Nonsense · Political · Reactionary

Recipe in Case of Disaster

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Less than a month before the big day, I’m finding it hard to scrape together the usual tentative hope that comes with elections. I’m not sure if I’ve reached the bottom of the barrel, or whether I’m already a foot into the dirt beneath it. With all that’s been going on this past year it’s not hard to see what’s been poking holes in the Labour moral, what with the rise of right-wing and fascist-hopeful governments springing up like particularly ugly daisies all over the place. Regardless, it’s not over ‘till it’s over, so we’ve set the venue, stocked up on spirits, and my friends and I will be up all night, waiting to know whether we’re sailing to Finland or not.

But I’ve been thinking. And it’s occurred to me that, foolish or otherwise, our hope prevents us from reaching the higher levels of nihilistic giving up. Our escapism, I’ve realised, just doesn’t go big enough.

It’s perhaps a symptom of our reserved Englishness, but I think I’ve found a solution for those truly without hope for this year’s general nonsense. So here it is, my recipe for the perfect election night escapism.

Things you will need;

  • A liberal mindset

These are supposedly a dime a dozen but the woman in number ten tells a different story. Nevertheless, you will need one in order to fully enjoy the fatalistic hilarity of political disaster. Have you ever met a self-aware Tory? I haven’t. This will be your base ingredient.

  • An uninhabited island

This is a little trickier to come by. With a Conservative government in play; it can be a little hard for those of us without an allowance from our millionaire daddies to procure an unblemished paradise. However, the splendid isolation from political responsibility is essential. Don’t let our country’s financial ruin spoil your election day piss-up, and in a pinch the Ilse of Wight isn’t too far to swim to. It’s nearly uninhabited, being mainly squirrels.

  • A tanker of booze

The good stuff, preferably, but if you don’t plan on making it to another Conservative government Tesco value vodka will do. Don’t worry about the potential environmental disaster should the tanker spill its load into the sea, if the election goes pear-shaped the global environmental crisis will be confined to mythology. Dump at will. Remember; climate change is an invention of the Chinese.

  • At least one (1) friend

Getting drunk by yourself is a problem, getting drunk with others is a party. Or, if you don’t drink, at least you have a shoulder to cry on should the worst happen. Or the best. I’m not about to police when you cry. There’s no room in this recipe for toxic masculinity or the shaming of emotional behaviours. We’re not resigned to more years of patriarchal nonsense just yet.

  • Fireworks

In part because, oooh pretty, but also a very legitimate requirement when one is stranded, deadly hungover, and dehydrated, on an isolated island. Provided they’re not used for celebratory explosions, in the event of the UK not choosing to cavort with the devil, they can be used to flag down passing ships when the need arises. This recipe advises trying for a Nordic ship of some kind. Swedish or Norwegian, preferably. Reinvent yourself as a tragic castaway and seek out a job in your new homeland. I hear they have excellent social services.

  • Your local Conservative or UKIP MP candidate

You don’t know them? Have no idea how to lure someone onto an uninhabited island far from support, friends, and a comforting police presence? Never fear, Tories like all creatures have their appropriate bait. For some it’s a wedge of cheese, for others a well-timed fox, or some prefer a saucy bit of ankle. Some have been known to follow the call of a sow in heat, but you don’t want those ones on your island. Trust me.

  • A sacrificial dagger, a copy of the Necronomicon, and a lot of candles

Bear with me. You never know just how badly an election night will go until you’re sat on the floor with a gin and tonic that’s more the former than the latter watching a cheesy whatsit brought to life by the horrors of science claw its way into a seat of power. Best to be prepared.

Now, having acquired all the necessary ingredients for a stonking election party, on to the method;

  • Preheat the planet point eight degrees Celsius higher than a hundred years ago
  • Throw all your ingredients together with the abandon of someone who has seen democracy fail them at every vote since they reached the age of majority
  • Get completed wankered
  • Wait
  • Don’t forget to actually vote, this bit’s important, or you’re no longer allowed an opinion (Disclaimer; you are allowed an opinion, but it also allows everyone who did vote not to care about your opinion.)

And there we have it. Provided all goes to plan, you will have the perfect election day bonanza, complete with the most ancient and revered of all British pastimes, binge-drinking. I’ve not tested the recipe, but I’m quite confident it will work. If something does go wrong, with your party or with the election, you can always turn to eldritch blood rites. See, I told you to trust in the candles. It’s contingency. So is the presence of the MP candidate, but that’s up your personal discretion. I’a Cthulhu, everyone.

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