Suffering from Post-Brexit brain fever

Here are some lyrics the Killers wrote and then crossed out:

I’ve got Docs, but I’m not a doctor.

I’ve got a neck, but I’m not a necrophiliac.

I’ve got legs, but I’m not a legislator.

I’ve got plums, but I’m not a plumber.

I’ve got mince, but I’m not a minstrel.

I’ve got toes, but I’m not a toaster.

I’ve got soup, but I’m not a supermodel.

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Today I heard Donald Trump described as looking like ‘the guy who would play the president in a porno’.

I don’t know who said it, but I like it, and am therefore making a note of it.

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Here in Britain, we’ve been experiencing a huge influx of slugs and snails (Screw you, Brussels bureaucrats- thank the heavens we’ve now put a stop to the insanity and taken back control!)

My partner and I have been trying to defend our garden, but each morning we go out and the veggies and clematis and other vulnerable plants have just been decimated. Sometimes it’s literally just a twig that’s left, surrounded by slime, as if to taunt us. It made pure hatred boil up in our hearts. (No, I don’t think that’s too melodramatic a phrase.)

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