How mental would a war with Spain be?

The calm before the storm.

The calm before the storm.

With all this guff about a war with Spain in defence of Gibraltar we got to thinking: What would happen? How would it play out?

We’ve concluded that such an event would be an absolute farce. Probably beginning with:

Theresa May ordering a seaborne invasion of Spain with a ‘Task Force’ comprising of an aircraft carrier with no planes. The Spanish President responds by appealing for volunteer fighters, but the appeal falls on deaf ears as the only Spaniards with any interest in coming to the cold damp UK are already here working in bars and restaurants. The rest like their sunshine, their senoritas and their La Liga and can’t be arsed.

Arron Banks funds a home defence unit and appoints Nigel Farage Captain of the Walmington on Sea platoon.

Theresa May makes plans for a bowling game with Donald Trump at Plymouth Hoe on D-Day2.0 and promises to wear ‘fuck me’ shoes and test the weight of Trump’s bowls.

In the meantime while the Spanish are watching El Clasico between Real Madrid and Barcelona at the Bernabeu and lobbing pig heads onto the playing area, Britain launches a sneaky full on naval assault in a pincer movement, targeting the Northern port of Bilbao and the Med city of Barcelona.

In London, Spanish waiters retaliate by masturbating into the carbonara sauce of Conservative and UKIP voters.

The Royal Marines land on the beaches near Bilbao but the locals just laugh, befriend them and buy them Margaritas. The assault stalls as three Marine battalions are pinned down on the beach drinking and singing Julio Iglesias songs deep into the night. Fireworks are let off by the locals. Initial concern by the Marines is not in evidence.

“They’re just fireworks,” one says. “Best war I’ve ever been in. Apparently the lassie in the flamenco costume wants to take me for a paella. Wah hey! Get in!”

The Spanish President interrupts all media broadcasting to announce that Neymar’s third goal was a blatant handball after Barcelona’s 6-5 win at the Bernabeu and slams the Brazilian for being a “dirty cheating hijo de puta.” (Son of a bitch.)

Boris Johnson likewise interrupts all UK public broadcasting to complain that the Spanish aren’t taking this seriously.

The Spanish President responds by saying: “How can anybody take a gringo oaf like you seriously? You mop-headed Bullingdon Club muppet?”

Nigel Farage deserts the Walmington on Sea platoon and in defiance of orders commandeers a Piper Comanche light aircraft, which he proceeds to fly to somewhere near Berlin in order to beg for Angela Merkel to intervene and call for a halt to hostilities.

Theresa May would probably get very shouty and sweary.

Theresa May would probably get very shouty and sweary.

The SAS storm the beaches at Barcelona but it’s too hot so they doff their uniforms and make camp. Before long they’re approached by hordes of weed dealers, prostitutes, human statues, jugglers and beggars. They all get stoned while they wait for orders. To keep the troops hydrated a convoy of waiters in tuxedos serve our boys absinthe and cocktails and tell the troops they’ll have to up sticks and move if they aren’t dining or have a pre-booked reservation.

One irate SAS officer on Barcelona beach threatens to shoot a particularly aggressive waiter in the head over a tipping argument but the face off is defused by a passing taxi driver who takes the SAS man twelve metres further down the beach for 20 Euro.

UKIP leader Paul Nuttall announces that he’s been awarded the Victoria Cross for storming and holding single handedly an ice cream van on Las Ramblas as he penetrated enemy lines. Strangely the Twitter message bearing the announcement was posted from an IP address in Birkenhead.

Nigel Farage cocks up on the map reading and instead of landing in north-eastern Germany actually parachutes into North Korea. He is picked up by Kim Jong Un’s security forces and taken to Sandow Prison where he is interrogated by North Korean agents. Farage offers to treat Kim Jong Un to a black forest gateau, a bottle of Grouse and a bag of Walker’s crisps by way of a bribe. Jong Un refuses.

Angela Merkel tells Britain to stop being stupid. Douglas Carswell announces that he can’t take it any more and he’s moving to North Korea. ISIS release a video stating that they’re totally confused by the whole situation and can’t make head nor tail of it.

Donald Trump flies into Heathrow on Air Force 1 and tells everybody to calm down. “Just calm down,” he says. “Calm down. Right down. All the way down. Get Zen. Do it bigly. Chill the fuck out,” as he waves his tiny hands in soothing gestures.

Vladimir Putin calls Trump a “yellow bellied bastard” on Russian state TV. According to Trump’s spray-tanning technician and chief advisors there isn’t really any point arguing with that, so Trump lets it go. For now… He later calls Putin a “gay Russki poisoner” on Twitter but subsequently announces that his Twitter account has been hacked by a mysterious man in a hat in Manhattan.

Theresa May is absolutely gutted when a glamour photographer – mistaking her for an aspiring model – says that he wouldn’t waste valuable film on her. She retreats to Downing Street and kicks Geoffrey Hammond’s cat on the way in, sparking cries of outrage from animal activists. She will go on to call a halt to hostilities, recall the troops from Spain and cry herself to sleep.

Patriotic UKIP supporters would probably be cheering our boys on from the safety of their own living rooms.

Patriotic UKIP supporters would probably be cheering our boys on from the safety of their own living rooms.

In an effort to secure Nigel Farage’s release, intrepid Mail reporter Katie Hopkins jets out to Pyongyang but turns back at the airport after discovering that North Korea is chock full of “smelly yellow low rent people.” She is violently sick on the return flight and an emergency landing in order to secure medical attention for the withered hack is only averted when Ms Hopkins reads a comment on Express online where somebody calling himself “RockHardJohnson” from Bromsgrove wrote: “She’s a bit of a pig but I’d give her one. For spite.”

Meanwhile back in Blighty everyone celebrates VE day (Victory over Europe day) by going down the pub and grumbling about gays and Muslims, apart from the Remoaners – who aren’t actually moaning any more, simply making plans to get the hell out while the going’s good – and Jeremy Corbyn calls for an election whereby he has as much chance of winning as he has of backing an athematic in a blow-football game against a free diver.

In North Korea Nigel Farage announces from his prison cell that he’s forming a new party – NKIP – North Korea Independence Party, based on anti-American propaganda and an inherent fear of the Japanese, calling for mass rallies and an end to immigration. Kim Jong Un laughs in his face, telling Farage that no fucker in his or her right mind would want to immigrate to North Korea but tacitly agrees to the proposition.

Arron Banks offers financial backing to NKIP, Douglas Carswell declares his intention to stand as the Member For Pyongyang Western Ward but is bitterly opposed by Paul Nuttall – winner of 8 Victoria Crosses in the Anglo-Spanish War.

Guy Verhofstadt reportedly died laughing and Paul Golding and Jayda Fransen invited Pippa Middleton to be Chief Bridesmaid at their impending nuptials in The Grand Central Mosque in Karachi, Pakistan.

Kim Jong Un advised North Koreans to “Keep Calm And Carry On.”

That’s enough.

ENOUGH!

It couldn’t possibly get any dafter.

Unless you know better…

Paddy Berzinski for www.cafespike.com

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