NaziZombies and NaziZombies 2

Part 1: the takeover.

It’s hard to say when it began to fall apart. Some say it began in America during the mid-seventies, when that well-known crook Richard M. Nixon -before he donned his leather jacket and fled off in his presidential chopper- decided to bring back the notion of the power of the dollar, and something called “the Laffer curve” over the gold standard.

Some put it down to Thatcher and Reagan and the greed years of the 80’s; where breaking down the nation’s state assets was fun; and opting for the stocks and shares and the false notion of market forces held together by UPS, Filofaxes meetings and large shouldered workaholics; who preferred cocaine and coin over a fair and equal society.

Some put it down to hegemony, caused by companies coalescing like cells to become first small franchises then conglomerates; and finally, mega corporates, which strode the world; making profit from then national slave labour market; that in turn, took taxes away from the nation state and into private banks that were -in secret- tax havens so that a minority would survive, not talked about.

Some even put it down to a national media bought and owned by three people and whom had an agenda of their own, which was about making themselves richer and more influential than anyone else.

Who knows how it began, but it did. It fell apart in drips and drabs, and as it fell apart, amongst all this coalescing chaos; people stopped thinking, and started to eat their own brains.

No one knows who it was who started this weird craze. I can imagine that it might have been some Etonian boy, who aspired of screwing the country up one day.

Perhaps it was some unemployed doctor or perhaps a dental hygienist, who, after a bitter day at work, took a long hard look at their forehead, one warm late afternoon in July and thought to themselves: now… I wonder what my brain tastes like; and, with a look of delicious desire in their eyes and with a smile upon their wet shiny lips decided to slowly crack open their skulls and, with a silver spoon, take out selected parts of their temporal lobe; seasoned –of course- with either honey or perhaps some sea salt for taste.

Perhaps it was some dark, malign, ancient alien species, whom after travelling through the void of space for a millennium found our little planet of blue and green and thought to itself, “I know, I’ll plant this idea in their heads and see what happens, just for a laugh” as you do; however, or wherever it came from, this idea -of brain eating- it quickly became a secret phenomenon. The weird thing was no one was dying from this, well, not at first anyway.

As I understand, this craze was spread by word of mouth. Secret brain eating parties would take place in hidden locations all over the United Kingdom and Ireland, where groups of people would have their skulls opened and take out selected parts of their brain matter and share it with fellow guests: just for laughs. However, there was a problem. The problem was, people were becoming fucking idiotic.

The first reported act of recognised brain eating came after the referendum of 2009. Though the police never fully understood what it was that they had found. A pile corpses each of whom had lunatic grins on their faces and blood and brains in their mouths, was prevented from being broadcast, at least on the mainstream media, because one of the corpses found happened to be both chairman of the BBC and on the advisory board of the 1922 committee -as well as a prominent mason- and you can’t have a member of the establishment caught with his pants down eating his own brains can you… it's indecent… Anyway, it was hushed up because the messy non-government at that time didn’t want the public to find out that prominent members of the state were involved in brain eating.

It was 2010 that the zombie-Nazis began to appear. Though they had been a part of the UK for years. prior to that the zombie-Nazi had been overall forgotten or considered mad; after all, who would listen to a zombie brain eater especially a zombie with right wing tendencies? No one. Fuck off you zombie brain eater, who do you think you're trying to convince with all your talk about “through’s” and “unchurches” no one wants to hear that bollocks so fuck off home an eat your brains in peace. Stuff like that happened at my local all the time in the noughties. They tended to prop up bars and mumble and slur and stagger about; and on the whole nobody listened, until one zombie Nazi brain eater, Bob Garage, began to appear on the TV.

He started appearing just after a bizarre helicopter crash, where he was spotted eating the brain of his pilot. Though that part of the story was hushed up. After the crash Bob was a national hero. Why? No one knew, he just was. He would turn up in strange and bizarre places, like at a pizza hut and say things like “ffghrrrughnghhs” or “dhgrsuurrghs nnnnsrrdhghhdssshhsh” and people all around him would suddenly appear in the room and applause for no real reason at all.

Then the political establishment would have him on the telly discussing the state of the nation and the now defunct European Union.

They would ask him, “well, Bob what do you think of this?” or “what do you think of that Bob?” and Bob would say something like “ghsghgsfsfghhurghhughghs” and the commentator would say “well…that’s fascinating Bob, you definitely know what you’re talking about.” And so this went on until 2016 when the zombie Nazi takeover began in earnest.

It came about because a now well-known brain eating addict and –so rumour had it- dead pig shagging- prime minister of the time: the infamous “Dodgy Dave, the pig shagger from Westeros”, completely fucked up the world. He even had the balls to write about it in his memoirs.

Per Dodgy Dave, he thought that he could stop Bob by giving Bob what he wanted. The fact is hardly anyone in the UK knew what Bob Garage wanted. Mainly because he talked utter bollocks. The only people who knew what Bob was talking about were fellow brain eating soon to become Nazi-zombies. And they all sounded the same. A sort of growl of agreement, if you can understand. How the fecking BBC knew what Bob was talking about still amazes me to this day. Oh, I’m drifting, anyhow, Dave thought he could stop Bob Garage from taking the UK into a national disaster that would be the leaving of the EU.

So, Dodgy Dave called Bob’s bluff, but, by then, over half the nation was well into brain eating and were becoming Nazi zombies so the result was a certainty.

That day was bad. Bob was everywhere going “shgfjsnfj” here and “huurhhdghhghurgh” there, and all his zombie Nazi mates were on Facebook shouting “hurghghusgh” while attacking people in the fecking streets. Skulls were smashed and brains were everywhere. I took to the hills. It was the safest place to be. Me my wife Rhiannon and my children: Elsie Nonnie and Glan. We had to, it was the safest thing to do. I didn’t come back from the hills for twenty years. When we did, the UK was unrecognisable.

Part 2: what is and how to kill a Nazi-zombie

Nazi-zombies are not like any other forms of Zombie. Your average zombie, or undeadite, to give it a posh sounding Latin term, tend to have, as you know, rotten skin, failing organs, weak teeth, sunken eyes and a need to devour human flesh. All of this is controlled by a contagion that rests inside the brain. This is where the difference between the zombie and the zombie- Nazi rests.

Stage one of the disease: the eating of brains. This is transferred by listening to a host. Yes, this is a sound transferring virus or a S.T.V.

The higher levels of contagion within the host, the greater the risk of transferring the contagion between both the host body and the next potential victim. The more the victim listens to the host the greater the contagion is spread. However, this does not work unless the host is in close-ish proximity to the victim. Therefore, Bob Garage was so convincing to the hosts on the TV, when the rest of us watching him say “grrughaaaaarrrggghh” thought he was talking utter bollocks. I only know of one person who was infected by a Bob Garage commentary on TV and that was my best mate Derhman. But to be fair, he was down the pup and pissed at the time. I must say; I couldn’t believe it… There was Bob talking bollocks… the sound was down and the music was thumping out. It was a great crack, then Derhman says to me:

“You know that Bob Garage make total sense to me.” It was out of the blue and sort of weird as we never talked politics or religion before.

I remember I said “what you talking about? the man’s a fucking zombie-Nazi he makes as much sense as slapping sloppy wet dog shite across your face.”

At which point three guys, that were standing around me turned and stared at me. I got the feeling that they didn’t like that comment, so I fucked off home. I never saw Derhman again. Sorry, digressing, back to topic. Anyway, once you have the virus, there is this compulsion to want to eat your own brains. This might sound impossible due to pain. What the virus does is deaden pain receptors, thus a person infected could hammer a hole in their head and not feel a thing. I’ve seen this; it's gross. It is… no I’m not giving you examples.

One the brain eating starts, then stage three develops quickly.

This is called zombieNazification.

Nazification tends to begin with blaming poor people, or mentally ill people, or anyone that’s different from the victim for the problems they are having. Like: - “feck I can’t get my beer can open. Those feckin’ immigrants are fecking with my beer can.” You know, stuff like that. Look… I don’t talk like that around the kids…this is just between you and me, okay? Then it gets worse. The victim then starts to rant on busses or in pubs about how the foreign immigrant or the bloke without a job is fecking up his or her life. Before long it’s any religious denomination.

Finally, it’s the Bob Garage phase. This involves going to “EngKip” meetings and listening to speeches by people who are in an advanced stage of zombie-Nazification. Before too long they are reading Bob’s books. Books like “gurrghughhharrghh”. And to be honest, that’s all it's filled with. Yes, with more of that unintelligible jobsite crap. A mean feck. When a person is in a high state of zombie-Nazification, then Bob eats the person and the zombie-Nazi gets his or her uniform and starts stumbling about looking for people to infect.

The Nazi-zombie unlike your ordinary zombie, has no brain. So, blowing their skulls off tends to have no impact upon them at all. Saying that, it does thud to piss them off. They get violent then. I think it’s because they can’t infect you as easily. Or talk about their stupid zombie-Nazi issues, which sounds like gobshite to an ordinary person, but makes sense to a zombie-Nazi.

A zombie- Nazi, when enraged is a difficult beast to take down. This is because though they have no head, they can strangle you and kick too so beware. I have found that the best way to take out a zombie-Nazi is to stab it through the heart via the chest cavity.

However, this causes the Nazi-zombie, to burst into a ball of fire, so banging a stake into the heart is unadvisable. Instead, a good long pole or perhaps a gun, if you can find one is valuable.

Another good way to take out a zombie-Nazi is to dismember it. This is done with a strong sword or a particularly long knife. Remember that the bones are brittle too, so that when you do take out a zombie-Nazi stand well clear. Also, and this is a must, never use a hammer. The blows with a hammer can break the bones into particles. I have found that the dust itself can carry a form of the Nazi-zombie brain eating part of the virus, which can lead to wanting to eat your own brain.

The most effective way of dealing with the zombie-Nazi virus is to take out a major host. I found that out two years ago. I was on an expedition for food, things were getting short and the winters had been getting worse. I needed supplies, anything really, the kids were hungry and the wife, well, difficult. Anyhow, I was in a small village, looking through what was a Spar for canned goods, when through the broken window of the store front, I saw a large van arrive. It was full of zombie-Nazis, I can’t lie, I was shitting myself. They were slowly getting out of the van, and for some reason known to them gathering around one zombie-Nazi in a black uniform. I tend to go out fully armed; and have become a pretty good shot. So, despite quaking with fear, I crouched my way to the window. The chief Nazi-zombie was grunting and growling, fuck knows what. So, I gulped and stood up and shot the fecker at close range in the back. I watched the body suddenly drop. And as it fell all the rest of them burst into flames. It was then I realised two things, to start with I must be immune to the Nazi-zombie virus and two, Bob Garage had to be taken out as soon as possible.

