Don’t weep for Sabisky, Dominic Cummings – I have just the thing to keep your ‘weirdos and misfits’ movement alive

All over the land, misfits and weirdos stare fiercely at their phones in the unusual hope of seeing the words “withheld number” flash across the screen.

This I know, though not primarily due to being a super-forecaster (though in fact, I am). I know it because I am one of those watchful weirdos and misfits dreaming of replacing Andrew Sabisky in Dominic Cummings’ well-oiled Downing Street operation.

We wannabes form an elite corps of original thinkers, and we talk. We band together and share in challenging times.

Without wishing to brag, the job prospectus I emailed Dom weeks ago seemed perfect at the time. With hindsight, however, the flaws are self-evident.

I skipped entirely over eugenics (fool, fool), and touched too lightly on the enforced sterilisation of young working-class women, the encouraging of incest fantasies, and on why the likes of Serena Williams and Dina Asher-Smith would be misfits in any able-bodied Olympics.

But I did outline a scheme to harvest the livers of illegal immigrants, and give them to cirrhosis sufferers in northern “red wall” seats recently acquired by the Tories.

I also explained in impressive detail why the blame for England’s failure to beat Croatia in the 2018 World Cup semi-final should be laid at George Soros’s door.

From Dom, not a dickie word in response. No umbrage taken. In his blogged appeal for exciting new minds, he warned he’d be too swamped to answer them all, and advised that persistence (see below) might be required.

But it isn’t my uncertain future in government that concerns me most. For all the brilliance of my proposal to dissolve the liberal intelligentsia blob by turning Oxford and Cambridge into giant llama farms, it’s the overlooking of even better-qualified candidates that causes such distress.

For David Icke, perhaps the opening came too late. Thrillingly inventive geopolitical analyst that he was in his Illuminati heyday, time and familiarity have shoved poor Ickey too close to the mainstream for Dom’s recherche taste.

And what of Katie Hopkins? Could anyone doubt her relevance, let alone her scintillating gift for thinking outside the box on social issues?

As for Lembit Opik, if any inexplicably defunct political career deserves a revival, it’s his. Lembit’s warnings about an imminent, asteroid-related extinction-level event were derided by the sort of deluded liberal morons who cited climate change as a clearer threat. A decade and more later, is there a shred of evidence for that?

So if it comes down to a two-way choice, I’ll gladly stand aside in his favour. Put a giant telescope and at least one Cheeky Girl in No 10, and free Lembit to liaise with Trump’s new Space Force about a real-life Deep Impact reboot.

Tyson Fury is otherwise engaged right now, with his heavyweight title rematch against Deontay Wilder in Vegas scheduled for Sunday morning our time. But whether he wins, loses or again draws, Tyson’s thoughtful equivalence of homosexuality with paedophilia underscores his credentials to join Dom’s madcap squad the moment the ringside medics declare him fit for duty.

Laurence Fox, the renaissance man of anti-snowflake guerrilla warfare, is currently concentrating more on his music than acting – and anyone who enjoyed his memorable voice on Jeremy Vine’s TV show will be delighted about that.

Is it pure coincidence that next Wednesday, Lozza’s musical tour takes him to The Bullingdon in Oxford? Or is it a cunningly coded, come-and-get-me message to the prime minister at whose pleasure Cummings so skilfully serves?

So far as Sabisky, the first great martyr of the Cummings-Johnson era is concerned, it will be years before his contribution is fully appreciated. The achievements of his several days in the engine room of the British ship of state are poorly suited to snap judgement.

Apparently, his specialism was defence. I believe I speak for all us weirdos and misfits in saying that we slept more peacefully in our beds knowing he was focusing his vast and supple mind on that.

Not since the mysterious Adam Werritty was accompanying his platonic friend Liam Fox to top-level procurement meetings around the globe, in fact, has the defence of the realm lain in safer hands.

Happily, we can rely on Dom to find someone of similarly massive intellect to succeed him. If that person isn’t me, so be it. Others, as I said, have stronger claims.

But if it is me, begging pardon for taking up Dom’s invitation to jog his memory, my first policy paper will concern the colonisation of Saturn’s third ring with a slave labour force of sterilised teenage girls, low IQ people of colour, and redheads with precisely 63 freckles on each upper arm, who will build massively destructive lasers targeted on the Solomon Islands.

For that not to earn me at least an interview, there would have to be something alarmingly wrong in the Downing Street machine – and with Dom at the helm, that notion is way too weird to contemplate.