Nigel’s primary joy is wizardry. He prances round with a tiny Union Jack (which he imagines is a magic wand) and attempts to dazzle people with wonder and gaiety. “Come with me to the magic land of Engle-land”, he sings before wafting them with his wonky baton. Look, see the child’s joy in those stupid eyes. It’s magic. Pure magic.
Having exhausted his two ideas for effective government during a speech, Nigel launches into rendition of Hey Macarena. Mistaking Hey Macarena for a third UKIP idea, the crowd cheered, the more dextrous clapped their hands, the rest bashed their heads together making a festive coconut sound.
Nigel orgasms after laughing too hard — this is now the only way the UKIP leader can climax.
Nigel promises a bright future filled with tea and molestation by creepy-uncle figures.
Nigel delights in playing weak practical jokes on the peasantry. He teases one with a book just before he pushes a button (out of shot at the bottom) to plunge them through a trapdoor, landing them on a dog poo. It’s his favourite joke.
Nigel is photo-bombed by a Bundesflagge while posing as his superhero alter ego ’Hotty Smile-Face Englandy Man’ (he’s still experimenting with the name).
Nigel tramples a photographer to death as he marches on like a crazed, laughing mechanical man.
After realising he can spout utter bullshit and still garner support, Nigel decides it would be hilarious if, instead of giving a speech to journalists, he’d just see how many marshmallows he can stuff in his mouth. He managed 5, which is rubbish.
Any man who can laugh while wearing that suit has more issues than the peak of that cap.
Nigel takes a break from laughing to show a room of men a new dance he invented while watching Towie before they taser him.
Fear as Nigel’s arm literally starts extending over England — its crazed finger forever stays focussed on Scotland, a UKIP spokesperson confirmed.
Just to prove his godlike status, Nigel starts pissing on a photographer, further taunting him with a mocking thumbs-up and that ever present maniacal grin.
Nigel laughing at a market seller for the desperate state of their sock collection and CD rack.
Nigel is bookies favourite for the new ‘laugh or shit’ round of the gurning championships — the delicate insertion of the contestant’s right arm up the rectal passage is the key to a crowning victory.
Nigel is gently amused as he exits a popular Edinburgh club — it was just plain Farage luck that the two strippers he’d hired were dressed as policemen.