Part 3: How to cope with a loss and possible cure

In many ways, I know I am one lucky bastard. After all, how many people can say that they are surviving a zombie-Nazi apocalypse. How am I immune to the virus? It could be that it is because I grew up during the 1980’s and had endless shite songs by the likes of Rick Astley “Never Going to Give You Up” or Kylie Minogue “I Should Be So Lucky” running through my head. I think that’s partly it. More of that later. I also think it is because my grandfather, a sea green eyed, partially balding, heavy jawed lapse catholic, and passionate communist from Killkenny; taught me the best lesson I have ever learned; that when people start blaming the less fortunate, or the outsider for their own sad fucked up life, then the real issue is with them, and not the other fellah. “…remember: we are all feckin’ immigrants, son. Now be a good boy and pas me me pint,” he used to say… ahh better days. Oh, I’m rambling again.

I’m rambling because I don’t want to write this part. It’s difficult to talk about near loss, especially loss of a loved one, in times like these, especially when the weather is like winter all year and the Nazi-zombies are controlling all forms of media. Well… ok…that’s sort of not true as they had control of it before; the Daily Mail was owned by a brain eating zombie-Nazi for Christ sake. But they have even more now that’s my point.

In today’s world, the Radio, and the big screen are means of communication for the zombie-Nazi nation. A good example is the six am radio weather report: “Thames dogger, fisher, grughghsrgaarrghh” and don’t get me on the fecking today programme on radio four. Sigh, yeah off topic again. I do ramble don’t I…

My eldest son… Glen … he went down with the infection six months ago. As I said I am immune to the infection but my kids and wife are not. So, they must take precautions, like cotton wool for the ears and stuff like that.

One day, Glen and I were out on a scavenge in the Essex region; zombie- Nazis don’t need homes as they have a hive mind and tend to gather in large stadiums for approval and self-aggrandizement. That being the case, there is no shortage of houses to drop into, which is easy for us, as we tend to be on the move a lot.

However, the zombie-Nazi’s had taken to constructing big screens and huge speakers in large open spaces. You know the type of thing; those screens once used in open air cinema, only now they are being used to get Bob Garage on, talking his vile shit.

I tend to try to remember to carry some cotton wool, so I can plug up Glen’s ears, if we are in a heavily controlled zombie-Nazi region. That or carry a copy of Rick Astley’s greatest hits on a battery operated mp3 player. However, that day, I had a row with Rhianna about the last food run, so I left home without either. We both saw the screen in Ash park, just off Holloway road, but as there were no zombie-Nazi’s about, we thought the coast was clear. I didn’t know it was a trap.

The moment we passed one hundred foot from the screen, it burst into life. There stood Bob Garage. His eyes flame red, his mouth all flabby and wet. Then he started to boom out his shite again. “grdughghs, graughughs, guruagurrughhs”. My face paled as I stared towards Glen. I could see he was transfixed. Then he started to say “You know, that Bob Garage is starting to-" In desperation and pain, I punched him in the face knocking him out. I then had to drag him to a house in Holloway road. I kicked down the door dragged him through the hall and put him on the floor in the front room, just as he started to come around.

“I wanna eat my Brain! Da! I wanna eat me Brain!” he started screaming, and pulling at his hair. I ran about the front room looking for some form of audio equipment, but it was owned by one of those Ikea fanatics and everything was small and flat and over tidy. I panicked and I punched Glen in the face again knocking him out once more; then ran upstairs to the bedrooms. One room had a life-size portrait of Bob fucking Garage in it. The other was full of crap, the third was beautiful. Nirvana posters, hippy posters, spray painted words like FUCK BOB GARAGE! and there, on the floor amid a pile of notes on sociology was an mp3 player. I put it on. It was Motorhead. Panicking I looked through the audio collection and found whoever it was, guilty secret: Kylie Minogue’s greatest hits. I ran downstairs, put the earphone buds in Glen’s ears, turned the volume up full and blasted “I Should Be So Lucky” into my son’s head repeatedly.

Now, I know many out there will think that I am a bastard, punching my son and subjecting him to the sort of music that I despise. However, it is the only way I have found of counteracting the virus in its early stages. Long blasts of repetitive bloody awful 80’s music into a subject that is knocked out tends to halt the spread of the virus, and the louder the music, the greater the chance the victim has of being free from it.

As this was going on, I went around the house and found enough supplies of canned goods to keep us going for a week or two. That and some precious bottled water. I sat down and waited.

Those two hours were the longest I have ever known. I looked down at Glen, not knowing if the little boy I held in my arms 16 years ago was ever going to be the same boy again, or some vile zombie-Nazi intent on taking over the worlds with his petty ignorance and brain eating bullshit. As I sat there, I recalled his first steps; his first word “Feck Da”; the way his pale blue eyes shone from his pale face and his ginger hair blowing in the breeze, as Rhiannon and I played catch in the park. I recalled his first day at school, and then passing of his GCSE exams, the year before the nazi-zombifation took hold. I cried as I heard my grandpa once more say “Pass me a pint son.”

Then Glen awoke. He rubbed his chin and looked at me. I heard a tap at the window opposite. I looked up and saw a magpie. At the time, I didn’t know the significance.

“Da, what happened.” He asked, so I told him while he sat there humming I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, I should be so lucky in love.

Part 4: the resistance movement. Meet the guys and the shite plan.

As I said, we move around a lot; this has a double-edged effect or affect, I didn’t know which, it has an impact. To start with, there is a lot of zombie-Nazi’s to kill, which isn’t so good. However, on the plus side there is a chance to meet fellow survivors.

Begbie was a tough Scottish bastard that hated zombie-nazi’s from birth. There is a sort of myth about him. It is said that his first words were “I’m goin’ to do you, you fuckin’ zombie Nazi cunt.” Which for a child of six months is quite a feat. He was also extremely violent at home and this led to him being put into care.

Prior the rise of the Nazi-zombie’s Bugby was on a downward spiral towards alcoholic oblivion. Post the Nazi-zombie event, Begbie became the hero of the resistance. There are stories that say he took out a whole platoon armed only with a long bladed kitchen knife and E.L.O’s out of the blue album.

Then there is Dark Steve. Dark Steve tends to wear black a lot. He also doesn’t say very much except “yes” or “no” which means he’s hard to get to know. But he is a wiz with anything electrical. It was Dark Steve who managed to get the diesel operated electricity generator up and running and in turn got the lathes in the workshop running off staves and the like. I don’t much more about him. In fact, I have never seen his face.

Angela Morecombe is a fourteen-year-old who lost her entire family to brain eating and nazi-zombifiaction. She has the widest and palest blue eyes I have ever seen. She is also a bit moody and sulky, but knows how to throw a javelin; and has learned to break into any shop with ease. She is the case officer. A bright mind and clever fingers too.

Jordan is a twenty-year-old with a love of all things explosive. His parents managed to survive the onslaught driving off to the hills like we did, surviving is something that we must take for granted these days. He loves his bike and is always seen riding about the city cleaving the occasional Nazi-zombie in two usually while listening to tracks by the chemical brothers. Jordan also has a very nice strain of cannabis that he has nurtured and grown himself; so, he’s always good for a laugh.

This makes up the core of the resistance, people that we have met, while on our travelling. Overall they are a great bunch of guys though they are quite argumentative at times; which is why I tend to hang around with them occasionally. We usually have a planned meeting to discuss how we are faring, if we have found any weaknesses and what to do about the Nazi- zombies once a month. The last meeting took place at our house, which, never goes down well with Rhiannon; even though they bring the biscuits.

***

It was a month after I had taken out the patrol and two weeks since Glen’s near infection that the resistance met in our front room to discuss what had been occurring.

Dark Steve sat there, his face hidden in his black hoodie, next to him was Begbie. Across from him was Rhiannon, (our other two girls were in bed) Jordan, Glen and Julia at the end of the room was me. The silence was deafening.

"So" I began “Have we had a good week?” More silence followed. Dark Steve nodded his head Begbie looked tired and Julia strained. Jordan was puffing on a joint, that he passed to Glen. Rhiannon stared at me and I shrugged lamely.

“So you we have found that listening to shite music has an impact on the virus” said Begbie coldly.

I nodded.

“I see…” I saw he looked strained as he folded his arms across his chest “Rick Astley of Kylie Minouge fuckin’ hell! I hate that crap”

“Hey don’t mock the Kylie” said Julie

“It’s not that it's crap music” I injected

“It’s not crap!” Julie spat defiantly. “You could same about Hawkwind!”

Begbie stared coldly at Julie and a heavy silence filled the room.

“Never mock Hawkwind in my presence again!” Begbie said angrily and we all looked down.

“Julie, it’s not the music, it's the vocal repetition…” I eased her and she claimed down. “…In fact it’s any song that has a mildly irritating, over repetitive vocal chorus, that the listener finds irritating. You know, a song that you can’t get out of your head in the morning. It’s that, that attacks the virus…. It’s as if the song prevents Bob Garage’s words being decoded in the subconscious. “

“Does this mean we have to stop killing them?” Begbie sounded tight. His whole life he had been dedicated to the killing of Nazi-zombies. To suddenly change would be hard for him.

“Not necessarily” I began cautiously as I didn’t want Begbie to leave without getting to the end of the meeting. “It’s a prevention for the virus to stop the spread to the brain eating stage. Once that occurs there is no hope for the Nazi-zombie.”

“Too right! The only good zombie Nazi is a dead zombie Nazi! Fucking kill me all I say!”

I then related the incident in the Spar shop.

“So we could take out one chief Nazi zombie and loads blow up?” Jordan grinned, his eyes glittered with joy.

“Yep” said dark Steve.

“That takes the fun out o’ it” muttered Begbie,

“-Oh go on Begbie, hitting the big cheese sounds like a luff to me” said Julie.

Dark Steve muttered another yes and both Jordan and Glen grinned and giggled in stoned amusement.

I could feel Rhiannon’s eyes boring into my neck so I looked down and towards the window. Suddenly a magpie came and settled on the window ledge. It paced outside up and down the window looking in. Glen saw it and looked away.

