Sweden, Hell on Earth: The body count was mounting today as the effects of Friday night’s catastrophic events continue to crash through every strata of Swedish society.
The royal family and the blonde one out of ABBA were airlifted to safety yesterday evening as the national meltdown consumed cities, elk farms, IKEA stores and meatball processing plants alike.
‘Thank God for Donald Trump!’ said a spokesman for Ace of Base this morning, ‘Until he spoke up, we had no idea that the events of last Friday evening had been so apocalyptic; so all-consuming; so existentially crap-in-a-bag-and-call-me-Marjory terrifying. Especially since the events of last Friday evening were the same as the events of the previous Friday evening. And all the Friday evenings before that.’
As was exhaustively reported by the world’s media over the weekend, the shocking events of last Friday evening included a woman in the Stockholm suburb of Södermalm opening a small tin of pickled herring without first warning the authorities.
80 kilometres away in Uppsala, a man with facial hair spontaneously, and with reckless disregard for his neighbours, constructed a medium sized flat-pack bureau / bedside table-type thing using an Allen key other than the one supplied by the manufacturer.
And, in a coordinated effort, a highly-trained group of amateur ice hockey players walked into a bar in Östersund and wilfully paid about six quid each for a pint of gassy lager, despite the fact that cheaper alternatives were available in the nearby supermarket and their wives are saving up to visit their mothers in Palma de Mallorca next summer.
‘God bless America!’ emailed August Strindberg from the burning ruins of his Intima Teater this morning, ‘If we survive this horror, the Nobel Prize for Watching Fox News Because You Can’t Be Bothered To Listen To Your Security Briefings will be on its way to the White House, along with a barrel of grade A fermented rotting fish and a box set of Roxette albums.
‘That’ll teach the bastard.’
The Dalston Mercury 