What life will be like in a Verbal Dystopian future.

Big Robbie

Daytime television just wasn’t cutting it for me any more. The sound of Tony Robinson cooing to his ever decreasing audience as he tries to pass off dirty codpieces as Roman pottery was getting boring.

So I did the only thing a sane person would do, I went from Time Team to building a time machine. Into the future I went, and did I like what I saw? Yes, yes I did.

In the glorious year of two-thousand-and-eighty-four the Verbal Discharge team rule Britain through a proxy government run from a tiny radio station, (after the pig fucking debacle the Tories fell from power, leaving a void which Discharge quickly filled.) It is from the tiny radio station that we broadcast Big Robbie, our omniscient A.I. which monitors the populace for anyone who doesn’t listen to our ageing pod-cast.

The pod-cast is not that great any more…

James, in his wheelchair, can now only say three words, all of which are variations of his own name. Jordan is too obsessed with how close to the floor his scrotum sags to speak about anything else and Robbie is, well… dead and inside a computer.

That being said, here are five of the several tenants by which British people have to abide, as ordered by Big Robbie:

  1. All citizens must be able to recite, in it’s entirety, the script of Scott Pilgrim vs The World. Failure to do so will result in lobotomy, so you can never enjoy the thrill of watching the film again.
  2. If you are to think of any jokes funnier than those on Verbal Discharge, you shall be arrested by a member of the fun-police who will drain you of your funniness. Remember, no-one is funnier than Discharge.
  3. You shall not love, or be loved. The only love is Discharge, Discharge is love, Discharge is life.
  4. Citizens are only permitted to use their imaginations when they pay the flat rate, fifteen million Zimbabwean dollars per iota of imaginative thought.
  5. All forms of literature are forbidden apart from the set reading list of three autobiographies and a self help book written by Joseph Stalin.
As close to handsome as we get.

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