I stared at it and was about to shoo it off, when Glen suddenly got up went to the window and tapped it sharply. The bird laughed as it took to flight.

I turned back to the room.

“…Well any chance I can get at taking out that Bob fucking Garage I am up for that.” Shouted Begbie

“It might lead to the death of the entire zombie-Nazi hoard” I injected as which point Begbie looked a bit sad.

“Oh go on” Rhiannon chided, “I’m sure there will be a few left to kill.” Begbie looked down and blushed a little.

“The problem is getting close enough to Bob Garage so as we are not turned into Nazi-zombies ourselves and want to start eating our own brains and shit” said Jordan and we all agreed.

Unlike before the Nazi-zombie infestation of five years ago; Bob was always down the pub, or on TV making his growling grunting noises and converting most around him into brain eating Nazi-zombies; nowadays he rarely left Buckingham Palace where he now resided with the Queen and the rest of the Brain eating Nazi-zombie establishment. It was clear, someone or a group of someone’s were going to have to break into Buckingham palace and try to take him out.

This we all agreed was going to be hard, as point one: though many people –over the years- had managed to escape from Buckingham Palace usually naked…. But not many had managed to get in. Our hope rested in the one grain of factual evidence we had to hand. Nazi-zombies were as thick as shit; with the memory span of a fish.

Oh, sure there were loads of them, but numbers count for nothing, when you have a gang of bright, determined individuals like ourselves, ready to do battle with the Nazi-zombie hoard no matter the consequences.

So, we sat down and came up with a sort of plan. Begbie, Glen and I were to climb the fence and sneak around the back of the palace, enter the building through the kitchen, and sneak about the place until we found Bob and take him out. Meanwhile the others were to cause a commotion outside the palace and force the Nazi-zombies inside to come out and give chase.

To be honest, it was a shite plan. A shite plan. In fact, it was the worst fucking plan that had ever been invented. If there was sacred place for shite plans, this plan would be there in a gilded cage, it was as shite as the referendum that start this fecking thing off in the first place.

Rhiannon told me it was a shite plan and said that we should wait, however, it was Begbie’s plan and, let’s be honest, Begbie was a violent bastard. I knew if I said anything he’d kick me head in, the fact was Begbie was all up for it, as it meant killing loads of zombie-Nazi’s so that was that.

That night, I found sleep hard. For some reason the magpie earlier that day kept haunting my mind. I tried to sleep, but when I slept, it would always appear, flying over my head, haunting me. Laughing at me with a cold malicious sound of triumph. I woke up with a start.

“What’s wrong” Rhiannon groaned, “can’t you ever settle down?”

I rested back on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling as the dawn slowly encroach upon the day.

Part 5: a weird meeting at the mall, just off of St James's Park

The trip to the heart of London was a nervous one. We had acquired a large-ish lorry and filled it up with all of us and all the equipment we thought we'd need. There was a huge bag of cotton wool and many speakers of various sizes, that we had jerrymandered to several mp3 players. A host of batteries, some large swords, and large knives, loads of guns, loads of bullets and shotgun shells and a chainsaw or two. I sat in the front of the truck with Begbie and Rhiannon. Rhiannon had elected to drive. She was nervous that we had avoided the toll booth to pay to go through London and muttered about a fine. Meanwhile Begbie who was next to us in the van said that didn’t matter as we were in a nicked van anyway.

The closer we got to London, the denser the zombie-Nazi hoard became. By the time we were in central London they were everyfuckinwhere; murmuring and growling and grumbling all in this low menacing noise, however they were all motionless as if asleep. We managed to make it all the way to the mall, we pulled over at St James's Park and disembarked. It was night, a dark night, as the moon was new. We moved quietly, so not to wake the Zombie-Nazi’s who were around us.

“What’s wrong with the fekers?” muttered Begbie.

“Collective consciousness” whispered Angela. "They’ll all wake up when Bob awakes. He probably can’t sense our presence yet."

“Fair snuff” said Begbie, who then dispatched three to keep us warm. It has to be said that the burning of a zombie-nazi is not a nice odour. There is that stink of burning hair and skin. If the zombie nazi's fat, it's worse as the organs inside burst out! It’s not nice.

Despite the fire it was cold. My fingers were numb and the snow was a good inch thick. It was as I opened the back of the van that I heard the galloping of hooves. Both I and Begbie turned around to see what was coming, and there and there riding towards us through St James's Park was a man in furs on a thundering horse.

Begbie pulled out his gun and was about to shoot, when he stopped. “No wait.” The horse stopped and a young man with raven hair black eyes a narrow face and tufts of beard looked towards us.

“Winter is here.” He said.

“I know you…you're, you're, Jon Snow from Westeros, your canna be here! This is London and WE are facing the Nazi-Zombie infestation! Fuck off back to Westeros!"

“But I have come with my army of…” he looked around. “Oh.”

“Ha ha, yeah, that’s right, you’re on your own. That’s what they do there in Westeros, they might bow the knee to your face, but when your back is turned, they’ll stab you in it like the fuckers they are.”

“-A bit like the labour party then” said Angela.

“-But I have the blessing of the King of Light.”

“-Mate," I began “You could have the blessing of the entire planet, however, if George R.R. Martin finds you here finds you here, we are in big shit! One, he could kill us all off just for fun, and two HBO will be well pissed off with our God of Light and that will be the end of Nazi-zombies!”

I was about to continue about the continuity of it all, when, from above, we heard this strange scramming howl. It was as if the sky was filled with daemons. There then followed a sound like the flapping of leather wings.

Angela looked up. “Oh fucking hell!”

Suddenly yellow flames lit up St James's Park and an explosion was heard. I could just see St Pauls had become a ball of flame. Three dragons were seen circling in the yellow light. All around us the zombie Nazis started to stir; Yet they were frozen as if unable to wake up.

One dragon descended from the heavens and landed heavily. It leant its head forward, and Denerys Stormborn, yes her with the big eyes and the big, well you know, slowly and seductively started walking towards us.

“Fear not brave men of Britain, I have come to help you with your quest" She said.

“That’s a nice piece of arse.” Said Begbie.

“That piece of arse is going to get us into a hell of a lot of trouble” I began.

“I don’t mind that sort of trouble” began Jordan, "Do you think she’d like a bag of weed to share?”

Both Rhiannon and Angela were looking decidedly pissed off, and were glaring at me, as if it were all my fault. Fer fecks sake, as if I can control what’s going on. The zombies were stirring. Quickly Jon snow hacked one of their heads off.

“Oh fuck no!” I sighed, and buried my head in my hands, as the zombie Nazi went to attack him. Begbie finished it off with a lance to its back.

“Chopping their heads off only pisses them off” I said. “Keep up with the story will ye?”

Jon muttered sorry as which point Daenerys stared at him acutely.

“Are you the bastard known as Jon Snow, king of the North and from the house Stark?”

He nodded.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn from the house Targarian, Queen of the South and keeper of the Dragon’s! We need to get married and have dirty slutty sex."

Jon looked down and a bit awkward. “It’s a bit rushed, isn’t it?" He began “Can we at least help our fellow brothers and sisters fend of the Nazi-zombie hoard of Great Britain first?”

“Oh, err, okay, so don’t you want to have sex with me then?

“Errum no, it’s Errum, no, no…not that…It’s just a bit unexpected that's all."

“Really? oh, come on…surely not…” she giggled gently at that. “Ok, let's help these people out first, then tell me how you feel about it.”

“Sure why not.” Jon replied.

“-You lucky bastard,” muttered Begbie “…I was only some bit character in Trainspotting."

“Look all of you! Shut the fuck up!” I pleaded. I stared with fear rising as the zombie Nazi’s began to wake up. “This is supposed to be a satirical piece about the end of the UK, because a bunch of fecking fascists Nazi-zombies take over the county! It’s not about giving away the last series of Game of fucking Thrones!"

Suddenly Tyrion Lannister appeared from behind Daenerys and started to sing Space Pants killing off a hoard of Zombie Nazi’s at one go.

“Hey, we could do with him. He drinks and knows things.” Begbie exclaimed,

“Look will you all please stop!” I felt exhausted by it all, but I bellowed loud. There was a silence. For the first time ever the resistance and its new players stared at me. For the first time, I felt in charge and capable of deciding. For the first time, I would have my say. I opened my mouth to speak but then...

“-The way I see it” Rhiannon suddenly exclaimed “is that you…” – she pointed at Denerys, "and you” she pointed at Jon, can help with a diversion, while the rest of us break into Buckingham palace...Your majesty?”

Both Jon and Daenerys stared at her.

“No not the fecking useless man! You with the blonde hair, your majesty, we need a dragon to get us into the Palace."

With a nod of her head Daenerys let a weird call, that sounded like “OI! get down ere now” and at once, one of the dragons flew into the mall and settled down, squashing about twenty slowly waking nazi-zombies, with its huge feet.

Suddenly Denerys grabbed Jon’s hand.

“Come with me your naughty boy.” She whispered as she ran with him over the waiting dragon in St James's Park.

Begbie shook his head as he spoke aloud to the back of Jon snow. “You lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky bastard.”

“Aye that he is.” Replied Tyrion, "After all, he managed to survive the battle of the bastards, did you see that episode? By the way, I thought I was great in Season six. The trouble is people always remember the Space Pants thing.”

“Oh…you were superb. And don’t worry, here Space Pants is our secret weapon. You never know you might make it to the end without dying.”

"Really oh shit. I haven’t done a death scene in years... Sorry to see your career has hit a bit of a dry patch.”

“-Well it’s all swings and roundabouts" Began Begbie, as they both started to walk towards the dragon.

Within a moment Begbie, Angela, Glen, the kids, Rhiannon, Tyrion and I were all in the sky, flying on the back of a dragon, in huge sweeping arcs over Buckingham palace, ready to defeat Bob Garage in one last final battle to end the Nazi zombie hoard and save humanity.

Part six: the battle for Buckingham palace.

The dragon dropped us off on the top of the palace, with a soft grunt. We all got off, and went through the procedure of prepping for a Nazi-zombie assault.

