A Buller man would...

David 'red spatz' Cameron surveyed the carcass before him; England it was once called, surrounded by its satellite nations to the north and west. Smiling, he put his cleaver to work. The satellites quaked in fear, knowing their time would soon come. The other Bullingdon boys laughed as Georgie 'tickler' Osbourne drank the first pint of warm, clotted blood. Boris 'ruskie' Johnson was gibbering to himself and flicking his bottom lip until a tramp searching through a bin caught his eye. He charged over like a galloping Bull and lunged into the mans Kidney, toe first with his steel fronted DM's. As the bum withered and died under the assault, Johnson; dribbling and laughing, threw down 4 crisp 50's screaming, 'A Buller man pays for his fun, a Buller man fucking pays!' By this point, Red spatz had wrenched free most of the infrastructure, handing them on to blood magician and media Shamen, Rupert, Lord of Murdoch. Murdoch threw the giblets into a bowl and whispered unintelligible incantations. Black smoke rose and the entrails crackled, the eyes of 10 million people exploded simultaneously and they began scrabbling in a never ending, eyeless dark. Johnson had returned to his dead tramp, now stamping on his face, screaming 'poppycock, poppycock, poppycock!' until his victims skull gave in to stomping and Johnson dove down to lick the palid scum off his warm, Fungal looking brain. 'Boris, come! get away from that animal.' Yelled Murdoch. His incantation complete, his mob walked happily through the blind, scrabbling masses. And the people of Wales began to shiver, the people of Scotland too. Their time would come. the Bullingdon boys had receive to their fill of fun, and Red Spatz cleaver was sharp. As the dissappeared into the dense mists of London, the dissipating laughter dissolved into silence.