Desolation VI: The Covidian Wastes

[I.D. Smith]

It's a Sunday night in 1994 and your Mum gets you 'ITN News At 10: The Video Game' on the C64 for your 11th Birthday. You try to play it before bedtime but it just gets stuck on the title screen, the music playing on a loop. Your Dad comes in the bedroom and says "Reet, yer nae longer a boy noo, son. Yer a man, and fae noo on you'll be earnin' yer keep. You'll be helping me decorate yer sister's room first, starting on Saturday"* He pats your head and walks out your bedroom.

You notice the music has stopped and the game has loaded: 'Level 1: The Maastricht Treaty'.



*Your Dad has travelled about a bit in his youth, hence the mixed regional accents

[batwings]

A cargo cult based around a crate of Jimmy Saville memoirs has its way with Ben Fogle.

[Glebe]

A giant '80s mullet descends from space and starts attacking parts of Devonshire.

[H-O-W-L]

While drunkenly traversing a public estuary after being denied entry to Zippo's Circus, you hear the faint synth tones of John Carpenter, informing you that The Death Squad has been deployed in your area, and is actively tracking your GPS. You fumble for the scalpel in your trousers, hoping to dig the implant out of your rotting skin before it gives you away.

[petril]

you discover by reading the latest issue of Viz in a specific spot in a specific store transports you back to a point between 1978 and now. You mainly use this skill to go to a shop and read Viz for free. You are forever tempted by the urge to nick future material and really make it in 80s comedy. Amazing times

[Captain Poodle Basher]

Chris marries a cement mixer, "For a laugh".

Nine months later and he's showing off a Tonka cement mixer as "My son, Darren."

[H-O-W-L]

Your boots rapidly sink further and further into the concrete of a busy street. Passers-by try to ignore you as you scream for relief. You are entering the Edmonds Dimension inch by inch.

[H-O-W-L]

Laying in a private euthanasia clinic in Stoke, 2022, awaiting your Mandatory Expiry as you watch the video to Culture Beat's "Mr Vain" on a loop.

[Ferris]

Your obituary in NME likens your creative output to Fatman Scoop.

[H-O-W-L]

Crashing through the skylight of a 17th-century brothel and landing inside the nearest prosser, never to return. A recreation of the intro of Mouse Hunt ensues with several men shining lantern-lights down her crevice to try and find your long-lost carcass.

[Glebe]

Jimmy Carr lookalike opens shopping centre in Hull.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Jimmy Carr lookalike opens shopping centre in Hull.

The shopping centre is a lookalike of Mick Philpott's house, post-blaze.

[batwings]

Jimmy Five Bellies is the new Doctor Who, he believes mistakenly.

[Glebe]

A nihilistic landlord describes humanity as "sentimental drivel".

[Sebastian Cobb]

ITL TV deso here from Who Lives in a House Like This?
https://twitter.com/AccidentalP/status/1304329458468483072

[Fishfinger]

After some months in a coma, a man awakens to find himself in a car park propped up on bricks.

[Fishfinger]

It's what separates us from the animals, isn't it really, when you think about it, the gravy

[Glebe]

You accidentally honeymoon on an industrial estate in a depressing shithole.

[Glebe]

Two-hour bus journey to get your piles treated. Noisy cunt at back of bus. Rain.

[petril]

Jimmy Five Bellies is the new Doctor Who, he believes mistakenly.

the BBC is scrapped and all its staff, everyone who's ever worked for them directly or as contractors or producing content, and their immediate families are sent to death camps for refusing to just go along with that anyway, on the grounds of the compelling argument "just go on though! imagine it! *cackles* but Jimmy Five Bellies! just go on though!" repeated over any attempt to discuss the matter.

this argument goes to form an ideology regarded as complete by all academics and true thinkers. no academic or true thinker gets sent to a death camp, after all.

[batwings]

Two-hour bus journey to get your piles treated. Noisy cunt at back of bus. Rain.

Bumpy road.

[batwings]

Your anal fissure is on the electoral role.

[touchingcloth]

Even your leprosy can't stand you.

[Glebe]

Bumpy road.

Bad driver an' all.

[Chicory]

The disembodied sax solo from 'Thorn In My Side' echoes through an empty shopping centre like a chilly wind.

[Sebastian Cobb]

[Thomas]

Post-divorce camping trip for one. A wrongly reintroduced otter gets into your tent and degloves your face.

You run over the UK's last hedgehog and - utterly despairing for all the prematurely lost creatures of Earth - cry for ages in a lay-by. It gets dark. A surprisingly attractive dogger comes to knock on your window, intending to invite you to join the party, but on seeing your face, hair, and body, thinks better of it. She retreats into an orgasmic wooded gloom that - let's face it - would arouse nothing in you anyway, not any more. You drive home and never tell anybody about the hedgehog.

[Pink Gregory]

Up above the streets and houses

nuclear air burst

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

When you dribble people have decided it means that you agree. But you can't communicate they're wrong. You can only dribble.

[poo]

Your Halfords discount voucher code is GIPPOCUNT