ground before us, shattered into pieces much like his own abject Party. His spindly white bare legs were pointed at an angle of 45 degrees toward the ceiling.

“Govey, hey. We’ve two of these hooked up, one per foot, and we’re going to relish the process of you losing both feet over twelve hours. Have you any final pre-amputation words for us?” our torturer inquired.

“Look, you’re making an enormous mistake by even considering this. I have highly-placed people in positions of influ-” stammered Govey.

“Still bargaining like the obsequious toad you are, eh? Right…it’s time.” sighed our attending cutter.

The machines were switched on, and their mechanisms whirred loudly like a bread slicer. Gove began to writhe and emit monstrous, impish screeches. His stricken gaze darted to us and something odd occurred: his terrified expression contorted into one of pure, venomous, hatred. Finally, his true self – what passed for his soul – had become visible to all.

Unbeknownst to Gove we’d swapped out the machines for a pair of rotating feather dusters. It took him awhile to clock onto the fact he was only being tickled! After an hour of blubbering giggles, Gove was set upright and sent on his way to proper justice along with every other icon of Conservative depravity. Hurray!