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Imagine our world... Imagine our world in the not too distant future: a future where mobile communication takes place through a chip in the head.
Unless you can't afford one and have to settle with a chip on the shoulder.
Where the dollar bill has been replaced by the dollar Bill Gates and the old Queen's head with the old queen Elton John.
Too many people reside on this planet. And the people are restless... "What is the cause of this over-population?" I hear you cry. The answer, my dears, is simple: Davina McCall.
She and the empirical forces of light entertainment bombarded the compulsive television viewing public with a false reality with which they could not cope.
A reality of Jacuzzi fornication, clandestine masturbation and boob-job aberration; of eyeball-popping rudeness, partner-swapping lewdness and trouser-dropping crudeness; of washed out celebrities, boring non-entities and...
Jade Goody.
The vegetated viewers were thus forced to disconnect their goggle boxes and to partake in a recreation long since forgotten.... conversation.
Topics, however, soon ran drier than an AA meeting in a Thames Water Reservoir and an older, more profound recreation was revived, a practice enjoyed by the elders of yore, the ancient art of molecular engagement... knobbing.
Turkey basters, test tubes and Robert Winston were packed away and people began to have sex...lots of it.
They licked it, they liked it, they loved it, resulting in an over-crowded Earth, a gridlock of too many cars, too many pushchairs, but thankfully not too many Goodies.
"What became of the populus?" I hear you ask.
Some managed to endure their claustrophobic lifestyles, but a select few became... eccentric. Discontented with their meaningless lives, they rebelled.
And they were despised.
Treated as the refuse of society, they were carted off and exiled far, far away... But when they reached their final destination they were not allowed to roam scot-free. Oh no.
They were incarcerated on a specially constructed landmass, a place where these outcasts could be controlled: a hellhole where survival is the only concern and bouffant hair is part of the uniform.
Prepare for the worst as you land on...
Planet Grantham...
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