Eurovision Bomb
Contest
by Michael S.
Collins
Eurovision,
but the country which finishes bottom gets nuked.
“And
finally, twelve points go to Sweden!”
The girl
speaking smiled softly as she spoke, enjoying the
yelps of praise coming from the Swedish singers.
“Oh how
typical, Denmark voting for Sweden!” said
the British commentator, his voice betraying
decades of political voting.
“Well,
naturally.” Said his broadcast partner.
“I mean, they’re neighbours.
They’re hardly going to want the nuclear
waste to travel over the border.” He spoke
with the choked voice of radioactivity.
“Why wont
anyone vote for us. It’s political
correctness gone mad.”
“It might
be because we put a terrible act up.”
“We did
not. Bradley was brilliant.”
“He was
off tune, and a contestant from Big Brother. No
one had heard of him outside BBC studios, let
alone in Gdansk.”
“He
should have been getting more points anyway. This
is a complete farce. It’s right wing Fascism
gone wrong.”
“How many
countries are left to vote anyway?”
“About
three, I think. Well, possibly three. Do Turkey
still vote?”
“No, not
since they lost last years competition.”
“Ah yes.
A pity. Still, that’s what they get for
Constantinople.”
“What did
they do to that?”
“Renamed
it, the swines.”
“And it
looks like...yes, it’s us voting!”
“Good old
England. Who’ve we voted for?”
“Albania,
Sweden, Denmark, Germany ,France, Norway...”
“Sensible
votes so far.”
“Spain,
Italy and...12 points to....Ireland.”
Jeers could be
heard from the audience.
“Very
sensible of us to vote for Ireland like that,
don’t you think?”
“Oh yes,
very sensible.”
The compere
turned to his giggling co-host.
“And it
looks like we have a winner. Or should I say
loser.”
The crowd
laughed in the nervous way your gran does at her
own funeral.
“The
country finishing bottom is...Germany.”
Shrieks of
surprise arose from the crowd before the
transmission swiftly faded to black.
“Thank
god we are back in England” said the first
commentator.
“Yes”
said his partner. “Will the radiation leak
over here, do you think? Are we close enough?”
“Nah. The
Channel tunnel buffer will stop it, like it
always does.”
“Good
news. Anyhow, from me and my fellow, that’s
all for tonight. Hope you enjoyed the Eurovision,
England.”
The two men
put their microphones and walked along the
irradiated wasteland that was once the Thames.
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