1. Cotton wool, in the ears, check, also check each other too, to make sure the right amount is inserted.
2. Speakers, check, make sure your speakers are connected to the MP3 players. And are attached to your outer garments, also make sure that the mp3 attachment is wired correctly. Also, check your friends. Batteries are also important. Make sure the MP3 is fully charged.
3. Weapons: swords out of sheathes, chainsaws filled with petrol, shotguns filled with cartridges, and belts for extra cartridges correctly attached. Pistols with enough rounds, or lance’s well-oiled and sharp. (Nazi-zombies tend to be a bit dry, so a well-oiled lance helps with the penetration; especially if you must take out five at a time.
4. Motion trackers. Dark Steve invented a means to safely track off the more important Nazi-zombies, as they tend to make their noises at a lower frequency than the troops. This does not have an impact over vision as it's over one eye. Finally, when all this is done turn on the mp3 in a synchronised time set. 3…2…1.

We entered through the attic door and slowly moved down room by room, each of us trying to keep the other's back. The Nazi-zombies were awake now, and trying to get to us, but we had Rick Astley on full blast and there was no way those fuckers were going to take us down. When one reached us Begbie would head-but it, or Dark Steve would grind it with his chainsaw before after Alison shot it in the chest. It was Tyrion who hit the first of the second level Nazi-zombies as his song Space Pants which he broadcast through a megaphone caused it to explode and in turn took out most of the Nazi-zombies in a huge fire on the most of the third floor.

“Bloody hell” he muttered.

“Good fecking job Tyrion! Keep it up!” yelled Begbie as we fought our way through the flaming corpses on the ground.

It’s hard to describe the fear one feels in a battle like this. You can see the enemy all around you, with their red eyes and their dried corpse faces. Though you don’t understand what they are saying through their growls or grunts or groans, you fear that you will, because if you do, you know that you too are infected. It’s also hard to explain the sense of weirdness of it all. Here we are in the hub of the monarchy, the hub of the establishment, being attacked by all these Nazi-zombies, many of whom were well known on the TV news before the Nazi-zombie infestation. I personally shot the Nazi-zombie Michael Heseltine in the chest and took out half of the Nazi-zombies around him. Then there was Lord Saatchi, and Michael Gove. Boy, I tell you that, that felt good. What hurt was to see my two kiddies involved with this.

War isn’t good. It’s not for children. But, in a battle for survival, I couldn’t leave them behind. Well maybe I could have left them with the dragon but I wasn’t sure how they would fare. Besides, if I fell and somehow managed to get infected, I would want them to take me out. On a, plus, they did manage to take out Theresa May with their bow and arrows; so, give them something for that.

All the while, Astley's “Never Going to Give You Pp” was playing as loud as we could get it.

We made it to the state rooms tired, weary and soot and blood smeared. But we were a team, resolved to take on Bob. We entered the major state room. Bob sat on one of the throne, to his left was Elizabeth and to his right stood Phillip. Personally, I thought that he was a Nazi-zombie for years, not Bob, but there you go. Bob stood up and began to make his “ghrsughs” and “gsfsrsughs” but it was Glen who spoke.

“Why arrear youuuu heeerrere?”

We all moved away from Glen. I felt a pang of terror as I looked both towards him and at the huge windows of the main state room. It was dark, but it was not dark, for at the windows were thousands and thousands of eyes… magpie’s eyes… staring in on us… their weight slamming against the windows. That then began to crack and splinter.

“I’ll ask you again…why arrrrree youuu heeerrreeee?”

“To get our country back! To get us into a place where we are all given equal rights under a flag of truth honesty and compassion.” Said Alison.

“Yeah” said Dark Steve.

“Don’t you understand yet, you stupid fuckwit!” shouted Begbie “We think you’re a vile cunt that has broken this nation and we want our country back! We don’t like you or your stupid market forced economy or your vile nazi-zombifaction of our nation! We want to be a nation again! Free from the LIES and the-"

Glen spoke again. I could see the pain written all over his face as the magpies began to chip harder and harder at the windows. Beaks cracked though the glass and mocking laughter could be heard.

“I…. I…. Da!" Glan screamed as he shook his body a mass of convulsions. The bullet hit Bob full in the chest. Bob reeled backwards as both the Elizabeth and her Nazi-zombie husband started walking forwards. Then another door opened and Dave the pig shagger stood before us.

“You, stupid, stupid fuck-" he screamed

But his words were lost as the magpies smashed into the room and began to encircle us. In terror, we knelt to the floor and prayed that it wouldn’t be too late, or too painful.

But then something weird happened. The magpies swirled about us. But they didn’t attack us…We felt their feathers but not their beaks, they attacked Elizabeth her zombie-Nazi husband, Bob and Dave. Of Dave, nothing was left at all, except a suit and a tie, neatly done up to the neck of the shirt.

Our MP3’s became mute leaving silence, as the Magpies left in a flock swirling into the night.

And so, we left. We waved farewell to the dragons, Daenerys Jon and Tyrion, and watched them fade into a hazy blip on the horizon from the entrance of Buckingham palace. And then looked at each other. It was over… the Nazi-zombie hoard was crushed.

It took a while for what could be called normality to return, people who were scared to come outside slowly started to venture out.

Begbie became the new minister of the joint republic of Britain, and reset negotiations with Europe; having to prove to the French foreign minister that he was up to the job, by shooting Le-Pen and burning her carcass on TV.

It took years to put right the mess the Nazi-zombies left, but I can say, with a hand on my heart, that it was worth it. There are pockets of Nazi-zombies still left. Begbie set about finding them and dispatching them. One Mark Thatcher is still on the loose. There are rumours that it is in South America somewhere. Overall We are on the rise… However, America, well that’s another story. Trump scares the shit out of us, and he might invade, now we are free.

Epilogue: how did the Nazi-zombies rise to power.

Ok, so now we are left with questions: Why on God’s green earth did the Nazi-zombie STV take over so quickly? Why were Bob Garages words listened to? Why were so many lost to this vicious parasite that led to mass self -indulgent brain eating?

I put it down to change. People, en mass, fear it. I mean are scared of it. They watch the TV and feel safe that their system is protected. But. If they listen to fear long enough, then they become servants of that fear. They eat their own brains and –in turn- become servants of a cause that they don’t believe in, yet follow blindly, without thinking.

Our generation. The forty to fifty year olds, who have seen the reality of this fear, can give hope to our children. Fear of change need not be a monster, for change happens, life is like a wild us ride the waves free. God that sounds corny as an ending oh what the feck, I’m Dermot O’ Haggarty, if you want to meet me, I’ll be at the twisted oak at about 7 pm, cheers.

The end…

Epi-prologueamendum: why I call them Nazi-zombies and what the fuck is going on.

Okay, this is the part I have called the epi-prolougeamendum, where I introduce myself and explain a bit about the Nazi-zombie infestation. To start with, many people are going to be pissed off. To start with, this prologue comes in the wrong place completely. I expect many on Facebook and on the blog, will say, “Hey Dermot, the prologue is at the start of the book, not as some version of proverbs, shoved in another text for no valid reason at all? You have already ended “I call them Nazi-zombies 1 and have started “I call them Nazi-zombies 2” already. Why this now?"

Well, there is a reason for it. To start with, many people in the Facebook world have said “Hey Dermot your wingnut, haven’t you heard of Dead Snow and Zombie-Nazi’s two yet? Where have you been. For fecks sake! You can’t use that title!" I tend to ignore shit like that. Sometimes.

I then received a rather nasty note in my Facebook private in box. Not the usual in box, this is the other one, hidden by the other message box, the one full of men’s penis’s and or women from Azbeckiststhan who are single and think that the picture of a flat fish with razor sharp teeth, hiding underneath the sand (My Facebook picture as it is now) is somehow sexy and they want to marry you and have 50 trillion kids in long drawn out acts of slutty sex. You might not get those sorts of messages…. Well, I also got an email from Allied Pictures incorporated who basically told me to drop the fucking Nazi Zombie stuff or we will sue you in court for copyright infringement.

When I told them that. Hey, I had never heard of your feckin movie at all, then they were even more pissed off at me and sent copies of the film to me, and then threatened to sue me more because I had illegally downloaded their film Dead Snow, Dead Snow two and Dead Snow the return, due for release in 20168.

So, I must come to you now with a bit of prologue.

I call them Nazi-zombies, not because they are Nazi’s, as these new Nazi’s don’t follow any political ideal at all. They make growling noises, tend to stick together and wear similar clothes, they mark their foreheads, to hide the fact that they have eaten their own brains, and they make no feckin sense at all.

I have never, ever sat down and had either a valuable argument or decent conversation with what I call Nazi-Zombies. Here is a good example, I was on the bus to town, just before the Referendum, next to was this weird googly eyed guy.

I said to him. “what a lovely morning.” And it was, the sun was shining, the sky blue, the trees had just bloomed into their early summer green. I Dove flew by the window, and peace descended into my heart. Moreover, I had just had an interview and felt good about myself.

My reply was: “grughhgughiughururughuehgeren=gerughhureighierehehgheueregeherehgiuregreughehgeukipugrughrugrugheregeBobFaragegrughuegegeuregeuereghiuhegeuregegeregeeuropeisshitruhghguregehehereuerererggereghege….” And so, it went on. In fact, it went on for the entire bus trip to town which is about half an hour.

When I started to nod off, the fecker nudged me awake and then said “parterre your lisssteneiggg tttoo meeee!” at which point, thankfully, the bus came to a stop and I got off. Well, I ran off to be honest.

I then looked about me. suddenly I was aware, that around me were people just like that mad fecker on the bus. Oh, not everyone to be sure, but most of the people I saw looked dead, or asleep or were growling making little or no sense at all.

To start with I put it down to it being a Monday, after all, Monday is shit for so many reasons. One being that you have to go to that p lace called work and sit down on your arse with a bunch of people who don’t like you and don’t want to talk to you because their lives are more exciting than anything else on the planet; which they are not, but that’s’ what people are like.

I worked at this shop selling phones. The customers would moan that their phones were rubbish, so I would send them next door. I don’t know why, as that was a florist; sorry wandering off again. Anyhow, this morning was difficult as everybody who came in looked the same, spoke crap and left in this sort of slow dead style shuffle. What made it worse was the only thing I could understand were there words “Bob Garage is a genius!” For those that don’t know Bob Garage set up this fake political party and spent most of his time on the telly growling zombie crap at people. That is how the disease spreads. So naturally I got into a conversation about how Bob Garage was an utter bastard; and that he would feck off at any given opportunity; they became enraged and would try to hit me or bight me.

