It was the year 2345. #Brexit still has not been agreed. In the Peoples Democratic Republic of #Corbyn the people are starving and wandering the streets aimlessly, wondering if we are racist, xenophobic or anti-semitic?
The national GDP has shrunk to size 8 trousers. Medication no longer exists. The path to Dover is littered with the cobwebbed corpses of HGVs, their drivers’ mere skeletons. All food apart from the humble lettuce has disappeared from supermarket aisles.
We are both in and out and in and out of the #EU which now encompasses three-fifths of the Earth. The #EU parliament is now located in 365 cities. Relocating every day. Straight bananas are now legal. Bent bananas are now contraband.
The ghostly corpse of Boris Johnson haunts the corridors of Westminster, howling I told you so. The NHS no longer operational, now treats every disease with a cup of tea, made from the skin of untreated eczema patients.
Super Gonorrhoea has trebled in strength. It is now Spectacular Gonorrhoea. The constant stream of immigrants long dried up as poverty takes hold across the land. The legal tender, Adidas clothing, replaced the crippled pound over two hundred years prior.
Nigel Farage is alive and well and spends each day in speakers corner, gibbering about foreigners and dribbling on his own shoes.
As we face the end of what we once knew it suddenly dawns on all of us. They were all right. We are richer and poorer. Sicker and healthier. We are in and out. We are #Brexit, we chant in unison, as we follow the guidance of our leaders and begin eating each other’s brains.