Saturday, 16 July 2011

...because that's all it would take.

Four minutes for the missiles to come screaming over the horizon to their targets, detonate and blow the whole lot, the entirety of a sorry nadir of human civilisation to ash.

  No more ITV "news", Loose Women or "new, original BBC Three comedy". No more Dairylea Lunchables or "Mum's Gone To Iceland". No more hipsters, knaves or fools, nor charlatans, liars or quacks. Scrotes playing music at the back of the bus? Gone.  People who spout trite cliches as if they were precious jewels of wisdom? No more.

Just four - presumably rather lively - minutes, followed by an exciting interlude of thermonuclear pyrotechnics and then nothing but grey, empty desolation (and of course, if the rumours are to be believed, a load of cockroaches).

Aye, it'd be a shame to lose the good bits - and I've no doubt it wouldn't be overly enjoyable on a personal level, not in the short-term - but that would be it. Over. Pinched-off, neatly cauterised, finished, done.

Just four minutes, that's all it would take.
Think of this the next time you inadvertently switch over, and end up watching a Jimmy Carr-fronted smugathon.


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