Monday, 2 February 2009

Record Shitstorms Engulf London

Britain completely ceased to function today, as the worst shitstorm in the world, ever, buried London and the home counties under an impassable carpet of brown.

Trains, buses, aircraft, cars, mobility scooters and unicycles foolhardy enough to attempt any kind of journey skidded uncontrollably into mangled heaps of twisted metal, condemning their hapless users to a lingering death involving frostbite, polar bears and cannibalism.

At a deserted Broadcasting House, only brave breakfast TV presenters Bill Bloke, Token Bird and a nerd from Radio 5 in a borrowed suit managed to struggle into a studio, and spent the day wrapped in blankets and interviewing each other, telling the shit-bound nation to put its affairs in order and accept its awful fate, and repeating the same clip of some arse in a Merc SLK ordering the shivering proles of central London to push his slithering posemobile to Richmond.

Councils across the important part of the country said they had tried their hardest to clear the shitdrifts from the roads, but their entire annual budgets had been used up in the first 5 picoseconds of the shite-out.

Train and tube operators apologised for the widespread delays and cancellations - pointing out that, since privatisation, there were now only four shitplough-equipped engines in Britain, which would remain stuck in Scotland until legal experts could decide which of the 100-plus rail-industry companies was actually responsible for them.

Firms in the City rang their valued professional staff and told them not to put themselves to any inconvenience by trying to get to work, then warned their minimum-wage cleaners that if they weren’t in by nine at the latest, they would be sent back to the agency and replaced by Poles who were used to this kind of thing.

“And their pay will be docked for every minute they miss, too,” added HR consultant Penelope Pincher, speaking from her cosy home office in the shitty wastes of Greenwich.

Meanwhile, the sub-class of primitive Britons who live north of Watford scratched their hoary heads and got on with eking out their miserable lives, as they do whenever the weather is shit.

“Since half of these soft southern pansies are so bloody proud of their great big 4x4s, why don’t they just give a lift to their neighbours who bought huge people carriers instead?” said one bemused Lancashire caveman with a shovel.

Speaking from cold but sunny Exeter, a Met Office spokesman forecast more shit spreading out from the south-east for the next few days.

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