As a result of our add-the-next-paragraph-story posted in a blog in a parallel universe where the political parties offer contrasting and mutually opposed platforms of policy and legislation for the electorate to choose between, and in which our weirdly inverted counterparts were invited to imagine an insane reality where this wasn’t the case, we have received a winning entry from someone bizarrely named ‘South Southwester’ who added the following in his antimatter kind of way:
Customer: “I’d like a dog flop smoothie, please, Mister fruit squeezer.”
Fruit squeezer ; “Certainly sir. Would you like raspberry, banana, or blueberry flavour?”
Why, I think blueberry would be a nice change. I’d like one of those, I think.”
Meanwhile, back in our lovely world here, Theodore Dalrymple lays down a delightful and schadenfreudey few paragraphs describing Albion's fallen and indeed thrust down and prostrated status while leading up to the shock diagnosis that there's nothing much other than soft tissue, lymphatic fluid and Carlton Club Two-For-One table d’hote lunches between David Cameron's skull and his coccyx.
Illustration from here.
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