Thread by @MarkFrancois12

Extracts from the plague diary of Mark ne-Francois-Pas

April 8th

Up and over Irn Bru and Pop Tarts remembered a most vivid dream of an age far from here. Myself, a special forces veteran fighting on the 10th Crusade: Desert Storm.

1/9

In tow my mayde Hartley-Brewer and squire Bridgen, both sulking that I’d brought the knight Ice Cube because he makes an excellent eggs quarantine. They did partly redeem themselves upon discovery of a map to gold bullion about an Iraqi soldier’s person, yet with Bridgen

2/9

asking what it was and Hartley-Brewer replying ‘a little cube you put in hot water’ both needed court-martialing for being stupid. Disciplinary issues notwithstanding & being an incorrigible maverick, I led them in search of the treasure. So began operation, Basildon Storm.

3/9

That we snuck past Emperor Saddam’s army on a specced-out horse named Humvee & retrieved the gold from boot of a battered Toyota Corrona unsighted, ‘twas most vexing that Hartley-Brewer got side-tracked by her need to spout rubbish at all times & in shouting ‘Fidel Castro’

4/9

was captured. We, with sympathetic rebels to a hideout much like my cellar, but fewer Rustlers Burgers wrappers or rats and agreed to help them if they helped us rescue Hartley-Brewer, which nobody was keen on but that she makes an excellent Sugar Puffs and Monster.

5/9

Ice-Cube with automatic crossbow, myself with pump-action potato peeler, in surreal slow-motion montage, liberated the budget-flawedcaster. But in a denouement as good as any Shakespeare Act iv, Bridgen required emergency battlefield medicine for a skinned knee, and a race
6/9

against time ensued. We reached the border, and there plentiful Paw Patrol plasters, but unable to offer satisfactory reason for being off base beyond exercise or food were detained, in their full body armour, by the Knights Kevlar. Stuck between Iraq and a hard place we

7/9

facilitated our rebel friends’ escape with an exchange of bullion, but were ourselves set in manacles until I, in manner most insouciant, produced a passporte so blue that they did supplicate themselves & call me Brtian's leading patriot. So to present plague riddled London

8/9

and all the day writing this down. That we be out of Pot Noodles & Froobs, Hartley-Brewer prepared lunch of soup, dinner of soup & supper of leftover soup, and calls me bouillonairre, that when this all began, I misunderstood the nature of stockpiling. Mini-milk, bed.

9/9

And plentiful thanks to @Will_Overman for discovering this timeless artwork.

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