Depicting the anarchically-mopped Boris Johnson plunging from the flying fox he'd once been trapped on, its cover-title - "Clownfall" - referenced the galloping madness of Hitler from the film, Downfall. Top-hole!

Among the tabloids, The Daily Mirror excelled with a word-perfect tweaking of Johnson's own campaign slogan in 2019 - "Just get EXIT done" its front page screamed.

Long before his stubborn refusal to yield, Johnson's roguishness had reduced serious governing to the level of tawdry farce - simultaneously paralysing the country while bemusing its population en route to an inescapable ending.

Yet it had not seemed that way to the showman himself who in his implacably ruling-class way, insisted he would muck-on through - his mounting lies mere trifles - the petty concerns of elites and pedants.

This he did without embarrassment for his country, for the fragility of its unwritten constitution, nor even for the party of which he was leader.

"He was a politician so incompetent that he could not keep himself in office even with a thumping parliamentary majority, a sycophantic press and a cabinet specially selected for slavish self-abasement," opined the inestimable Irish columnist and author, Fintan O'Toole in The Guardian.

It was a critique that with only minor adjustment would work here, too.

The climax of Westminster's three-ring circus made for unrivalled night-time viewing back here in Australia. Spicier than any fiction Netflix could serialise. My colleague Frank Bongiorno tweeted a picture of Francis Urquhart, the scheming chief whip from the original British House of Cards, with the simple message "FU for PM". It worked on a number of levels.

More seriously, the British-born Nick Bryant, a former BBC foreign correspondent, tweeted: "Global Britain means worldwide laughing stock right now, and the damage will be lasting, as it has been with America. This at a time when democracy is in peril internationally and the established democracies really need to step up."

The fearless conservative writer Anne Applebaum, who worked with Johnson at The Spectator wrote: "Boris Johnson offered the British a series of lies, from the deadly serious to the deeply trivial. After promising glorious Brexit, he leaves behind a country that is less prosperous and more unequal."

Lightening the mood, Phillip Adams tweeted: "Boris orders supporters to attack Houses of Parliament."

Of course this was never going to happen in Britain where civilisation still has a toe-hold thanks to its population significantly outnumbering assault rifles.

Protesters gathered outside Westminster during the crisis were armed not with guns and bullets but with banners and banjos, songs and satire.

As Chris Philp MP, a long-time Boris-backer, attempted a live cross into Sky UK's rolling coverage of the debacle, his worthy observations competed with the theme from The Benny Hill Show.

The combination of this jaunty score blaring as Philp attempted to "keep calm and carry on" and as Johnson ignored a tsunami of resignations, was far funnier than old Benny's B-grade slapstick had ever been. Peak English.

Still, a synthesis of recent leadership meltdowns in America and Britain, as Adams quipped, was definitely there to be made.

Indeed, in the space of a couple of years, all three of the Anglosphere's populist preeners had crashed and burned, the bonfire of their inanities fuelled by incendiary opportunism, flippant lies, and constant scandal.

First it was Trump, then Morrison and, now, Johnson. Each has been graceless. None has apologised or acknowledged their people deserved better.

Johnson lamented losing the best job in the world, blamed a herd instinct in Westminster, and never admitted his integrity was at fault, or trust breached.

Their respective parties cannot escape blame, either, which is why British Labour's Keir Starmer targeted the Johnson pit-crew in Prime Minister's Questions on Wednesday.

Aware Boris was toast even if the PM was blind to it, the Opposition Leader wisely played the longer game, directing his ire at the PM's witless enablers on the Tory frontbench - an assortment of also-rans from whose ranks the new PM will be drawn.

In his best performance, Starmer characterised their rediscovered backbones as "the charge of the light-weight brigade".

Of course, for his unique mix of mendacity and incompetence, Trump stands head and shoulders above the others.

His contempt for free and fair elections and his deployment of force by sending a baying mob to storm the Capitol chanting "hang Mike Pence" was undisguisedly fascist. People died.

Remember Morrison's principled condemnation at the time? Didn't think so. Even the slippery Johnson had more to say.

A further common element was their sheer desperation for retaining power.

Johnson clung on long after it was in anyone's interests but his own.

Like Trump, he was determined to remain in office at any cost. Literally.

So desperate was Morrison that he shamelessly politicised a boat arrival on election day. He then lingered for some 13 days at Kirribilli House on Sydney Harbour, the important symbolism of a defeated PM swiftly vacating the official residence apparently lost on him.

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The three ex-leaders who so enjoyed each other's company now have something else to share - the infamy which comes from being dumped on character grounds.

Conservativism used to prioritise longstanding conventions and behavioural norms.

Now it's just about power.