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Eurovision Bomb Contest
by Michael S. Collins

Eurovision, but the country which finishes bottom gets nuked.

“And finally, twelve points go to Sweden!”

The girl speaking smiled softly as she spoke, enjoying the yelps of praise coming from the Swedish singers.

“Oh how typical, Denmark voting for Sweden!” said the British commentator, his voice betraying decades of political voting.

“Well, naturally.” Said his broadcast partner. “I mean, they’re neighbours. They’re hardly going to want the nuclear waste to travel over the border.” He spoke with the choked voice of radioactivity.

“Why wont anyone vote for us. It’s political correctness gone mad.”

“It might be because we put a terrible act up.”

“We did not. Bradley was brilliant.”

“He was off tune, and a contestant from Big Brother. No one had heard of him outside BBC studios, let alone in Gdansk.”

“He should have been getting more points anyway. This is a complete farce. It’s right wing Fascism gone wrong.”

“How many countries are left to vote anyway?”

“About three, I think. Well, possibly three. Do Turkey still vote?”

“No, not since they lost last years competition.”

“Ah yes. A pity. Still, that’s what they get for Constantinople.”

“What did they do to that?”

“Renamed it, the swines.”

“And it looks like...yes, it’s us voting!”

“Good old England. Who’ve we voted for?”

“Albania, Sweden, Denmark, Germany ,France, Norway...”

“Sensible votes so far.”

“Spain, Italy and...12 points to....Ireland.”

Jeers could be heard from the audience.

“Very sensible of us to vote for Ireland like that, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, very sensible.”

The compere turned to his giggling co-host.

“And it looks like we have a winner. Or should I say loser.”

The crowd laughed in the nervous way your gran does at her own funeral.

“The country finishing bottom is...Germany.”

Shrieks of surprise arose from the crowd before the transmission swiftly faded to black.

“Thank god we are back in England” said the first commentator.

“Yes” said his partner. “Will the radiation leak over here, do you think? Are we close enough?”

“Nah. The Channel tunnel buffer will stop it, like it always does.”

“Good news. Anyhow, from me and my fellow, that’s all for tonight. Hope you enjoyed the Eurovision, England.”

The two men put their microphones and walked along the irradiated wasteland that was once the Thames.