I was fired that day for making the customers unhappy. As the new zero contract hours meant that I had to hold down about five jobs to pay the mortgage, so I thought, fine, I’ll just go to my next job… by the end of the day I was unemployed and unemployable. So, I signed on at an agency or two and they wouldn’t hire me either as I didn’t sound like this:” grurghrghrurhrgrgrhrurhrgrg” well, being a bit fed up I came home, to my wife and kids, who were not at all happy that I was unemployed, as that meant I would be at home on Facebook all day long worrying about Bob Garage taking over the country.

So, that’s why I call them Nazi Zombies, not because they are Nazi’s or Zombies, but are in fact very fecking similar and I have no other means to describe them.

So please don’t sue me Atlantic Films. Now on with Nazi-Zombies 2 the Rise of the Dump.

NaziZombies 2: The rise of the Dump

Time-lapse

Ten years has passed since the last Zombie Nazi threat was crushed. Bob Garage was no more; Begbie had resigned the reins of power to my now Ex-wife Rhiannon, who had run off with Begbie’s security officer; six years ago, I must say, that pissed me off quite a bit. After all, right under my nose that was… There’d be a call from this Brit security officer and he would say, “I must call your wife away on top secret government business, on the orders of Begbie McDonald.” “Fine” I’d say and she pop off for a week or two. Within year she left me for the fucker. I mean… the fecking cheek of it. Anyhow, I had the flat and Glan chose to stay with me until he and his lover Gina found a place of their own.

Times were tough, but there was plenty of work, I just lacked the will or the drive. The real difficult thing was entertainment. Big budget movies were no more Also there was no face-book. Moreover, no fecking torrenting so I couldn’t steal any porn. The fact was, we had been so busy with our own Nazi-zombie infestation, that we hadn’t seen what was going on in the States.

Just before the referendum of 2016, the USA was having problems with a Nazi-zombie of their own. We had Bob Garage… they had Donald Dump. Dump was the architype zombie Nazi. He’d appear and people wold go fucking mad; either killing each other; or applauding him beating up people in the streets. That or eating people for no fucking reason at all. The Police had to call order. But to be honest, it was hard to see who was the Nazi-zombie or who wasn’t when it came to the coppers there.

What made it worse for the Americans was how quickly the infection spread. The last images we had before everything went to shit over here, were huge stadiums, filled to the brim with Nazi-zombies growling and grinding and eating each other; I must say, that it was scary to watch.

Then, just as our world went belly up, all communication with the United States was lost.

Ten years passed, and there was still nothing but rumours. Letters secretly posted about huge Nazi-zombie concentration camps were heard of, but never found. Also, stories were told of places where people were either used as food, or turned into Nazi-zombies. After our success in defeating Bob Garage and his zombie Nazi’s the first British republican government got their top boffins onto any data we could get from America. However, most of it was utter rubbish. Endless re-runs of the Walton’s, where the voice of Jon Bob was changed to zombie growling. That or “I love luzi” apparently, a Nazi zombie favourite, involving some zombie eating a famous person or two. I Must admit I found the one where Luzi ate Chuck Norris quite amusing. Anyhow, it was that or images of the fucker Dump endlessly making those nasty Nazi-zombie noises from his wet fucking drooling lips.

It was easy to see why people were turning on each other. The boffins conclusion was that this strain of the STV could be more virulent than ours, However, they didn’t know. And, to be honest, since Rhiannon left me for that security fucker, I didn’t care. I was pissed off with all of them.

Then, about three months ago, I got a call from Begbie.

“Hey how’s it hanging?” he asked. I was still pissed off with his security secret service agent and told him as much.

“Aye, I am sorry, I am.” There was a sort of insincerity in Begbie’s voice. He had changed, but I expected that had to do with the power.

“Look, can I come over I have something to show you?”

“Where are you?”

“Eerum outside your front door.”

I opened the front door and there was Begbie, all armarnied up. Gone was the stubble and the thug look. Instead there was a slicked back clean shaven unrecognisable man. With a fucking Hitachi case… I mean a Hitachi case, he looked like my last parole officer: only in a new suit.

“What do you want?”

“I have something to show you.”

Reluctantly I moved aside and let him in.

Begbie came in, and sat down on my crumpled sofa. He opened his suit case and the laptop inside.

“What I must show you is top, fucking secret…got it. No blabbing to no fucker…get it!”

I nodded, as Begbie inserted the memory stick into the laptop. He pressed a couple of keys and the drive came on.

“We got this footage last week. Our spies in the states paid a heavy price for getting it out. Some… were eaten…some went through the process…” he coughed. "…We lost Angela.”

“What do you mean?”

Begbie looked down “I mean she fuckin turned. This STV has no effect! Even Space Pants had no impact! This STV has a 99% infection rate, we found only compassionate people had a small chance of avoiding infection. Watch this.”

The screen was jumpy, and then blurred. Suddenly it moved into sharp focus. It was a military training camp. Thousands and thousands of American Nazi-zombies were there, marching about; The low hum of their growling and snarling made me feel sick with fear. Suddenly the image was cut short; and Donald Dump was there. His shitty orange skin was covered with vile green lumps, his eyes were a flaming red his hair well, that was as awful as ever.

“Ghysrs skkslflhhh” said Dump.

“-They still talk utter bollocks don’t they… my fucking god- “

“-Pay fucking attention.”

“Gursrrsughshshshs” pause “guruyughstsyshhhurgh”

At that point Dump got up from behind this desk, (when I say got up, what I mean is that he sorts of did this staggering lurch like all fucking Nazi-Zombies do) and moved to the left and with mindless aggression slap-pointed to a map of Europe. Then he started slapping loads of magnets shaped like planes, planes bomb and missiles…all pointing at the UK.

“The fucker is planning an invasion!”

“Oh My fucking God!”

“We have to be ready.”

“Too fucking right, is the Channel Tunnel still working, cause I’m off to France.”

“Davey, I need you…we need you…we need the old gang once more.”

"In case you don’t know Angela is a fucking Nazi- Zombie, oh you do, you told me that! Dark Steve moved to Morocco, Rhiannon left me for your security chief of staff and Glen wants to move to Scotland with his new partner. There is no us, unless you hope to call in the Game of Thrones crew. And we all know what happened to them. They are all fuckin dead. J R R Martin… what a fuckin bastard.”

“Dark Steve, is with me… I have Jordan on a plane from Marrakesh, Rhiannon says she wants a chat with you, and I have a secret weapon. “

“Who? What?”

“Pierce Brosnan.”

“What? NOO! He’s no fucking good! Why not the other Bond? Brosnan is a feckin waste of space!”

“Oi, don’t you dare dish the Brosnan! He is with us all the way.”

I sighed. "What’s the plan?”

“To take out Dump before he invades.” We have the means to get your team to Washington DC and from there, you can break into the White House and take that Dump down. “

“So it's Buckingham Palace all over again? Need I remind you, that we had dragons helping us that time? How are we going to take that Dump out if we don’t have some sort of support? “

Begbie looked at me. I could see he was in trouble; He looked down and moody. I sighed I was about to nod, and say okay, when suddenly a strange sound filled the room. I looked up. "What the fuck is that?"

“Oh shit shit shit! Shit, we’re too late!” Begbie said, panic rose in his voice. "Come on! Now! Fucking move it!”

We both ran outside. Begbie threw me in the back of his open-door limousine; and onto Rhiannon’s lap, who told me to feck off.

“Fucking drive!” Begbie shouted.

The car revved up and sped away at a terrifying speed. Outside, the sky was filled with planes. Bombs burst all around us. I looked up. In the darkness that was slowly turning to an early fiery golden dawn, I could see planes opening and parachutes deploying. There were American Nazi-zombies falling from the sky. The Invasion of the Dump had just begun.

We set off out of London as fast as we could, though the streets and onto the motorways. Most of the trip, to a secret airbase somewhere in Surrey was quiet and awkward. Rhiannon sat with her arms crossed defiantly looking down. Begbie kept Welsh ragging his waxed hair and attempting to make small talk, which I on the whole I ignored. I was on edge. It wasn’t simply the fact that American Nazi-zombies were falling form the sky and taking over the UK. It was the fact that I hadn’t seen either of the two girls since Rhiannon had ran off with the security guard and my life had spiraled into a spiral of ugly self-loathing and regret.

I kept opening my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. While the Driver, whose face I couldn’t see was swerving all over the road, between broken cars and overturned lorries with superb skill, that was simply stunning. For a while I thought we had the Stig at the wheel.

“Not long now” muttered Begbie. The car drove up a narrow winding road, barely big enough for the car. We entered a clearing and drove up to an aerodrome. The car skidded to a halt Begbie was the first out, then me then Rhiannon. The trees on the horizon were speckled black against a golden line along a flat horizon and a clear blue sky above. The dawn chorus sang gently. It was a cool morning, bit not crisp, the previous night could have been a nightmare.

The driver got out and the secret service bloke who shagged my ex was standing there.

“You! Feck! Begbie why you bring this cunt along!”

“It’s not what you think” Begbie looked away.

But then the sky was filled with the noise of an approaching plane. It landed by the aerodrome. The plan span and the door opened.

“Come on, for fucks sake, we aren’t safe yet.”

“Where are we going?”

“Beyond the wall.”

“What? It’s full of dead blue zombies and fecking giants and- “

“Not Westeros! Your dumb fuck! Scotland!”

We bundled into the plane. There sat Dark Steve and Jordan, who was already high. The THC in the plane melted the nose off my face.

“Good morning!” came the dry Scottish accent from the pilot. I recognised it straight away. Pierce Brosnan was taking us to Scotland.

“-So you did get him.”

“-Don’t knock the Bros!” Begbie commanded as the plane circled and took to the sky once more.

I turned to Rhiannon “so where are the girls?”

“With my parents.”

“I see, I see… that’s so you, aren’t it!”

“Well you were never there being you! Zombie Nazi this, Zombie Nazi that, meanwhile the girls couldn’t bond. You took that picture of that fecking number plate what was it now? MErrrr and shouted Zombie Nazi at the top of yer voice!”

“HE WAS A ZOMBIE NAZI!”

“NO HE WASN’T! HE HAD A FUCKING STUTTER!”

“GUYS FOR FUCKS SAKE PACK IT IN!” Begbie bellowed as he took Rhiannon’s hand."

Then it hit me.

