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‘Pocalypse, Uno

April 26, 2010
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It’s 4:05AM on Monday 26th April. There are burglar alarms going off in stereo around your home, the sky is melting and the clouds are falling to the ground like steel sheep, or like a less shit simile. Your neighbours, who you’ve never met or even seen but you still somehow hate, have been injecting ketamine into their earlobes for the last week and are now sat with their faces touching your bedroom wall, screaming like dying whales (read: “singing like Rufus Wainwright”). Your eyes are heavy and your head aches. All you wanted was an early night.

You go downstairs and make a drink. You grab a chocolate biscuit but you don’t have many left and have put on weight lately so you decide to save it. You go for a run. You want a casual stroll but if you go below a certain speed then some late night passer-by might get a bit stabby. All the roads are filled with potholes the size of average horses because of the recent ice age. You can’t drive but you still let it bother you. You run to the main road, where the Conservative party have rented every available billboard for their election posters, and to keep up to date with the public mood they are changing them three times a second. To make matters worse, now they’ve run out of billboard space they’ve started renting space on the inside of your eyelids. Everytime you blink you see David Cameron, sleeves rolled up, no suit jacket, no tie, smirking like somebody is tickling his balls, with some sort of “Let’s do experiments with poor peoples’ lives! They don’t matter!” slogan. Everything he stands for sickens you but his lack of a tie feels casual and authoritative at the same time so you decide to vote for him.

You run home. The neighbours have died of an overdose so you drift off into a calm and happy sleep. While your asleep the world ends. Bet you wish you ate that biscuit.

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