Images of physical retribution against hated political figures have, rightly or wrongly, been part of the holy fool’s comedic arsenal since the dawn of human civilisation. Effigies of the sparkler-toting anarchist Guy Fawkes have been burnt every November 5th since 1606, while a 17,000-year-old daub on the wall of the Grotte de Niaux in south-west France shows a primitive cave chief having milk squirted over him directly from the lactating teat of a female megatherium. But, in a political climate that has seen a pro-Remain politician murdered in the street by a Brexiter, and even actual milkshakes thrown at both Nigel Farage and that other one who wouldn’t even rape a Labour MP, stock images of satirical revenge violence no longer seem so funny.

As Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Haircut Bullshit Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Johnson prepares to take power, unelected and unopposed, modern day alternative so-called “comedians” need to start working out which forms of fantasy violence it is comically acceptable to imagine being meted out to him. Or face the strongest condemnation. Presumably there is no problem with images that Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Haircut Bullshit Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Johnson has already introduced into public discourse himself?

In January 2017, Piccaninny Johnson, as part of his delicate EU negotiation strategy, warned the then president of France not to “administer punishment beatings to anybody who chooses to escape, rather in the manner of some world war two movie”. Is it then funny to imagine Letterbox Johnson himself, pegged out face-down on the prison camp parade ground, naked but for a massive pair of white Y-fronts, being repeatedly clubbed by the butts of the Nazi camp guards’ Karabiner 98K rifles? Yes, it is funny, but only until such time as a modern-day politician is actually beaten senseless by Nazi camp guards, at which point it would become distasteful.

In 2002, in a column in the Telegraph, Britain’s worst newspaper, Cake Johnson described African people as “piccaninnies” with “watermelon smiles”. Would it be funny then, to extend the comical image of him pegged out at Stalag Luft III in just his pants, by imagining the piccaninnies arriving, jungle spears at hand, poking them into his bottom, and stuffing watermelons into his smiling mouth, while doing a capering jungle dance? Would it be funny to imagine Bumboys Johnson’s supporter James Cleverly looking on and wondering, like the loyal house slave in Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained, where his loyalties lay?

The answer is yes, it would be funny to imagine these things, but only until such a time as a leading politician has been spiked in the gluteus maximus and force-fed on watermelon by piccaninnies, then it would become tasteless and not funny at all. And would it be appropriate to notice that James Cleverly’s left eyebrow is always raised inexplicably higher than its fellow, as if even Cleverly’s actual face has begun a sudden downward drift towards the far right?

In a 1998 Telegraph column about Peter Mandelson, Haircut Johnson wrote about “tank-topped bumboys”. If a so-called “comedian” were to imagine the Nazi-beaten, piccaninny-speared, watermelon-gagged Bullshit Johnson then being touched on his bottom by bumboys, would that be funny? The answer is yes, it would be funny, but only so long as a leading political figure had not been Nazi-beaten, piccaninny-speared, watermelon-gagged and bumboy-touched, at which point the so-called “comedian” conjuring the image should become the subject of a police investigation.

In his 2001 book, Friends, Voters, Countrymen, Wall-Spaffer Johnson wrote: “If gay marriage was OK – and I was uncertain on the issue – then I saw no reason in principle why a union should not be consecrated between three men, as well as two men, or indeed three men and a dog.” Would it then be funny to imagine the dazed and beaten Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Haircut Bullshit Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Johnson, pegged out on the Nazi camp parade ground, in just his pants, and being forced, in quick succession, to marry three men, two men, and then three men and a dog, while being spiked by piccaninny spears, gagged with watermelons, and having his bottom touched by tank-topped bumboys, with each parody of a wedding ceremony enthusiastically officiated by the celebrant James Cleverly?

The answer is yes, it would be funny, but only until such time as a leading politician was forced against his will, having been beaten semi-senseless by Nazis, speared by piccaninnies, gagged by watermelons, and goosed by bumboys, to marry three men, two men, and then three men and a dog. Then it would not be funny. It would be sick.

Last week Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Haircut Bullshit Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Johnson claimed to have taken cocaine only once, in a “single inconclusive event” as a teenager. Would it be funny then to imagine the next leader of the Conservative party pegged out on the Nazi camp parade ground, in just his pants, forced at great speed to marry three men, two men, and then three men and a dog, spiked by piccaninny spears, gagged with watermelons, and having his bottom touched by tank-topped bumboys, while privileged teenagers hurl millions of pounds of cocaine repeatedly and inconclusively into his sneezing nose?

Yes. It would be funny. But only until such time as the next prime minister of Britain has been beaten trouserless by Nazis, forcibly wed to various human-animal combinations, spiked by piccaninnies, choked on fruit, fondled by bumboys, and forcibly fed cocaine. Then it would not be funny. It would be an outrage. And would it be funny to imagine that the opponent to Prime Minister Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Haircut Bullshit Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Johnson is a man who agrees “150%” with a nakedly racist Donald Trump-Katie Hopkins co-tweet? No. It wouldn’t be funny. But it is true.