Oh Boris, you’re so darned hip! Look at the jazzy style!
At first I thought: ‘Why didn’t his mother comb his hair before he left for school this morning? And she knew the school photographer was coming today too’
And then I noticed that after every cut his hair is different. Every film cut, that is. Not hair cut. He didn’t have several haircuts during the course of a three minute film. That’d be ostentatious, even for Boris. Though it does look like it grows fast. (”If I’m elected I intend to make severe and uncompromising cuts. Begining with my hair. London simply cannot support such lavish expenditure. And also, to be frank with you, I’m fearful that it’s been infested by a terrorist cell. Militia of dubious ethnic extraction I suspect. They’re hell-bent on seizing it, overthrowing my conditioning regime, and transforming it into a rogue state. They’re probably Bomb-and-Go fundamentalists…”) But after every take - and one can only guess the lovable oaf took many - after every one his hair is dandied differently.
Beloved of the continuity editor I’m sure, Boris is evidently one of those boys who hate to look smart. After every take Frau Johnson comes over and combs his hair with a medicated nit-comb and rubs his face with a bit of her spit on a handkerchief. And everytime she turns her back Boris screws his face up and ruffles his locks again. Oh he’s such a devilish rogue! He tousels that barnet up like a foppy Dennis the Menace or Roger the Dodger would do. And then he goes off on his bicycle and does some dastardly pranks with the Bash Street Kids. Probably pranks that are destructive to the environment. Probably pranks which he metes out to the socially-deprived underclasses. It’s all jolly good fun though.
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