RICHARD LITTLEJOHN IS INTRODUCING A PROGRAM.
AS USUAL HE LOOKS LIKE 200LBS OF SHIT IN A RUMBLED SUIT, WITH A FACE OF LEERING EVIL. HE IS SMOKING A ROLLY, LIKE A PAEDOPHILE WATCHING GRANGEHILL.
RICHARD
Good evening Britain and that doesn't include you asylum seakers. Welcome to The Daily Mails Tales of Mystery Imagination. Tonight a story that could be happening right now.
A SWEATY MAN IS WALKING UP AND DOWN TALKING IN A FRANTIC MANNER.
MAN
No one knows how hard it is to work in HR, we need to have 25% disabled staff.
So Jim, Mary sorry.
WE PULL BACK TO SEE THE STAFF OF THE OFFICE ARE KNEELING ON THE FLOOR. THE SWEATY MAN HAS A GUN AND SHOOTS A MAN AND A WOMAN.
A CRYING WOMAN IN A WHEELCHAIR PLEADS(JANE)
JANE
Terry, Terry this isn't what I want.
MAN
Who cares it's politically correct, it's what you need.
A POLICEMAN BURSTS IN AND SHOOTS TERRY, 2 PLANE CLOTHES POLICE OFFICERS FOLLOW(BOB AND ARTHUR)
BOB
Oh dear it's another case of some poor chap who was driven insane by dogooding liberal dictats from the unfeeling beaura-twats in Whitehall.
ARTHUR
You mean he was driven mad by political correctness?
BOB
Yes political correctness gone mad. People used to think it was a load of bollocks invented by sandal wearing, muesli eating, Guardian readers. Now it's become an infection turning people into mindless zombies.
POLICE
I shot that bloke, it was probably his religion to shoot people. He might have been an asylum seeker or a paedophile in need of understanding?
POLICE SHOOTS HIMSELF.
ARTHUR
Look out the window Bob.
A CROWD OF POLITICALLY CORRECT ZOMBIES ARE DRAGGING OFF A PAGE 3 GIRL.
ZOMBIES
Burn her, she is opressing herself!
ARTHUR
Gawd Blimey Bob (BEAT) Bob?
HE TURNS BOB IS POINTING AT HIM AND HOWLS LIKE THAT BIT AT THE END OF THE 1976 INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS.
BOB
Politically Incorrect aaaaggggghhhh!
ZOMBIES PILE IN AND DRAG ARTHUR AWAY.
BACK TO LITTLEJOHN, WHO IS NOW SMOKING A FAG LIKE A PUPPY RAPIST.
RICHARD.
So there you have political correctness gone mad. Equal rights to employment today, zombie invasion tomorrow! We're onto you Brussells, you're not going to fruit me up!
