Temple of Dumb: sequels to Boris Johnson's 'hilariously awful' film pitch

Of course Boris Johnson is a frustrated scriptwriter. It makes so much sense. Last week, Emily Sheffield – journalist and sister-in-law of David Cameron – unearthed a “hilariously awful” film pitch, apparently penned by Johnson, entitled Mission to Assyria.

In the script, described by Johnson as “a glorious wish-fulfilment dream movie, a mixture of Golan-Globus and Raiders of the Lost Ark”, a brave archaeologist and possible Johnson stand-in named named Marmaduke Montmorency Burton attempts to rescue a Syrian city from the clutches of Islamic State. Enemies are beheaded, helicopters go “dugga, dugga, dugga, thwok, thwok, thwok” and, at the end, a “horrible cologne-drenched jihadi with an air of mincing menace” is murdered with the phrase “Aaargh. Splatteroo”. It sounds a bit like what Inglourious Basterds would have been like if the only film Quentin Tarantino had ever seen was Rambo III.

Johnson has confirmed that the pitch was his, and that it was never made because the “very distinguished director” he sent it to – thought to be Tom Hooper – failed to respond.

Now, in the grand scheme of things, writing a bad film isn’t even close to being the worst thing that Boris Johnson has done in the past four years. But wouldn’t you prefer to live in the timeline where this film actually got made? The one where Johnson jetted out to Hollywood, missed the referendum campaign, didn’t become prime minister and isn’t currently driving the country into a tree to distract people from that pole-dancing techpreneur?

Of course you would. And so would I, which is why I have written some Marmaduke Montmorency Burton wish-fulfilment sequel pitches. Tom Hooper, please put down that mad cat rubbish and call me.

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Mission to the Supreme Court

Marmaduke Montmorency Burton sits in his office, kissing a blonde and stewing at yet another injustice dished out by the 11 mincing lefties of the Supreme Court. “Enough is enough,” he thinks, strapping a bandolier to his chest and writing NO SURRENDER across his forehead in goat blood, “I’m going to serve hard justice MMB-style!”

But just then Lady Hale bursts through the wall, sitting astride a 40-foot robot spider. “Nobody can defeat my supreme authority!” she screams exactly like a witch, pinning Marmaduke to the wall with a giant spider leg and laughing. But Marmaduke isn’t done, not by a long shot. He grits his teeth and growls: “By … the … will … of … the … PEOPLE” and fireballs start shooting out of his eyes. PYEOW, PYEOW, PYEOW!

One of them hits Lady Hale in the skull and it explodes and, as bits of brain and hair come fluttering down from the sky, three pretty women start kissing Marmaduke on the lips. “Time for an undisclosed trade visit to Tel Aviv, if you know what I mean,” he quips, winking at the camera.

Mission to the Garden Bridge

Joanna Lumley sits on the fully completed London Garden Bridge in a bikini, feeding peeled grapes to Marmaduke Montmorency Burton, who deserves them. Suddenly he sits bolt upright. Is that the smell of a torpedo?

It is! Evil mayor Sadiq Khan has launched an underwater attack on the bridge, because the idea of spending money on nice things goes against his lefty ideology. Marmaduke has no time to waste! He rips off his shirt, kisses Lumley with tongues and plunges head-first into the Thames with the agility of an 18-year-old diving professional. BOSH! He punches one torpedo into the sky. KLONK! He headbutts another, and it crashes into a worse but more functional bridge, destroying it (good). He grabs a third and hurls at it Khan, exploding him.

Marmaduke looks back at the Garden Bridge. “Thank you, sexy hero,” cry the three dozen busloads of Chinese tourists who’d stumbled onto the bridge by mistake. Marmaduke picks three of them to impregnate, winking at the camera.

Mission to Tech City

Marmaduke Montmorency Burton is the smartest, handsomest, cleverest man in all of history, but even he is stumped by the labyrinthine complexity of history’s most baffling invention: Google Hangouts. “So I just, um, hold my laptop to my ear like a phone? Is that how it works?” he asks his advisers, as any normal person would in that situation. But just then Marmaduke is distracted by the unmistakable sound of dozens of men tripping over their own dicks.

“What could be the source of that?” Marmaduke asks, before he is greeted by the blinding sight of the most beautiful woman he has ever met: a blond American with a raspy voice. “My name is Jennifer Arcuri,” says the woman. “Everyone wants to have sex with me, but I only want to teach you how Google Hangouts work.” “That’s awfully kind and very professional,” replies Marmaduke. “Please tell me how they work.”

“You know FaceTime?” Arcuri asks. “Yes,” replies Marmaduke. “It’s basically the same,” says Arcuri. Marmaduke is so pleased that he escorts Arcuri around the world in a completely above-board way. Nobody winks at anything. The end.