Michael Gove is a man unburdened with the knowledge of how a human body works.
This is how Michael Gove drinks.
You'll notice again that this is how Michael Gove drinks.
In conclusion, this is how Michael Gove drinks.
Michael Gove drinks like a man who was once told, "Michael, in order to do it properly, you have to try to get as much of your face as possible in the glass."
So that was how Michael Gove drinks. It's not even worth picturing him trying to have sex.
Now let's take a moment to look at how the Gover claps.
Let's spin back, revisiting that moment there.
I have now watched this Vine about 85 times.
That is the clapping of Michael Gove, a short-sighted scarecrow with eczema. Have some sympathy with the man. Clapping requires a good deal of coordination. It's difficult, isn't it. Not easy, clapping. You've got to ensure your hands touch in an audible but not unacceptably loud way; that's not easy. You've got to control not only your hands but also your face; that's called multi-tasking. And then, as if all that wasn't difficult enough, you've got to remember not to give the impression that you've been possessed by a demon with epilepsy.
You'll have seen that clip of Michael Gove and immediately thought "Good God. How can I clap like that colossal moron? How can I clap in such a way that I look like a haunted orphan having an orgasm?"
Here is how.
Begin clapping like an ordinary human being, smiling into the distance like you're happy but also maybe a little bit hungry? At this stage, no one should realise that you're about to fuck shit up; like you're about to look like a flesh-coloured robot whose controls have fallen into a pond. Your hands are flapping about in a reasonably ordinary manner. No one's noticed you. They don't suspect a thing.
This is when you bring mayhem to the stage; when you shake shit up. For no reason whatsoever, lift both of your weedy hands in the air - but only exceptionally briefly. Tease them with it. They thought you were going to carry on lifting your hands into the air for a few more seconds? Idiots. As you lift your hands momentarily into the air, look even happier than you were before - after all, everyone cheers up when they lift their hands into the air. It is also crucial that your eyes remain fixed on the horizon this whole time. You are not thinking about whatever you are applauding; you're in another place, another dimension. This clapping is important and you are not gonna screw it up.
Shortly after you've brought your hands down from up on high, bring out your signature move. You know your signature move - this is the one people pay for the big money for. The one where, for no conceivable reason, you flip your hand from a vertical to a horizontal position for a fleeting fraction of a second. You just pop your left hand out of its socket there, just flop and wave it about like no human who has ever lived before in all of history. At this point you should be clapping the side of your hand, making virtually no noise whatsoever.
Not long after executing this outrageous and perverted move, pout your lips a couple of times to make sure that everyone watching you who isn't already aroused immediately gets an erection.
Close your eyes and continue pouting furiously, furiously, like your lips are being constantly poked by a small brush. Imagine kissing a girl - it's what that would be like. You're basically trying to kiss a girl while slapping your big hands together. As you delve into this move, close your eyes for fractionally longer than is normal, almost as though you experienced a tiny jolt of sexual pleasure through the simple pleasure of your own applause. Then, instead of returning to the normal applause you had somehow managed to do at the beginning of your routine, tense your hands up. Tense them up good. Get them proper rigid. Bang them together. Smack them together like two stale slices of bread. Remember: while you're doing this, never stop pouting. It would look weird if you stopped pouting. You have to keep pouting the whole time.
Remember that this man could in theory be our next prime minister. A man who arrives at Cabinet meetings like this.
A man who looks like a bat and a sweet potato had a baby together. A cross between a toddler wearing a middle-aged man's clothes, and a tomato. The haunted ghost of a Victorian chimneysweep who died while masturbating into a chamberpot.
This is our lord of tomorrow. This is a vision of Britain's nightmarish future.
Except in the future, it won't be him applauding. It will be us applauding him. And we will be doing it exactly like this, over and over, until the end of time.