For a long time now my greatest fear has been that I will die alone. Recently however that has been overtaken by the far more terrifying fear that the people of this country will elect a giant homicidal insect as our next PM.
Too far-fetched, you say? Au contraire, mon ami! It makes perfect sense! What is the one natural resource we lack most in this country right now? If you said "bees", then take a bow (partial credit is available for those that said "titties"). The stripy ingrates are fleeing this country in droves. Oh, sure, back when they were still building up their supplies of royal jelly they were happy to stay here, collecting welfare cheques in the form of pollen, shitting out baby bees once every twenty seconds in council estate hives; but now that they've completed constructing their international honey empire, it's adios muchachos as the six-legged whiners head off for tax havens around the globe.
The bees are gone, and people are desperate to bring them back. Desperate enough to encourage bee immigration by electing a psychotic arthropod as our premier? We can't take that chance!
Already our election process itself is under threat as more and more independent observers are replaced in the night by cockroaches in lounge suits. Just last week I had to hang up during a "random" political phone survey when I distinctly heard the sound of rotting meat being softened by vomit coming from the other end of the phone line. And it won't be enough to just elect an insect; oh no. This insect will have to be tough on crime! It will have to stand up to the terrorists! It will have to slap around all those welfare-state cheats I keep reading about even though no-one you've ever met has ever seen one. And, I admit, there are other ways to do all that without using it's gargantuan mandibles to chop people in half, but that wouldn't be the insect way!
On the other hand, even a grotesquely enlargened mass murdering stag beetle would be better than Boris Johnson.
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