Today the United Kingdom showed up on the world’s doorstep, announced that it had “dropped a shitload of acid,” and promptly zoomed out of reality.
As it lay on its back staring at the clouds, tripping its balls off, a woozy U.K. alternated between excitedly screaming “I am the king!” and plaintively whispering “why can’t I buy avocados?”
Sources close to the U.K. report that a few years ago the impetuous nation got its hands on several choice hits of Rees-Mogg, plus some tabs of Boris J., Tory Koolaid, and Purple Farage, but that it waited until today to ingest the psychedelics.
Throughout the day, friends came by to check on the U.K., but no one is holding out much hope that the deeply spaced out sovereignty will return to concrete existence any time soon, which may be for the best.
“She’ll be hallucinating strongly for at least another decade,” said a long time ally who crossed the pond to visit, “and that’s fine, considering the shock when she comes to and discovers that she’s broke, divorced, has no bananas or medications, and is lying in a pool of her own shit and vomit.”
At press time, the U.K. was lolling on its back, pointing toward a passing cloud and exclaiming, “It’s all fuzzy, with hard and soft borders, and now it looks like it’s breaking into pieces.”
By Joe Lichtblau, Image by Emily Sanchez