“So it was you two after all… Begbie…for Christ sake! For Christ sake! How many beers? How many times did I call you! Shit you make Gove look like a feckin’ saint!”

I felt betrayed and wounded. The security guard was one thing, I didn’t know that cunt, but not my best mate I felt bitterly enraged and wanted to get out of this situation right now.

“We didn’t want this to happen.” Rhiannon looked down.

I shook my head.

“The things I tried to do for you, the kids, everyone!”

“Teah” Dark Steve said.

“-We should be landing at Scapa Flow in about an hour and a half” Brosnan said over the intercom. Meanwhile, the TVs came on on the back of the seats and images of Parachuting American Zombie Nazi’s were cut short by what resembled Sarah Palin in some sort of military uniform. She was growling zombie into a loud speaker, while in the background all that could be heard were the growls of murmurs of out of screen Zombies. Then the scene went back to London. The streets were being cleansed. Zombies armed with automatic weapons were walking in lines cutting down the citizens as they ran, then injecting the dying with something.

“What are they doing?”

“We don’t know…” began Jordan. “…We think it’s some sort of American Nazi-zombification drug. They don’t give it to all the victims. We also haven’t got any to find out what it contains….”

“…American Nazi- Zombies like their guns.”

“We managed to catch one at our Scapa flow base….” Begbie took over “…We need to figure out how to kill it.”

“-What about transmission?” I was tired. But I needed to get images of my ex-wife and Begbie shagging from my mind.

“-So far, we haven’t been affected. I mean the fucker isn’t high ranking. He just says Dump, Dump, Dump a lot… If we subject it to images of Dump, he stands at attention… just rock solid. If we show it pictures of Obama it goes into a rage. We dare not use a Sanders speech…it might be difficult to contain.”

I wasn’t listening, or at least pretending not to, which would be more accurate. “-We also might have immunity, because of the first influx of the virus.” I was thinking aloud.

Begbie nodded. “-We’ve been thinking that. We examined it under very difficult conditions and found that its brain had not been eaten; it had, in fact imploded, and somehow…we…we found encrusted brain tissue within the ear."

“Jesus.”

“Yeah… Dump is the catalyst. We know if we take Dump out, then we can stop this hoard.”

I stroked my stubble.

“-The bastard will come here.” Rhiannon injected

“Yeah…” I began “…his fucking golf course.”

I felt the plane slowly begin to descend and looked out of the window.

“We will be landing at Kirkbride naval base soon” began Brosnan.

And then another truth dawned on me.

“I know why you like Brosnan. It was that bond film… 'The world is not enough!' "

Begbie looked down.

“Yeah, you were good in that. Fuckin ace in-fact. Though Sean Bean does die well.”

“Sean Bean always dies. But not like me!”

“Sorry.” I muttered.

Zombie Nazis Part 3: the landing at the airbase

The plane landed at the naval base airfield with ease and we alighted and ran towards one of the many buildings. The place was hive of activity. Soldiers and sailors running about, sirens blasting, mayhem, simply mayhem. We entered one of the large office type buildings. Begbie showed his clearance card and the sailor moved to the side, then the six of us entered a lift and descended five floors.

The doors opened to a low ceilinged poorly lit rectangular room; that had at its centre a group of police and army types sitting in deep discussion around a table. We walked towards the table.

“Good morning gentlemen…” came the long drawn out welcome.

I looked around the room, unable to see clearly who it was that was talking to us. I centred on the small screened television that rested on the table.

I stared at it with mixed feelings that riddle me to this day.

Bagpuss sat there, staring out at me; no, I kid you not, there was feckin’ bagpuss, all red and white and baggy, that saggy cloth cat looking at us.

“I am pleased you got here safely.”

“What the fuck is Bagpuss doing here?”

“He’s the new weapon of the resistance. Since the last Nazi-zombie infestation, I felt that we needed someone or something, an AI that our generation could relate to; so, with help, of course we invented a computer hybrid AI program… together with our Eastern European Confederation allies and we came up with- “

“-Fuckin Bagpuss?”

“You would be surprised how many people resonate with him from our generation…” began Begbie “… Originally we thought of Yaffle, but being a teacher, we felt that he might not have the same impact upon our generation…”

“You're, you're feckin mad you know that?”

“I heeaarrd thaaat…” Bagpuss said

“…. But being an AI with…”

“-Feckin hell…”

“…An Ai tuned into the Dump soundwave we can- “

“-I loved that show! We can build, It we can mend it, We can fix it, We can wash it like new, new. new!”

“Heeley pay attention!” Bagpuss interrupted.

“Listen mate, Bagpuss can hear all that Nazi-zombie, braindead waffle; and turn it into sounds we can understand. We have, in Bagpuss, our own enigma machine.”

“- But you need a conduit.”

“Yep and we have one….” Began Rhiannon. "We caught a deep infiltration Nazi-zombie operative the other week, prior to yesterday’s invasion, that was how we know they were planning to invade. What we didn’t know was when.”

I looked around the table, wondering who the fuck these soldiers were.

“Don’t worry about those guys yet; the big surprise is the conduit, come with me."

Jordan Dark Steve and I followed Rhiannon and Begbie into a side room. In the middle of the room lit up with white halogen bulbs was a plexi-glass box, within the box stood …

“Arnold Swarzenegger”

“We call it the infiltrator.”

“-I bet you do.”

“Look, this is serious…the Nazi zombies are real, Dump is real! We have to stop this!”

“Yeah the Infiltrator…Poor bastard.”

“He was a republican. And Californian mayor…we think, he was in fact a Nazi-zombie for decades and on Dump’s payroll as far back as the 80’s… have you listened to what Swarzenneger says backwards in the Terminator? You should.”

The nazi-zombiefied Swarzenegger stared out at us, though his dead red flaming eyes.

It kept saying “Dump…Duuuump Duuummmp” repeatedly. Its face was pale and the skin drawn tight round the nose. Its hair was white. I could see crusty grey brain matter around his ears.

“It seems that the infiltrator has links directly to Dump, so it can communicate. Bagpuss has walled up the send signal but we can still receive information from Dump and all chief Nazi-zombies across the UK… We know that there is a plan and it’s got something to do with his Golf club.

“Well I said that.” I snapped.

“Yes, but it’s about proof. What if we had all gone there and he didn’t show."

“It’s Donald Dump, it’s been a Nazi-zombie from birth of course it’s predictable.”

“I loved the Terminator” said dark Steve.

We all turned to Dark Steve. There was a long pause before Begbie said “Shut up Dark Steve.”

We returned to the other room and met the officials gathered there.

There was Major Major, Chief Constable Bastard, General Fosworth Admiral Seaworthy as Fuck and Chief Air Marshall Tally, Bally Hoe.

They all sat at the table looking up at us.

“So Chief Constable Bastard, what is these police on the ground like?”

“I can confirm that I am in touch with most of the forces of the North of England."

“-Is that your real name? Bastard?”

“Yes, I come from a long line of Bastards there has been a bastard in her majesty's police force since the time of its inception.”

“That I don’t deny.”

“Major Major, and General Fosworth w-what is the status of the Army? “

“We have five battalions here ready for deployment. However, we are waiting for Admiral Seaworthy as Fuck to get his ships ready.”

“-I can’t…" injected Admiral Seaworthy as Fuck, “I simply can’t…there’s no time. Besides Dodgy Dave the Piggy of Westeros sold our Fleet to India. We have one ship…Boaty McBoatface…. So, to get the troops across the-”

“-Look stop now, just fucking stop! Boaty Mcfucking Boatface? I liked the Chief Constable Bastard, but bringing fucking Boaty along is simply not on. It’s not funny and it does not work.”

“It’s the only line I have.” Said Seaworthy as Fuck.

Begbie stared at me.

“Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you having one of those episodes again?”

“Piss off.”

“We’ll use the submarines, get what we can of the fleet together. Good work Gentlemen.”

We left the room I was wondering why I was there, as Begbie, muttered something under his breath and about artistic licence under his breath.

The Plan is sort of made but then….

It didn’t take long for Begbie and I to come to some sort of plan. Well, saying that it did. A bit. Mainly because I was still pissed off with him shagging my ex-wife, which you must understand must be expected. Via the infiltrator we had found out that the Dump was going to be in Aberdeen in the next week. It didn’t take us long to see why. It was where he built his golf course. At the time, many thought it bizarre; after all, who builds a golf course outside Aberdeen, the winds alone there are awful for ball direction. Even looking at the website, the words made no sense… but then again, he was a Nazi-zombie so, we didn’t expect much.

Begbie had already sent over a few surveillance drones over the links to get a lay of the lad so to speak…It was crap…many top golfers refused to go there when it opened. In fact, only zombie-Nazi’s like the infiltrator and Stallone the bone cruncher were ever seen there; and not playing much golf. Just wandering about in typical Nazi-zombie fashion shouting a lot of unintelligible nonsense; so Begbie wondered what the real motive was behind the links. There was something in the wording of his introduction “links land” that bothered the both of us. Then it made sense. This invasion by the Dump had been planned for years. Post the Nazi-zombie collapse here in the UK; it was clear that Dumps plans to invade Europe with his own brand of the Nazi-zombie virus had been put on hold. However, what was bothering were the growing accounts of missing Aberdonians lost for no real reason since the Nazi-zombies were pulled back. In fact, in the last few months Aberdeen had become a deserted city. Its streets empty of life and brevity. The trouble was though, no one noticed until it was too late.

‘We are picking up some weird electromagnetic readings coming from the links…’ began Jordan in a mist of weed smoke; ‘I mean weird…look.’

We all stared into the monitor screen and noticed the compass was not reading true north.

‘The heat levels are unusual too.’ Begbie muttered, ‘Do we know what’s causing that?’

‘Well, it could be due to the microclimate.’

‘We are talking about Aberdeen here…’ Rhiannon sighed

The Camera picked out a couple of Nazi zombies wandering about.

‘Close up?’

The screen zoomed in. These were not atypical Nazi-zombies, they had orange skin and toupee’s, their clothing was crass even for golfer’s …but they seemed to be pretending to take golf strokes without using any form of club. This was very weird.

‘I think this is Dumps advanced guards. At one time, they might have been CIA or FBI officers… now they just wander about trying to fit in.’ Rhiannon said between puffs of her cigarette.

