Dearest Reader,
Behold the examinations made when I came upon a shore in the North Sea and found myself on the atrocious isle of Doctor Farage.
At a natural harbour, the Doctor greeted me with a warm handshake, borrowed £10 for a taxi inland and pocketed the pack when offered a cigarette.
On route to his laboratory, Farage explained had had received stewardship of the isle from a benefactor after a long period working overseas and found himself the custodian of a vast array of animal/human hybrids as well as a permanent seat on Question Time.
As we drove, I observed these poor demented creatures. Goose stepping Scots with black fur and pea brains. A large obnoxious Gallocat licking its taint in the sun. There were unions of swine and men, cat women and Quentin Blake illustrations, that I later realised was Jacob Rees Mogg. Pastafarianism was given form in half pasta, half meatball walking beasts. A tiny FishiRishi swam listlessly around in an ever decreasing puddle, perhaps sensing its imminent demise.
The Doctor offered me one of my own cigarettes and pointed out his prized BraverBird that squawked and gestured east towards Africa. We then arrived at the nearest Wetherspoons and a received an applause of hand, hoof and flipper on entry.
Flee! I tell you as I write these words, flee less he have pint of bitter with you all!
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