Ministry of EV: The Aftermath

  • The Ministry of EV Building.

    Paloma gathered her battered troops. After returning for Veroni, with only 6th Place: they knew what was coming. Clause 69 of the Ministry’s Charter read: “If every member is involved in a group medley that comes less than 3rd, all members will be required to compete for their lives. The sole survivor will lead the next generation of Recruits onto the next Eurovoice.”

    “So.” Sighed Paloma. “Doc fucked it up again for us. And we all know what that means for us.”

    “I’d like to interject, your Ministerial Highness.” Doc said, probably thinking about Clitori (the plural of clitoris). “I did my best.”

    “I don’t think that man is actually a doctor.” Mary Lambert queried, as she stared into space.

    “No he fucking well isn’t. He’s so old he probably needed a hearing aid to hear you just then too. Cretin.” Paloma rambled.

    “Well then.” Hozier said. “As part of the Charter, we have 2 days to run basically. Then, the hunt is on and the last of us to survive will lead the next generation of recruits.”

    “Indeed.” Said Leigh-Anne. “I’d also like to distance myself from my so-called ‘band’ because it’s clear that _they_ don’t make music they just kind of scream and people like it because they’re decently attractive - I’d also like to extend that to Taylor Swift.”

    Taylor looked around, confused. “What’s a charter?”

    “Well fuck you all too.” Said Perrie. The Little Mix team then erupted into a slapsie fight.

    “ENOUGH. All of you.” Paloma shouted, and shot a pistol into the air. “This building is highly at risk of arson and attack. I for one am going to get out of this God-forsaken shit pit.”

    “Me too. Fuck you all.” Taylor said, putting her Versace sunglasses on, despite the fact it was still winter.

    “Bye…” Hozier said, in the depressing, indie way he talks.

    They all left the Ministry of Eurovoice, and took the lift down to the secret tube station underneath the Ministry. Each coach was luxurious. Gold seating, televisions, posters saying “DOC SUCKS CLIT” and posters of Paloma saying “THIS IS YOUR GOD. BOW DOWN TO HER.” Overall, it was a rather pleasant train. There was enough trains for 2 per carriage, with one spare. The people who hated each other least paired up and got in a coach.

    Paloma Faith and Hozier strode into their respective coach.

    “Can you believe them?” Paloma Faith said to Hozier.

    “Yeah they’re a real drag on my artistic flow.”

    “Exactly. They killed our chances in EV. What the fuck will we do now?”

    “Well… fight to the death.” Hozier mumbled.

    “I know that, but obviously I will win. I’m the best out of this lot. I mean look at them, you, an indie little shit. Mary L, a fat lesbian. Little Mix, who are dumb bimbo whores, and Taylor then by extension to that. And _DOC_ that old fat fart who might as well be dead already.”

    “I’m glad you have so much faith in me, Paloma.”

    “Oh go fuck yourself: turn your pain into art or something.”

    Doc Mustard and Mary Lambert shuffled into their coach.

    “So… we both like clitori.” Mary said snacking on the complimentary peanuts.

    “Aye. Clitor-aye.” Doc replied, giggling in a shirt that had the nipples cut out.

    “Ha… Ha… How funny.” Mary Lambert said, faux laughing.

    “So. Who do you think will win?” Doc asked.

    “You - obviously.” Mary replied sarcastically.

    “You don’t mean that.” Doc sighed. “I’ve failed at everything I’ve done.”

    “You didn’t fail at coming 11th. If there was an award for coming 11th, you’d be the big-shot winner. You would actually get slight sexual interest. But I personally wouldn’t count on it even if.”

    “Thanks, that… means a lot.”

    Taylor Swift and Perrie (from Little Mix) boarded their carriage.

    “You know I’m not as dumb as I make out.” Taylor said, getting out her golden knife, with a pink sheath. “I’m a deadly assassin. I speak German, French and Nicoleizian. You have no idea where I will be. I could go anywhere. I also have back up, punk.”

    “Okay… sweetie. Did you even pass your GCSE English? Like sure you can speak all those languages… but can you English girlfriend?”

    “Of course I can you vapid self-absorbed cow.”

    “Bye then…” Perrie said, as she walked to the other end of the carriage.

    Everyone else was honestly irrelevant.

    The train left for another secret station outside of Saint Regina. It crossed over from the Peninsula of Saint Regina to the mainland. They arrived at a decrepid and aging station. Clearly not used for a long while. It overlooked Saint Regina, and the sea towards England. And its peeling paint was a result of such terrible exposure to the elements. It was extremely windy, and everyone’s hair blew in the wind (except Doc, because even Hozier has quite long hair. Doc, at it again with being inadequate.).

    “So, goodbye everyone.” Paloma said. “Oh, one thing. I’ll made all your passports null and void. I’m off to Inquista, bitches!”

    “Surely that’s cheating!” Taylor shouted.

    “Sorry bye!” Said Paloma, beckoning in her helicopter to land in the field opposite the tiny station.

    Taylor was once again enraged. “If you leave now, I will kill you. Hell, if you leave the country at all I will cut your fucking head off!”

    “I didn’t know your vocabulary was so large, Taylor. It’ll be a shame to cut off that cute head. But, then again I had you killed before, I will do it again.”

    “I fucking lived you dumb arse hippy fucker!”

    “He’s called Hozier, you dumb blonde.”

    “Fine, I’ll stay. If we all vow to stay in Icholasen. It’ll make killing you all a lot quicker.”

    “Excellent. Tell your helicopter to fuck off as well.”

    Paloma did a sign into the direction of the helicopter and it returned in the direction of Saint Regina.

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