‘If the advanced guard is on the links then perhaps, we can assume tha- ‘

But ‘I was cut short; as Dump appeared, holding the hand of…

‘He has Angela. The bastard has Angela, what is he doing.’

He lifted their hands up.

‘You mean Angela and Dump are?’

I didn’t want to think about it. Angela being fondled by that fucking Nazi-zombie made my skin crawl.

‘So this is what we do!’ Begbie took command

‘We get on that fucking golf course; we get Angela back and we kill that fucker Dump before he turns the rest of the UK into his own fucking private hotel and golf club. The army are on our side. We also have Brosnan.’

‘Why is he so important?’

‘He just fucking is! OKAY!’

Suddenly sirens screamed and an intercom message came though.

‘Hostiles we have hostiles! Coming in low.’

We turned on the outside surveillance camera’s

The sky was filled with helicopters.

‘My god it’s like apocalypse now!’

‘Air mobile! Come on, we have to move!’ Begbie yelled and the group of us re-entered the main hall, and followed the chiefs of staff up to ground level. We ran onto the airfield and saw our soldiers and sailors take up perimeters

There was the sound of helicopters, and more. There was a sound of someone talking Nazi-zombie.

‘The bastards are coming out of the rising sun, with the south Westerly wind the virus, is spreading come on guys.’ We ran ton take cover, shoving in cotton wool into ours ears as quickly as possible Many of our men who were not quick enough became Nazi-zombies immediately; I saw Chief Inspector Bastard’s brains, explode from his ears, that left streaks of gore and matted brain tissue all over the ground. I staved him in the chest, and avoided the flames, just as Rear Admiral Seaworthy as Fuck screamed. I turned just to see him bend double in pain, grabbing hold of his ears. There was sudden slurping popping sound as his brains slipped over his fingers.

‘O fuck me!’ I screamed as Dark Steve staved him in the chest.

Then the bombs began to fall. Yellow flame lit up the horizon as the helicopters span in low shouting out Nazi zombie Dump slogans before dropping bombs. We fought our way to the far side of the perimeter fence and the waiting car that would take us to Aberdeen.

I got inside.

‘You know where to go! Shouted Begbie as the car sped away. Only then did in realise that it was Pierce Brosnan.

‘Why are you here.’

‘It’s a secret.’

‘Oh yeah, that’ fine coming from the man who played the worst secret agent in history. I mean James Bond, say the name and you know what’s going to happen next. ‘

‘Oh, that’s not fair; Roger Moore, really was far worse than I. Especially in the later films such as Moonraker.’

‘Aye, but to be fair, when they stuck to the texts, such as the man with the golden gun, he was better. Especially than that Lazenby film or Timothy Dalton- ‘

‘Fer fucks sake, just drive we got to get to the links before Dump leaves.

With a wry smile Brosnan put his foot to the floor, as the VW, campervan for that was what we were bundled, chugged off along the narrow winding road and towards Aberdeen.

Aberdeen.

The trip in the campervan was difficult. I kept wanting to ask Brosnan about his career, while Begbie was getting annoyed that we were not going fast enough. It also didn’t help that Jordan was on his fifth joint and the van was filled with THC… it became clear that the drive was not going to be an easy one. Fortunately, the roads were clear, so we made good time to Aberdeen.

Aberdeen… it sounds scary on the tongue. A strange place, alien and scary. The weirdest thing about the city was its desolation. Now Aberdeen was never known for hits night life; a fish and chip shop that sold the battered Mars bar and a wine bar were the main attractions even before the first Nazi zombie invasion. Now… it was even more desolate than before. Not even the birds sang as we made our way up to the ‘bridge of Dom’ that had been renamed the Bridge of doom, in wild graffiti letters. I know, there are the pedantic out there, saying why are you crossing the Bridge of Dom, your just after a cheap laugh and are out to take the piss out of Aberdeen. That Is very unfair and untrue. The fact is we got lost, that’s because we all got stoned, on Jordan’s weed; so Brosnan spent a good half hour raiding the desolate shops for crisps and munchie food. That meant we went around the whole of the bloody city just trying to find a way to the fucking golf course. What was weird were all the posters of Dump’s ex-wife promoting social values.

There was a poster of her dead eyed Nazi-zombie face all along the A 90.

“I have a dream” said one poster.

‘Hey didn’t Martin Luther king say that?’

‘Unofficially, yes…’ Began Jordan. ‘But… per the Dump book of history, now being taught at every school in America, it is Dump’s wife. In fact, she has been recorded as saying every positive thing that mankind has ever said.'

‘Give me your poor and your huddled masses, she said that!’

‘No she didn’t! that’s what was once written on the Statue of liberty, until Dump had spray painted Fuck off you immigrants. Followed by “my Great Grandfather was a Scot, my grandfather was a Scot so I am a Scot too, so feck off yer twats unless you got money!”

‘Well what she actually said was “Gove Mei yaor Pooor an’ hudd’s in the Mass’ an I wiiil louvre yoau” which could also mean if you find any hudd’s in Massachusetts, then you will get a blow job.’

‘What the fuck is a hud?’

‘I don-no!' began Begbie. ‘I think the world’s goon’ fucking arse up if you ask me.'

‘She hasn’t said that yet.' muttered Dark Steve. We all stared at Dark Steve, whose face was hidden under his black hoodie, wafts of THC smoke bellowed from the hood.

‘You gotta remember…’ he spoke laconically ‘…that she is a Slovenian immigrant with a thick accent, who plagiarises just about everyone, especially coloured women, and is ravenously sheered in the stadiums full of pasty faced fucking zombie Nazi’s who think that coloured people and immigrants are destroying the world. ‘

‘That’s profound Dark Steve.’ I said with awe.

‘Yeah… I nicked it from Facebook.’

We drove past another poster with her on. This time the words 'blessed are the rich for they pay enough to enter the kingdom of heaven.’

‘Is she parodying Jesus now? Is nothing sacred?’

‘No parody there mate: pure Nazi-zombie Dumpism.'

The fact that I could read it all bothered me… It meant that I was infected. I think the THC helped to stem the infection to a lesser degree…

‘You have to understand; this virus is contagious. It starts with one sad old fifty-year-old muttering about the, the price of fish and becomes open warfare about immigration and the why the immigrants are the problem the next.’

Aberdeen was a shit hole. Even the chip shops were closed. We passed a looted Asda that had posters promoting Dumps’ his golf links all over it.

‘Jesus. You’d think that people would have caught on.’

‘Hey you have to understand,’ Began Begbie ‘that everything that made the west tick once came out of Aberdeen. Oil, linen Sky satellite TV call centres… all from here… then the oil dried up, the sky broke and the linen came from Pakistan…so they turned to Dump.

‘Not long now.’ Muttered Brosnan, who pulled the VW up close to a large extremely high barbed wire fence. Beyond that stood a thick line of trees. A pale light could be seen in a repeated pattern Branches were picked out in white before night returned once more.

We all got out of the campervan. well, when I say, “got out” we sort of mumbled and stretched our legs a bit.

‘This is the perimeter fence of the Links, beyond this barbed wire and the trees are search lights and the largest gathering of American Nazi Zombies this side of the Atlantic. It’s not going to be easy. But if we pick our targets well, we might get to the wolf’s lair before the dawn rises…. ok Brosnan, you know what to do.

‘Wolfs Lair?’ I looked at Begbie sardonically.

‘My code word for it.’

With a swift wave of his hand Brosnan disappeared along the side of the fence and into the gloom.

‘Where the fuck is he going?’

‘That’s classified.’ Said Begbie, who began looking along the fence with a shielded torch. After about five minutes he gave a sigh of relief.

‘Dark Steve! Jordan. Here.'

Rhiannon and I watched as Dark Steve took off his backpack and removed a small laptop. Within a second or two of typing in some command’s both Jordan and Dark Steve said ok.

With a wry grin on his face, Begbie started cutting the fence.

While I began wondering what on earth was Pearce Brosnan doing with us at all.

The Links part 1

As an aside, I must say right now, that I fucking hate golf. I come from a long line of golfing haters, from Oscar Wilde who called the pass-time, the “ruin of a long walk” to Jaspar Carrot who equated the ball followers on BBC T.V to world war two searchlight operatives… “Where is the ball??? Is it to the right? Is it to the left…we seem to have lost it in the sky…”

Why people must hit a ball with a stick to get the bloody thing in a hole, when all they must do is drop it in while carrying it in their pocket defies belief. How this bizarre past-time began is also obscure, rooted in myth and ancient legend; Most people consider that “early golf” began in the Netherlands during the middle ages. No doubt some vile aristocrat thought that aiming a ball at a poor person’s head while they were running away was “Jolly Good Sport eh?”

“Modern Golf” is considered as a Scottish invention; the first documented “game” being mentioned in the Scottish parliament is recorded in 1457, where King James the 1st, no doubt realising the dangers of the “sport” promptly banned it with immediate effect. But that never stopped the vile game from spreading. Many now conclude that the birth of the zombie-Nazi virus can be directly related to Golf, as uncontrolled thought’s that relate to bigoted ideas, spread easy when a person is distracted by hitting a ball into the air.

Moreover, there is a fascinating correlation between golf and periods of extreme poverty. By the 1920’s in the states alone, there were more 1,100 “clubs” across America, however ww2 and the end of the first Nazi zombie hoard killed off the game; despite that, like a sleeping dragon, it came back to popularity in the post war and the post-modern era.

What Golf does, is that it takes huge amounts of land that were open to people to walk on and basically enjoy and turn them into secret underground headquarters’ for Nazi-zombies. Up go the fences. Man, in bizarre uniforms and poor taste in slacks, roam about shouting “urheghegehereheghearghsgsrghhharrrgh” which is Nazi zombie for “fuck off or you will be eaten.”

The club houses themselves are named after famous Nazi-zombies in history, who enjoyed being bigoted arseholes right up to the end. St Andrew’s being one. They were also very misogynistic. At one time, only men who could roll up their left trouser leg above the knee and quote form the Nazi Zombie bible “gurreghehegreregeiehegeghhh” could enter. This changed as the male members realised that their wives were as indoctrinated as their husbands when it came to this bizarre pass-time.

Dump knew this of course, which was why it established the Dump’s links, a place noted for its natural beauty and personal scientific interest was then basically wrecked, re-organised and fenced off from the rest of us and turned into lawns with sandpits; where stumbling Nazi-zombies wander about in some mindless fashion protecting the surface from the secret terrors that slither and writhe, like hideous lingering worms, under the surface; something that we found out to our cost.

