Entire British establishment toppled by a few desperate blokes in a dinghy

HOUSE OF CARDS: The entire structure of British life has collapsed like a line of dominoes. The catalyst for this cataclysm is the arrival off the Kent coast of a small number of refugees in an inflatable boat.

The men, who were half starved and penniless, threw themselves upon the munificent mercy of the British establishment. Within hours the entire facade of respectability had collapsed, and the triumphant migrants were sitting pretty in a four star hotel in Bromsgrove.

How could this happen? How did a few blokes in a dinghy achieve what nobody else could? The reason is simple: the noisy self publicist and former shock jock Nigel Farage.

“IT’S AN INVASION!!!?;!?” yelled Farage from the safety of his Chelsea Tractor, as the men came ashore. The invasion, which in truth rather resembled a crap family day out by the sea in bad weather, wearily pulled their massive six seater inflatable up onto the grey shingle. “SOMETHING MUST BE DONE! WHERE ARE THE PRESS?????? WHERE ARE THE POLITICIANS?????? WE ARE BEING OVERRUN!!!!!!?!+!??”-!”

In the blink of an eye, the scene changed. Seemingly by magic, Farage and the very same migrants had arrived in a smart hotel in the West Midlands, and there was no room at the inn.

“I WANT A ROOM! I! WANT! A! ROOM!” screamed Farage at the bewildered hotel staff. “Sorry,” the manager explained, “but the last time we refused a room to migrants, they gave birth to the Messiah, and we ended up in deep shit for turning them away. It’s been company policy for 2,000 years to prioritise migrants of Middle Eastern origin, just in case we witness the Second Coming.”

“Right, my mates are going to hear about this!” threatened Farage, almost comically.

“Run the fucking article, if only to get that obnoxious gobshite off our backs,” sighed the senior news editor at the BBC, putting down the phone as Farage continued to rant and rave on the other end.

It was the same story at all the major newspapers. Three men in a boat was big news and a security threat, and not just a whimsical Victorian novel.

In Westminster, send ’em Home Secretary Priti Patel was so spooked by the news that she panicked. “Our national security is under threat!” she announced. “Run away! Run away! Panic stations! They are coming!”

Boris Johnson was already safe and out of harm’s way, but pulled the fridge door just a little tighter to be certain.

Unconfirmed rumours are coming in from people claiming to have seen Dominic Cummings taking his child to the toilet at Wetherby services. “Security at risk? What has that nincompoop Grayling done this time?” he muttered according to the witnesses. Cummings later denied this in a blog post dated April 1 2019.

The Royal Family immediately upped sticks and rushed to Balmoral. “One hopes to stay in Scotland until the fuss dies down,” said a source close to the Queen. “Then one can be European again. One is quite prepared for a diminished role in a republican EU, and it will be one in the eye for the fucking twats in Ingerlund.”

Nature abhors a moral vacuum. Surely three enterprising men in an inflatable dinghy couldn’t do any worse than the current bunch.

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