In an unprecedented move that has sent shivers down the spines of loquacious lawmakers across the United Kingdom, Parliament has put forward a revolutionary piece of legislation aiming to ban excessively long speeches. This bold initiative is masquerading under the name “The Brevity Act 2023.” The news has reportedly led to panic among certain talkative MPs, who have been heard muttering, or should we say whispering, in corners of the Palace of Westminster as they frantically practice the art of brevity.
The atmosphere in Parliament has shifted dramatically. Once a place renowned for grandiloquent displays of oratory skills—often stretching so long they might have required audience members to pack overnight bags—Westminster is now echoing with the hushed tones of verbosity-challenged politicians attempting to deliver their once-lengthy soliloquies in the span of an elevator ride.
The Committee for Conciseness, a newly formed group led by Sir Edward “The Curt” Cutlet, has emerged as the brain trust behind this compact campaign. Cutlet, whose speeches often rival a haiku in duration, enthusiastically declared, “It’s time we put the ‘brief’ back in ‘briefing paper.'”
In response, the newest craze in the Parliamentarian fashion scene has taken off—pocket-sized thesauruses that MPs can whip out faster than you can say “superfluous.” Meanwhile, retired auctioneers have been brought in to help MPs train for their future three-second policy pitches.
Reporters have also observed peculiar scenes in tea rooms where MPs huddle around, passing flashcards with buzzwords and practicing point-by-point arguments like teams strategizing for a high-speed quiz show. Each MP is given exactly 30 seconds to explain why their intern deserves a raise; those who falter immediately regret requesting a cup of tea.
Critics of the legislation argue the move has thrown Westminster into an era reminiscent of Twitter in its 140-character days. “We might be brief, but where’s the beef?” voiced one opposition MP, lamenting his lost 200-page manifesto now trimmed to a collection of one-liners reading like stand-up comedy.
However, there’s always a silver lining: Parliamentary sessions now finish on time, allowing MPs more opportunities to attend to their second jobs or actually enjoy their private lives—perhaps both simultaneously, who knows?
In response to public concern, Prime Ministerial Question Time has cleverly been rebranded to “PMQs Lite: All the Political Flavor, None of the Extra Words.” The initiative was advertised as a way to maximize efficiency, though potential tongue slips and garbled answers have added an unexpected layer of entertainment since it turns every debate into a high-stakes improv comedy session.
The public is divided. Some remain hopeful that this is a new era of clarity and efficiency. Others, however, fear this shift could lead to politicians including speaking fees in the cost of tickets to debates, advertising them as thriller performances guaranteeing a few laughs.
As the “Brevity Act 2023” makes its way through Westminster, only time will tell if MPs can adjust to their newly imposed verbal diets. Until then, they better keep practicing in those whispering corners, tightening their rhetoric one clipped sentence at a time. After all, in the ruthless world of politics, there’s no room—or word—left to waste.