Getting though the perimeter fence was tough, but not as tough as sneaking through the wooded “rough” (and there is another thing, why call the area off the course rough? Its NATURE, in all her glory, not some lawn for Je-us sake) the place was chocked with the hoard. Red eyes glared from along the patches of mowed grass, searchlights filled the sky and scoured the tree while the Nazi zombie hoard all murmuring “Dump…Dump…Dump…” is some sort of rhythmic chant added both to the surreal nature of what was happening and the horrifying realities of what would happen if one of us was caught by the zombie Nazi hoard… For one I kept thinking about how the dragons from Westeros came in out hour of need. This time I knew that we were on our own. I could feel my heart thump heavily in my chest; while we made sort of bird calling noises to keep the hoard from finding us.

Then it happened. Again, helicopters filled the sky. I was terrified thinking that this was the bunch from the naval base. But it wasn’t. For I saw Begbie stand up and say

‘Good on yer Brosnan’

Suddenly the sky was filled with hundreds of ninja warriors, who fell from long ropes down into the Nazi zombie hoard. Guns rattled off in exchange as the Nazi zombies began to slowly fall to the ground, their heads popping like melons, their bodies being engulfed in flames. Brosnan, holding a flame thrower made his way to our position.

He turned as burned off two Nazi-zombies who were coming after him.

‘I’d knew you’d not let me down.’ Said Begbie, slapping Brosnan on the back.

‘Well, once a bond, always a bond; and besides Connery said never, ever, ever again.’

We fought our way to the club house killing the hoard around us, our Ninja warriors fighting by our side. We made it to the club house, we had almost reached the rear entrance when all a sudden upon the balcony of the building, Dump appeared. Having picked up a weapon I raised it and took a shot. It bounced off. A protective dome surrounded the building.

‘It’s his ego defence mechanism.’ Shouted Rhiannon, over the shouts and the screams of the battle. ‘How are we ever going to break that?’ Then all of a sudden, there was a strange guttural quaking sound. We all looked at dark Steve, who said nothing. Then we knew it was the ground. The middle of the links course slowly descended and out of the pit came a weapon that we feared would seal our fate. A life-sized replica of Dumps ex-wife… over fifty feet tall, using the most lethal weapon in the Nazi zombie armoury…the cliché

The Links part 2

If there is one thing worse than Cogon poetry, it is the Robotic cliché. This weapon devised out of semiotics; led to something humanity had never expected. A weapon of devastating proportions. Whole cites were laid waste by this devastating literature device. Men, women and children would turn on each other as phrases’ like “tip of the iceberg” boomed out of enormous speakers to shatter limb’s, crush organs and sever arteries. It was the united nations who, just after the first use of the weapon declared the use of robotic cliché illegal and a weapon of mass destruction. However, that didn’t stop Dump from stockpiling them. What we didn’t know that on every one of Dumps courses all around the world the giant replica robots of Dumps wife were coming out of the ground and beginning an act of genocide never seen in the earth before.

This was because Dump had specifically chosen each site for his links specifically for the transmission of cliché all over the world; thus, causing a vibrational tonal effect, thus destabilising the magnetic field and in turn destroying the planet. All of which was done to make way for Trumps new hotel complexes on Mars and the moon. This we found out a little later.

As the robot rose form the links, I felt that the end had come. How could we break through the ego Dome and the Cliché’ monster, on a golf course filled with Nazi zombies?

Of course, Brosnan and the Ninja’s were helping, but I felt that at that time there could be no hope at all.

With a ferocity, I had never seen before, the sky above the links began to fill with rolling clouds, that that twisted and spiralled, as the cliché robot began to speak.

“Live and learn” the robot bellowed from its mouth. Lightening began to fill the sky and hit the ego dome, within which, Dump stood waving like some deluded lunatic.

‘Avoid like the plague’ Bellowed the robot taking out fifty ninja that were climbing the robot at the time. The cloud cover became heavy and a rising wind began to twist the trees.

‘Age before beauty’ the Robot boomed and the wind began to howl. Lighting ripped the sky and finally burst through the ego dome.

We then charged into the club house taking out three of the Dump guards with our weapons, who burst into flame.

‘Alive and kicking’ boomed the robot again just as we managed to cover our ears, as Begbie kicked in the glass window that led to the hallway of the club house.

From the relative safety of inside the club house we would see how will the sky had become. Dark rolling clouds broiled overhead; while along the course and into the middle-distance trees were cracking wildly and being uprooted then thrown like children’s toys across a room.

‘What the fuck is going on?’

‘It’s the fucking end of the world!’

Rhiannon got to her knees, her wide eyes were filled with fear.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and Dump staggered in. His eyes a grey flame.

‘YOU THINK THAT YOU COULD STOP ME? NO ONE CAN STOP ME! IM KING OF THE WORLD! BOW DOWN AND WORSHIP YOUR GOD!’

‘YOUR NO GOD!’ bellowed Begbie, ‘YOU’RE A CHEAP TRICK! A CON! A JOKE! YOU ONLY GOT INTO POWER BECAUSE YOU BRIBED YOUR WAY IN!’

‘YOU CAN’T PROVE THAT!’ snarled Dump who fired an electricity bolt from his hand. Hitting Begbie full in the chest and sending him flying across the room.

‘BEGBIE!’ Rhiannon and I screamed and ran to him; as Dump slowly walked forward greed hate and determination written all over his grey flaky face. Jordan took a couple of shots and was then lifted into the air while Dark Steve fled the room.

We knelt by Begbie and tried to comfort him. There was huge blackened scar on his chest. I could see that he was barely breathing.

We called his name and held him as Dump laughed menacingly.

We could feel his fettered breath as he made is way towards us.

Then a bright light filled the room. Almost blinding us. Then followed something we didn’t expect.

It was the beginning of the French national anthem. Begbie looked up at me, with tired pain riddled, yet hope filled eyes. ‘is it? Could it be?’

Then followed the song:

‘Love, love love!’

Dump screamed and howled in pain as the roof of the club house began to snap, crack, twist and crumble into dust, to spiral upwards into the light.

‘There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done, there’s nothing you can’t sing that can’t be sung, nothing you can say but your ca learns how to play the game, it’s easy…’

Outside the zombie-Nazi’s began to violently shake and fall to the ground, while Dumps’ secret service agents burst into flames. While Dump screamed, unable to move.

‘Nothing that you can make that can’t be made, no one that you can save that can’t be saved, nothing you can do, but to learn how to be you in time, it’s easy….’

The wind stopped blowing and the song filled the air.

‘All you need is love’ the Nazi-zombies began bursting up around the ground. ‘All you need is love’ Their bodies quaked lifted and exploded ‘all you need is love, ‘then many of them caught fire as the cliché robot exploded. ‘love love love is all you need.'

Many of the black robed ninjas began dancing as the song continued into its instrumental break continued.

Dark Steve suddenly came in to the wrecked building with Brosnan; and Dump, who couldn’t move but simply kept shouting hate, was weakening his hold on Jordan. Finally, with a gasp Jordan was free and ran to help us get Begbie outside as the song reached its second verse, the club house had dissolved leaving Dump alone and surrounded by an impenetrable glowing force-field.

The song became louder filling the sky ‘Nothing you can know that isn’t known, nothing you can’t see that isn’t shown. Nowhere you can be that isn’t where your meant to be…it’s easy.’

‘All you need is love, all you need is love, all you need is love love, love is all you need. ‘what was left of the Nazi-zombies were being driven towards the flaming broken robot in the centre of the links; who then began to throw themselves into the flames

‘All you need is lobe (altogether now) all you need is love (everybody) all you need is love, love, love is all you need. And at this point the clouds around the bright light above began to spin slowly as Love is all you need began to be sung faster and faster. Dump screamed and held his head as the dome around him burst. He screamed in bestial fury as the words reached their pinnacle. He pushed his hands over his face as he was lifted.

Then out of the light came, John Lennon dressed in a yellow T-shirt, dark stripped trousers and a corduroy jacked and next to him came George Harrison, in a Denim jacket shirt and jeans.

‘Well I’ll be f-' I started to say

‘-Now now.’ Said George.

‘-But you are. So heaven is real?’

Lennon looked at Harrison and they both giggled.

‘Nah, but there’s something going on back here and it’s a laugh…he coughed ‘but when we saw what was going on, on earth, we had to do something...so we thought we’d put a stop to it. Aint that right George.’

‘Sure is John.’

Lennon and Harrison looked at dump as he bellowed from inside his sphere.

‘Nazi-zombies are easy to get rid of.’ Lennon quipped ‘If you break their ego, they soon crash to the floor and dissolve.’

With that Lennon pulled a pin out from inside his brown corduroy jacket. Dump looked at the pin in terror. Lennon pushed the pin into the bubble. It burst, and with that Dump began to slowly dissolve into a wriggling, slithering worm onto the lawn of the links.

From out of his Denim Jacket, George pulled out a small vial and a pair of tweezers

‘Careful now George, don’t let- ‘

‘-Ahh don’t you go on so.’

Carefully George picked up the little worm; put it in the vial and sealed it with a cork bung.

They both sighed.

‘Is that it?

‘Yep.’

‘No more Nazi zombies?’

‘All over.’

I knelt beside Begbie. I told him that it was over, that finally it was all over. But Begbie couldn’t hear me. His eyes were glazed.

I looked back to Lennon and Harrison and saw Begbie with them.

‘It’s up to you now kiddo,’ Begbie said as they all went up into the spiralling clouds together, as the final words of love is all you need she loves you yeah, yeah, yeah, dwindled into the night.

Rhiannon, Jordan, Dark Steve, Broson, a couple of hundred Ninja and I were left in the near dark standing in a broken golf links by the flames of the rotting corpses of Nazi zombies.

‘That bastard Begbie… he always gets’ the better death scene.’ Muttered Brosnan. We looked at each other, then gagged on the smell of decomposing flesh.

Six months have passed since the fight at the links. Most of it feels like a surreal dream; yet the world feels like a better place now. Occasionally Begbie comes into my dreams; usually to ask how Rhiannon is.

I look at her picture in the paper. She is running for Prime minister now and her new husband is, yes Brosnan… well…I can’t complain, not everyone can say that they have an ex-James Bond as a step in law can they?

(C) ADH 2017