Cheerio, And Thanks For The Apocalypse

It’s not easy being a vegetarian ray of positivity and social sunshine after the apocalypse. For one thing, meat’s easier to come by than broccoli.

Seven awfully English tales of life just that one step too far into your future. I went there so that you wouldn’t have to.

Once upon a time you could rely on death and taxes, but now it’s only taxes. Old age is rotten, life never ends and croaking it, turning up your toes, putting on the wooden overcoat, assuming room temperature, shaking that last double-six and even, not to put too fine a point on it, pushing up the proverbial daisies isn’t the restful release that you hoped it would be. Your last best hope is England’s two finest “popular television scientists” and their dog, each being granted three wishes by a troglodyte genie from Lancashire. You won’t believe what the dog wished for. I believed it, but then, you see, I knew the dog in real life, so nothing surprises me anymore.

This book is a celebration of old-fashioned language and unsubtle entertainment. It features strong male leads and no diversity whatsoever. This book won’t enlighten you and it certainly won’t somehow “educate” you. If we’re lucky, you and I, it might just distract you for a couple of hours. Imagine your brain as being made of soft rubber, being let off the leash in the park and running around on the grass with other brains, peeing up trees, chasing balls and then throwing itself down at your feet, panting – that’s the best effect that either of us can hope for from Cheerio, and Thanks for the Apocalypse.

Seriously. This is a book for blokes. A very unserious book indeed.

You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you? Laugh and the whole world will give you the wide, wary berth you always dreamed of, wondering what you know that they don’t. Cry and they’ll be lining up to poke you with sticks. I recommend laughing