Die-hard brexiteers dying without repentance will dwell for all eternity in a hellish simulacrum of the seat of European power, God confirmed today.
‘No-plan-no-dealers had every chance to say sorry’ said the Lord Almighty. ‘Not for them the blessed afterlife of a liberal, generously tipping a dead Spanish waitress as he sits in one of heaven’s National Trust food courts watching the drizzle come down – no! The brexiteer must suffer! Suffer the endless boredom of Brussels bureaucracy, the pointless arguing, the literally limitless pain of having everything he says translated into twenty seven languages simultaneously. Mwahahahaha-hallelujah!’
God considered several eurosceptic hell options before selecting the Brussels idea, including a free-movement themed punishment that was considered too harsh, even for a pissed-off vengeful deity.
‘Can you imagine Jacob Rees-Mogg in an ill-fitting uniform, chained to a customs desk in Dover, powerless to stop an infinite stream of Bulgarians filing past him without passports, physically wretching each time one of them flips him him the finger?’ said God. ‘So could I. But – credit where credit’s due – at least the man looked at my commandments, even if they were the earlier versions fit only for hostile and unforgiving environments like biblical deserts or English public schools.’
Brexiteers seemed undeterred by the threat of God’s wrath. ‘Is that the worst He can do?’ said Nigel Farage. ‘Making me hang around flag-draped plazas blaming problems on other people, shouting at foreigners down a microphone before lunching on fresh moules marinieres, stopping off after work to collect a fat salary cheque before banging my hot German wife in our Swedish sauna – what kind of hell is that? Sounds like heaven to me’.