Mr Prescott invited reporters around to his Hull constituency fourth home in an effort to quell rumours that he has got swine fever.
“I was just eating my 20th bacon sarnie of the morn when I burped loudly and a bit of sick came up. My missus laughed and said ‘John you just brought up a bit of sick’ I said ‘yes me love and I ate that up as well’. That’s when I smelled the doner kebabs from down t’ road. I told her t’ ‘op it and get me 12 large doners and a bucket of chips sharpish. Well the silly bitch didn’t get enough bloody chilli sauce put on so I tell her to get back ‘n’ tell ’em to put the chilli and garlic sauce on everything, drizzle it so you can’t taste how sh*t the roadkill meat tastes like. I washed the lot down with a crate of ale and 16 bottles of pop. Dessert? You bet! How about 340 cream eggs mixed in a bucket of custard and a nice greasy gammon steak with all the fat around it slapped on. My wife added the piece de resistance, I gave it a good stir with a stick from the garden and it all went down a real treat. It was delicious I tell you’se. I gave her a good punch in the fookin’ eye for that bit of culinary excellence. You don’t have to pass your 11-plus to know a good bit o’ grub do you?” said Mr Prescott, describing a normal day’s high tea in his household.
After pigging out on his little snack Mr. Prescott was able to relax for a few minutes and recall his days in the Blair cabinet, however it was only four minutes later when the chipolata boy got hungry again.
“Mr Prescott tried to eat my arm. I know you may not believe me but he took a sniff and chomped down pretty hard. Naturally, we ended the interview right there and had to escape through one of the closed windows. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he chomped down on my arm taking a big chunk of flesh in his mouth. He actually licked his lips and said it tasted like prime Yorkshire meat f*cking pie. He was snorting and squealing in frustration at being denied the rest of the arm. It was really scary I tell you. I think I’m going to need a lot of counselling and my arm is a right old mess,” Daily Squib reporter, Gerald Scotchbrook said from his hospital bed.
Luckily the Daily Squib reporter got away with his life but both the Sun and Telegraph’s reporters were nowhere to be seen after everyone assembled in the car park afterwards.