Picture if you will, the desolate landscape of England, a country on the verge of war. A country under siege and now more than ever, needs its heroes to rise up and answer her lamenting wail of protestation at the bleak and ravenous hordes of Muslims (and other assorted immigrants) that gather like swirling thunderheads before a storm, within the roiling maelstrom that is the English Channel, Wait, biding their time for the call to attack.
Oh how they wait! Half submerged like denizens from the deepest, blackest pits of the ocean. These immigrants drift, dead-eyed, just beneath the surface, their foul and blackened hearts pumping sluggish icor through rotten veins, an eager hunger gnawing within their stomachs like a cancer. And they hunger for only one thing England; To crash upon your shore in a tidal wave of smelly food and funny accents, to enslave you all under their dominion. But not only that! For once they have thoroughly ravaged your country! That is when they shall come for your jobs, your children, your very way of life!
But fear not, England! For your heroes have arrived, and each one of these courage’s, noble, and staunchly patriotic men, is akin to that great and virtuous warrior king of your ancient and wondrous past. Yes, my friends, I speak of the knights of the round table, who have awakened from their ancient slumber to answer Englands cries. They have thrown off the shackles of time, dusted down their armour, polished the round table, and sharpened their blades for the battle to come.
But not only that, they have also been taught such illustrious skills as how to camp without a tent! And how to climb a mountain! And no doubt how to wipe their arses with one ply of bog roll. They may be prepared, good Saxons, but nontheless, you must pray for them, for god sake! Pray for them!
The winds of change are coming, my friends, and the end times are near. Soon your fair and just land will face its finest hour. But do not lose hope, my friends, for how could England fall with these brave knights casting their stern and proud gazes southward, an air of grim determination casting a shadow across their knotted brows, as they contemplate the battle to come, with the serene countenance of a man willing to sacrifice his very life for the country he holds dear.
So pray hard and fervently good Saxons, that king Arthur will awaken in time to lead these brave, selfless, and noble warriors against the wicked onslaught of the sea-hordes.
For if not him, then who, pray tell, shall rise up, lead these brave souls, and save England from armageddon?