Blood spatters with snot and tears spattering in all directions. Gunshots rang while hell is clapping hands extravagantly. The universe laughs. The biggest joke of all time is happening in front of her now.

The earth waits, while the East, after her fit of laughter, gasps for air. Yes, even Heaven laughs over England, the biggest, cheap joke. Russia laughs so uncontrollably loud, she wets herself. She quickly dries herself, to resume laughing at the spectacle-joke.

Blood spatters with snot and hair splattering in all directions. The reared-up liberal, English aunties walk with heels defiantly clapping on the sidewalks. Oh, they have plucked a lath for England’s own backside. So they begin to lay the bricks for their own suicide gallows.

The rest of the English government is digging a gigantic hole for their nation’s mass grave. Oh, soon the euro, together with the pound, will weaken in any case, while all immigrants will go and squat in England. With the British medical care already weakened, all supplies become scarce on the shop shelves.

The pension fund also unexpectedly becomes very shallow, to the bottom. And heaven is tired of such a country for a long time now. So God let the rain reach many roofs. It becomes inhumanely cold, with everything unpleasantly wet. But as host, England still has to place food in front of strangers.

Blood spatters with snot and tears spattering in all directions, while a volk will now branch into two parts. Before the big battle, nobody shakes hands with one another anymore. Yes, before conservative and liberal will take each other on, in a bloodbath. Because of all the fuss, the old queen’s heart begins to weaken and not one of the big ones of the world walks on her blood-red carpet anymore.

Yes, because England is now one enormous joke. All the Eastern sheiks turn their backs on her – they call her a blemish, just a throwaway mongrel. Blood spatters with snot and tears spattering in all directions. Gunshots rang, while hell claps its hands exuberantly in delight. The cosmos roars with laughter over England, the universe’s biggest, cheapest joke.

But the liberal English aunties, that cannot and do not want to relax their stupidity, walk with heels aggressively clattering on London’s pavement. And while death now mockingly begins to scratch behind his ear, he plays a death march to England, on his fire-flames hell-harp. Yes, for England, walking so diligently towards their self-built gallows, in suicide.