"We recognise that, although people's gut reaction is to hate Gordon Brown for handing Britain's finances to bastards in suits, selling the soul of the Labour Party to bastards in suits and for generally being a wretched excuse for a human being and a thoroughly disagreeable bastard in a suit, when they stop to think for a moment they remember that I am that slick camera whore who fronts the natural party of bastards in suits," admitted Mr Cameron. "The key marginal we need to reach out to above all others is the subconscious mind. That's why, when you go to bed tonight, I shall be climbing aboard our experimental ship of dreams and setting sail for your psyche."
"Men - when you dream of giving Cheryl Cole one, you will see her face morph sensuously into mine," he promised. "Ladies - when you shudder as your train is plunged into darkness, it will be my doe-eyed smile that greets you at the end of the long tunnel. Disaffected young people - as you inject yourselves with cannabis before nanny tucks you in, you will enter a psychedelic maelstrom where colour, sound and time merge into one and I'm playing the bongos for your heart-throb Rick Astley."
When he returns to the waking world in the morning, having skilfully avoided diehard Labour moonbeasts and gugs, a drained Mr Cameron will stagger drunkenly around the nation, delivering slurred, disjointed utterances that make no sense whatsoever before slipping off his chair comatose as the final results are declared on Thursday.
"Make no mistake - this is how I intend to govern Britain," promised Mr Cameron with his most sincere smile.
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