ZOMBIES EVER EVER EVER SHALL BE SLAVES
.well, it was a six-part zombie series that began with a terrifying, bloodthirsty fantasy that gradually petered out into a confusion of cannibalistic orgies in which everyone got killed and eaten.
On the evening of June 23rd 2016, the result of the UK's long-awaited referendum became an instant cult classic -Night of the Living Brexit. Shattered Remainers collapsed into twitching, exhausted heaps, crying "Save us, sweet Globalist Masters! All I ever wanted was a strong, united Europe run by unelected psychopaths. Where are you when we need you, Mien Fuhrer? " Rivers of blood ran...(on the Guardian website).
"The undead cannibals have voted, and their sick, perverted wishes must be respected," he declared, before fleeing London to barricade himself and his family into a beach-hut in Cornwall.
Theresa May emerged snarling from the grave of Conservatism to usher in Day of the Brexit, a cheaply-marketed myth about millions of satisfied voters happily leaving the EU. The mass-media's attempt to string out this episode for two entire years floundered when the nation realised the only thing that had changed was the name of the Prime Minister. Britain itself had become an ungoverned wasteland where aimless mobs of ravenous, desperate souls roamed in hungry packs : Land of the Brexit.
In February of 2018, realising the full, unfolding horror, I began this blog - Diary of the Brexit, an astoundingly accurate assessment of the anti-democratic atrocities of our ruling elite. Platoons of blind, slavering monsters threw themselves half-naked and screaming at my kevlar-reinforced windows but I heroically soldiered on with an unending sequence of faultless predictions regarding the practical impossibility of Brexit in a world of zombie politicians.
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Now is the summer of our disembowelling - August 2019. All is lost. Parliament is populated entirely by the stinking remains of the ungrateful dead: drooling, shuffling rag-dolls, mumbling incoherent monosyllables as they drag their decaying bodies into Westminster each morning to collect £195 quid per day as a reward for moaning out loud about a non-existent constitution and the 'Irish Stock-Pot'. (Something to do with vegan stew, I think). Nigel Farage has taken up residence at LBC Radio and spends his evenings patrolling Westminster Bridge wearing a sandwich board that reads "Survival of the Brexit".
But as you might expect in a post-apocalypse hellscape, things are turning very, very nasty. As I write these words, Boris 'Brain-Biter' Johnson has plucked out his own eyes and suspended Parliament pending a photo-op with Baron Samedi. Jeremy 'Cortex-Chomper' Corbyn has demanded that millions of knuckle-dragging Remainer zombies "take to the streets". Which is a touch optimistic, as the only Corbyn supporters mature enough to be out after dark think "the street" is the space between Pret A Manger and the Uber.
News alert! Reports are coming in that vast, diverse crowds of teaching assistants are advancing on shopping centres with human entrails dangling from their bloodstained lips, chanting "We're woke, we're queer, trannie zombies welcome here!"
Elsewhere on Radio Four, the Scottish National Zombie Zoo is pledging allegiance to the Brussels Coalition of Flesh-Eating Eurocrats and demanding the Queen be barbecued live on Skysports 1 before the Champions League group stage begins. Stay tuned for...wait...what's that sound? OMG, they've breached the perimeter..a skinny, rotting arm has broken in through the kitchen window...on its withered bicep is a faded tattoo reading 'I LOVED YOU MORRISSEY YOU BASTARD!'
Trembling in the jaws of terror I stare into the blind eye-sockets of the frightful, grave-reeking slug that lurches towards me...a pale, slobbering, soy-scented hipster-corpse with the flushed, recently-penetrated expression of an albino gerbil channeling Owen Jones...god help me...no...NO...AAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHH!
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