war fever – tv smith

Despicable May has demonstrated the reality of our post-brexit ‘special relationship’ with the oompa-loompa in the white house, so it’s only a matter of time before the seven billion cluttering up the planet are whittled down to more manageable levels. With neither clothing or body fat.

If I have any regrets, the main one’s probably not having practised my fellatio techniques a bit more as at fifty-six years old, I don’t actually have that many saleable skills. Nobody’s going to be crying out for dishwashers in a nuclear winter and if anyone’s going to be working professionally with adults with learning disabilities a year from now, it’ll be those with experience in either farming or abattoir work.

Still, as those of us who survive get used to paying for food, fuel and accommodation with sex, we can at least take comfort from the fact that those who started this war will be quite comfortable in their luxury shelters, protected from the great unwashed by armed guards. So no real change there. Except we’ll be easier to spot since we glow in the dark now.

I wonder how many more of these posts I’ll have to write? Once the internet has collapsed and there’s no electricity, I’ll probably continue writing this blog – on any walls left standing, using a mixture of shite and blood on the end of a stick. Which I can’t see there being a shortage of, anytime soon.

I’ve sent the cats out with clear instructions to start bringing back any birds and small rodents they kill. Changed days, eh? The cats will also serve another function. Using them as bait, we can lure any neighbours who survive out of their improvised shelters where we can kill and devour them. This is, I think, the first time I’ve felt this positive about living in a Tory stronghold. Imagine if we were still living in Leith – although junkies are probably easier to trap, there’s hardly any meat on them and often tastes a bit weird. Much as I enjoy a curry, I wouldn’t want to live on them every day until someone smarter and faster than me traps and eats me.

So goodbye music, art and literature. And hello to trying to grow edible plants without sunlight or clean water. Still, at least we’ll have blue passports and make our own laws.

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