Meg Jorsh, Features Editor, has met the real Count Binface – and she can confirm he is 100% Recyclon. Standing an intimidating 6'5" tall, his skin is cold and smooth, and he smells like a new car. The panel on his midriff makes a faint buzzing noise.
Allegations Dismissed
In recent days, the Count has faced various allegations over his so-called “real” identity. Countless allegations, in fact. From people Jorsh suggests are the reason we can't have nice things. To them, she says: “Go outside. Touch some grass. Come back when you've developed an imagination and a sense of joy.”
Preparing for Clacton
Meanwhile, the leader of the Count Binface Party will get ready to take on Nigel Farage – a loaded ex-banker who attended public school Dulwich College, where places cost up to £67,000, and claims to be anti-establishment. Jorsh questions whether that kind of cosplay should really be allowed in Westminster.
Right Up My Rally
Somewhere beneath the sizzling streets of central London, 80 people are crammed into a dark, slightly odd-smelling tunnel. It's hot and very close, but the atmosphere is electric. For fans of Count Binface, tonight is the World Cup final. It's the Sex Pistols back in 1976, when they played the Free Trade Hall in Manchester and inspired a generation of ridiculous hairdos.
The show at the Museum of Comedy is billed as a (Moral) Victory Rally, following the warlord's Makerfield campaign. It was going to be a quiet affair, but now the sold-out venue has fans outside, begging to be let in. The hard-working Recyclon strides out on stage to be greeted like a resurrected Prince has formed a band with David Bowie. And it only gets better from there. This alien is seriously funny.
Highlights and Laughter
A highlight reel of his election coverage, a pop quiz and a recap of his policies are delivered with his trademark charm and wit. At one point he brings out John Sweeney to “interview him like Jeremy Paxman.” The BBC veteran puts in a valiant attempt, between fits of laughter. After 90 minutes or so, the audience leaves sweaty, exhausted and exhilarated. If this is the future of politics, count us in.
