Fuckchops

Bleeding heart disorder is on the rise!

Bleeding heart disorder (BHD) affects 1 in 10 public figures.

BHD is a disease of the soul. Its symptoms include psychopathy and a mild variation of narcolepsy. Sufferers have the outward appearance of giving a flying fuck, but do not actually, in themselves, give a flying fuck - and yet rarely have trouble sleeping at night.

Not much is known yet about what causes BHD, but it has been linked to: unsympathetic public image; endangerment of career; unpopular decision-making; unfortunate pronouncements to media, etc.

We have helped hundreds of public figures afflicted with BHD at the height of their careers to get their lives back. But we need your help. The only known cure for BHD is the sound of a tiny violin. However, when they start to go out of tune, the strings are virtually impossible to replace. Believe us, we've tried with all, like, tweezers and microscopes and shit, but it's rock hard, so we usually end up just chozzing them. For just £800, we can buy one tiny violin. Please give us it.

Here's what some of our current patients have to say:

G. Osborne, W. Minster
I'm an Oxford-educated Conservative Chancellor, which is a dangerous thing to be in times of economic hardship. Worse, my party has had to share power with another whose supporters tend towards the wearing of sandals and the reading of the Guardian. In my first budget, I had to perform a delicate balancing act: try not to upset the proles, and at the same time assert my authority over the vegans in our ranks. So when I announced an unpopular cut, or a shameless concession to my rich friends in the City, well, then I'd had no choice. I didn't want to do it, but the state of the country's finances and the previous government's insane levels of spending forced my hand. They had actually remortgaged the Houses of Parliament to buy iPads for illegal immigrant lesbian foxes, I shit you not! ;) Meanwhile, what little helpfulness or compassion had managed to seep through the cracks in my bare concrete wall of misery was me trying my very hardest indeed not to make the most regressive budget since the 1980s too painful for the paupers, all delivered with a nod and a wink to the Tory backbenchers. It was beautiful. Seriously, I was erect the whole fucking time.

N. Clegg, W. Minster
I had somehow managed to scam my way into something resembling a position of power by appearing to give a flying fuck. Of course, there was no more substance to my 'power' than there was to my giving of a flying fuck. In actual fact, I was there to soften up the country for the deeply unpopular and unnecessarily harsh treatment to which it would be subjected by the coalition government. A friendly face for the nasty party, so to speak, even if my face was virtually indistinguishable from theirs. "Just imagine how much worse it could have been!" I would say. "These good bits of the budget, they're there because I insisted on them. It's just a coincidence that almost all of them had already been announced by the outgoing Labour Chancellor in his final budget!" I hadn't had so much fun since I'd shagged all them birds.

V. Cable, W. Minster
As Treasury Spokesman for the Liberal Democrats, I often appeared principled and empathic, even human. This continued until just before the official formation of our coalition with the Tories, when I claimed to have been "heartbroken" by my negotiating team's failure to secure a deal with the Labour party. And people believed that shit. That made me piss a hot river of LOL down my right leg. I laughed even harder later on, after sitting behind the Chancellor of the Exchequer, nodding sagely as he announced his intention to butcher the poor for long pig to sell in Fortnum & Mason. I mean, as if I ever actually gave a fuck! I used to work for Shell, you daft cunts.

T. Hayward, Cowes
As Chief Executive of a massive oil company, any fuck-giving on my part was always bound to be pretty implausible. But I love a challenge, so I went for it anyway after some careless deep-sea drilling resulted in tens of millions of gallons of oil flowing into the Gulf of Mexico. I had a good old fucking wank when that happened. But the Americans have never shared our keen British sense of irony, and they consequently failed to see the inherent eroticism of the whole do. So I told Congress I was "distraught" and then went yachting.

B. Obama, Washington DC
I was President of the United States of America when the Deepwater Horizon rig exploded. And when that oil came gushing out into the Gulf of Mexico, it was like, "fuckin' high five, Biden!" My approval ratings had been steadily falling for most of my Presidency, and flatlining for months. There was a lot of anti-incumbent sentiment making things difficult in the primaries. I was having a tough time. So that pipe blows and we have a much-needed distraction. Then what do you know! This pointy-faced, shit-for-brains British asshole comes along riling everybody up every single time he opens his mouth, and we have ourselves a scapegoat. Not only did I get a chance to finally impress the green lobby with a bunch of tough talk and no real action, I got to play the patriot card for all the old bastards still fighting the War of Independence in their stupid dusty heads. And we got to wring a shitload of money out of BP. It was perfect! We knew that me responding to the situation by dancing naked to More Than A Feeling wouldn't play well with the media, though, so when those cameras rolled, my heart bled. My heart bled for the environment. My heart bled for America. My dick dribbled in my pants. Fuck pelicans, man. Stupid, fat-beaked sons of bitches.

With your help, these people will one day be able to hold their hands up and openly admit to being the dessicated, mercenary bastards they so clearly are. Are you BHD positive? Prove it, fuckchops.