Actually, everyone, this is what the novel is about:
It will begin in the North of that once great, now desecrated nation we call England. The humdrum towns, the steel mills, the ceaseless rain, the session musicians stealing money from your own pocket. In this provincial setting, a young man of rare precocity comes into the world. He is called Morrissey Wilde and is to be referred to throughout the book by his full name. Every sentence of the novel will feature his name. This is what is known as originality.*
Morrissey Wilde is the son to nobody’s mother, progeny of a motherless mother, child of some other body’s mother. Unlike Romulus and Remus, he suckles at the teat not of a wolf, for that would be a senseless desecration of a noble beast, but of a woman beaten down by England, a woman labouring under Thatcher’s yolk. The novel will be illustrated with deliberately crude illustrations made by my houseboy Manuelo, of the so-called “Lady” Thatcher eating the mangled corpses of orphaned working class llamas.
Morrissey Wilde casts off the shackles of his provincial childhood and trudges, a knapsack on his shoulder, down the old way to England’s ancient capital, which I will refer to as “that squalid desecrator of dreams, London” in every sentence of the novel. Once again, I will remind you that this is what is known as originality and who are you to question an artist? Did you write “A Rush and a Push and the Land is ours”? No, you did not.*
With his best friend, a Burberry-clad lout named Daz, Morrissey Wilde sets out to find himself. Daz represents what is great about Britain. He is a muscular, monosyllabic vegan who regularly strikes royalists with his preferred weapon, the brick.
There will be a section of around 90 pages set in an abattoir, in which Morrissey Wilde lives among the cows until he teaches them how to talk and they rise up against their owners, David and Victoria Peckham, a footballer and his idiot mistress wife. Eventually, the cows tie the Peckhams up and drag them to the edge of the local village, where the chief Cow, Daisy, asks Mr Peckham if he can pick a harp out of a line-up of household implements. Mr Peckham cannot and so the villagers flog him and his wife. Morrissey Wilde sees this and cries for the beauty of the world.
I will include a 30-page freeform poem about Morrissey Wilde’s abhorrent grandmother and her flour-stained hands. This will segue naturally into a chapter in which the protagonist gets a job in a McDonald’s, which is run by the Norwegian fascist Anders Breivik. *Together, Breivik, a strong but silent seer who is revealed to love his own mother, and Morrissey Wilde, take down the murderous burger company from the inside by exposing the company’s CEO, David Cameron, for being the stag-shooting toff he is. In a violently poetic scene, Morrissey Wilde and Breivik tie Mr Cameron up and force-feed him a live cow until he chokes to death. They then make burgers from Mr Cameron’s corpse and serve them to the board of directors of McDonald’s, two former musicians from Manchester.*
For this service to society, our hero must do hard time in prison but, with the help of a group of bare-chested Latin American freedom fighters, Morrissey Wilde escapes and topples the corrupt government of this supposedly “united” kingdom. In the climactic scene, the protagonist gets England’s Queen, the monster Elizabeth, to publically admit that she is a carnivorous cadaver, a walking cyborg who steals from all around her. She is then executed on the balcony of her palace, along with all her family. England is restored to its former glory, with Morrissey Wilde serving as leader. Daz, his faithful companion, is his right-hand man and his cabinet is made-up of a wise old Pig, the talking cows and the bare-chested Latin American freedom fighters.*
The novel will be sold at the market rate: £199.99. I will only accept praise on the cover from the following men: Shakespeare, David Johansen, Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde, Heinrich Himmler, Nigel Farage.*
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There it is.
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Morrissey
Los Angeles, California