English Civil War 2: The Opening Shots
Civil war broke out in England on election night, as enraged mobs dragged terrified junior council workers from their polling booths, stuck their bloody heads on poles and marched on Westminster.
"I turned up to cast my vote at six, and there was a queue. I came back at seven, and there was still a sodding queue. Eight, nine - more bastards thinking their votes were somehow more important than mine," howled Lewisham rebel Twat Tyler. "I came back at five to ten, and surprise, surprise - yet more lowlifes blocking my path. Look, I don't give a shit about borough elections. Why isn't there an express lane for me?"
When the trembling polling station attendant told the waiting crowds that she was terribly sorry but she had to seal the ballot box, Mr Tyler bellowed with rage and - to rousing cheers from other busy but impatient voters who couldn't be arsed to wait their turn - set fire to the wooden polling station and danced bare-chested around the inferno, whipping the disgruntled crowd into a frenzy of rage.
Similar scenes were repeated in Hackney, Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester, Newcastle and Sheffield, as angry voters who couldn't possibly find time earlier in the 15-hour window of voting opportunity declared war on something or other and headed for the capital to do something about whatever it was.
In Sheffield, local MP and Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg attempted to apologise to the baying hordes who were eagerly turning the a hapless housing assistant on a spit. Amid ugly scenes, the unfortunate politician was seized by the mob and torn limb from limb.
In London's political heartland, David Cameron was driving a JCB mounting a long hydraulic arm with a claw grab towards 10 Downing Street when he turned a corner and unexpectedly came face-to-face with the chanting rabble from Hackney and Lewisham. In seconds, the white-faced Conservative leader was dragged bodily from his cab and strung up from a lamp post, amid primal howls of delight.
Back in Downing Street, the prime minister appears to have been well-prepared for a long siege, although he was probably only expecting to keep out the late David Cameron rather than 50 million battle-ready English rioters. A Challenger tank turret rose from a hatch in the roof, while chain guns and rocket launchers can be seen sprouting from every sandbagged window. It is thought that Mr Brown may be somewhat reluctant to relinquish the reins of power.
As the evening progresses, converging convoys from the North of England are creating traffic chaos on southbound motorways, although some enraged rebels are already threatening those ahead of them in the traffic jam with a variety of improvised weapons.
"I wanted to kick off yeah, the moment the school closed its fucking doors right? But first I nipped off for a Big Mac to keep me strength up yeah?" screamed scally rioter Sammi-Jo Bloggs, as she rammed the car in front of her. "But look at all these keen bastards yeah? They just couldn't fucking wait, could they? Kill, kill, kill."
Meanwhile, in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, canny Celtic tribes who have taken advantage of 7,000 years of accumulated human civilisation to acquire a basic grasp of the principles of time management are getting on with the simple task of announcing the results of their counts.
Early opinion polls suggest that, once the dust of bloody civil insurrection finally settles, the ruins of England will most probably be ruled by an irritating, belligerent, egotistical prick. As usual.
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