Margaret Thatcher was a woman. A woman and a prime minister. A lover and a fighter. A tap dancer and a geologist. Like chocolate or dog shit, some people liked her, and some people didn’t. Anyway, she’s dead, so that puts an end to the matter.
Margaret Linda Toxteth Thatcher was born in a skip of gravel in 1901 to parents Askwith and Pargenon at the height of the Great Apathy. At the age of two, she closed down her father’s successful trouser mining business and by the age of five she had sold the street in which she lived to private businessmen, who levelled it and used the land to build a successful trouser mining business.
As World War I swung into action she joined the navy as a terrible barber before being redeployed as a naval mine in the Aegean Sea, where she spent four awkward years sinking unsuspecting battleships with her face. For her bravery and distinguished bobbing ability she was awarded an Iron Cross, and it was this that earned Thatcher her famous nickname, ‘The Exploding Lady’.
At the end of the war, Thatcher found work in Leeds as a burlesque dancer, calling herself ‘The Knockers Of The North’. It was in the club where she worked, The Naughty Bustard, that she first met the love of her life and the man who would become her husband, lion-taming big band leader Dennis Skinner.
After a whirlwind romance, interrupted only by World War II, Skinner gave birth to twins Mark and Carol through a special spout installed by the Nazis after a particularly raucous party he attended with his wife-to-be. Thatcher had joined the army in 1939 and, smitten, Dennis had followed her. The pair worked as double agents, infiltrating the Nazi social scene in order to party with Hitler and learn vital war secrets, an endeavour that earned Thatcher the famous nickname ‘Iron Guts O’Halloran’ and left Dennis a raging alcoholic.
After killing Hitler with her barbaric vagina in an underground nightclub in 1945, Thatcher returned to England and entered politics, becoming the first woman in Britain to punch her way to an election victory. From there, the woman known to many as Stinky McGiffin strode across the male-dominated political landscape like an average-sized woman-type human being with a slightly wider pelvis in a dress.
But it was in a brutal cage fight with Welsh thunderer Neil Kinnock that Thatcher finally reached the peak of her political career, knocking out the Sickening Slaphead in the 30th minute with her trademark handbag of bricks and winning the title of World Champion Prime Minister of Great Britain. It was from this lofty position of power that she could finally indulge her lifelong hatred of coal.
Thatcher also used her office to slake her bloodlust, famously sinking the Falkland Islands in 1985 in an attempt to goad Argentina into war. The attempt worked. For three noisy years, British and Argentine battleships hurled submarines at each other from as little as 30 feet apart and, for their troubles, more than 2 million men and fish were killed, earning the prime minister the famous nickname ‘The Bad Lady’.
But Thatcher’s insatiable desire to destroy the universe had earned her enemies and, on the 30th of November 1991, Nigel Lawson sapped the prime minister with a pillow case full of apples and dumped her limp frame in a skip outside No.10 Downing Street. The Unconscious Lady’s reign was badly over.
Devastated by the betrayal and in need of employment, Thatcher turned her hand to the lucrative stripogram business, working the pubs and clubs of North London armed with nothing more than natural talent and a can of shaving foam, and bringing a seedy form of happiness to hundreds of unpleasant men. It is for this, more than the other things, that she will be most fondly remembered.