We waited with bated breath for the latest onslaught of horror stories from the most woeful campaign in political history; what terrible consequences of independence would be gleefully beamed into our homes by the BBC or await us in the press on our commute to work.
Yes we can use the pound but our coins won’t work in condom machines or parking meters.
Yes we can join the European Union but Spanish fisherman can invoke the rite of Prima Nocta and will be legally entitled to every first born child.
Greyfriars Bobby will be found to have English provenance due to a previously unknown canine dalliance with a Yorkshire terrier and have to be returned on Independence Day, where he will renamed Greyfriars Wellard.
As it turned out nothing so dramatic, merely regurgitated nonsense from a camp who had clearly run out of ideas.
Then a small miracle happened.
Rumours surfaced on Facebook that the latest YouGov poll showed Yes had taken the lead. Upon confirmation and with barely contained joy, independence supporters aimed a respectful but audible ‘Fuck You!’ in the general direction of London.
Inevitably the promise of more powers came thick and fast though unfortunately didn’t include x-ray vision or the bone structure of Wolverine. Such was the palpable fear from Westminster that the saltire was raised, eventually, above Downing Street in the manner of a besotted ex crying,
“Look, look, I’m wearing those pants you left on the bedroom floor last week because they’re your pants and I love them. And I haven’t even washed them!”
We probably should have issued a series of demands in the style of all good hostage situations rather than wait for the predictable ‘It’s A Trap!’ devo proposals. Scots could email Eck’ll Fixit with suggestions.
“Tony from Dundee asks could Mr Cameron answer all queries at Prime Minsters Question Time with the reply ‘Yir Maw’.
Hoho Tony I’m sure Dave can oblige”
“29 year old Elspeth from Peebles would love to see Ian Duncan Smith and Johann Lamont reenact the overdose scene from Pulp Fiction, in the style of the Chuckle brothers. Which one do you want to play Vincent? Hohoho”
“And finally Tahir from Glasgow would quite like one of the Crown Jewels for his girlfriend, he’s not bothered which one as long as it’s big. Are we hearing wedding bells Tahir? Hoho”
Response to the preserve-based promises has been mixed, ranging from ‘aye right’ to ‘get tae’ as thankfully Yes supporters saw through the wafer thin mint of deceit though some undecided may consider them, being, as they are, the punter who waits till just before the off before backing the favourite.
Whatever this coming week brings, it looks as though someone is going to have to order a new pair of country-sized Union Jack pants.
Mr Ed chipped in with the horrifying news that a Cold War style border will be erected between Scotland and England, complete with walls and barricades and guns and stuff to make it look really scary and intimidating. Commentators with specialist knowledge of such arrangements reacted by face palming and saying ‘aw fur fuck sake’.
Passports will be required at all times except if you live in Scotland. Or England. Or Europe.
Passports won’t be required.
The Scottish government will be obliged to contribute to the upkeep of said border and have promised to send a couple of bouncers from the Savoy in Sauchiehall Street. That should do the job.
Unionist grassroots members have finally tunnelled up through the undergrowth to display their support for the UK and much pleasure has been derived from the above thing of beauty. Debates over its meaning have been raging among Yes supporters with many believing it was produced by a confused nationalist who is vehemently opposed to using sterling.
Others think the creator is not referencing the referendum at all but is in fact a South African gentleman who objects to wearing underwear (that one may take a little longer…..).
Isnt the calibre of opponent in this debate truly special?
The answer is naw.
I think come the result on Friday, it’ll be a great big FUCK YOU!; in the London direction.