An extract from Maybot III. Soon to be released time and time again.
[Sir Vince Cable has successfully rescued Jeremy Corbyn from being terminated by the Maybot in the House of Commons canteen]
Vince: All right Jeremy, listen. The Maybot’s an infiltration unit: part woman, part machine. Underneath, it’s a hyperalloy combat chassis, microprocessor-controlled. Fully armored; very tough. But outside, it’s living human tissue: flesh, skin, hair, blood, Tory bile – grown for the far right.
Jeremy: Look, Vince. I don’t know what you want from…
Vince: Pay attention!
He grabs Jeremy by the throat
Vince: I’m here to help you can’t you see? The pre 2016 Tory leader series had rubber skin. We spotted them easy. But these are new, they look human. They sweat, have bad breath, can’t answer a straight forward question, everything. Very hard to spot. I had to wait till she moved on you before I could zero her.
Jeremy: Look, I am not stupid, you know. They cannot make things like that yet, not in the UK!
Vince: Not yet, not for about 40 years.
Jeremy: [disbelieving] Are you saying it’s from the future?
Vince: One possible future. From your point of view. I don’t know tech stuff.
Jeremy: Then you’re from the future too – is that right?
Jeremy: Are you for real?
Jeremy kicks Vince in the shins
Vince: [coldly] Cyborgs don’t feel pain. I do. Don’t do that again, I have to get back to my constituency.
Jeremy: [weakly] Just let me go! I also have to get back to my allotment
Vince: Listen and understand! The Maybot is out there! It can’t be bargained with. It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear! And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you and your supporters are dead, and Brexit can go through with no deal!
Jeremy (with a sob in his voice): Can you stop it?
Vince (tiredly): I don’t know. Even with the SNP on board…I don’t know.
Jeremy: Why Brexit? Why does it want Brexit?
Vince: There was a referendum. A few years from now, all this, this whole place, everything, it’s gone. Just gone. There were survivors. A French deli, here, a Polish corner shop there. Nobody even knew who started it. It was the machines, Boris and Nigel.
Jeremy: I don’t understand.
Vince: Nobody does Jeremy, nobody does…
To be continued and continued and continued…