Upon entrance to the model village, it is clear that something is amiss. Instead of the usual twee recreation of a mythical long-gone England is a dystopian landscape. All around you can see carefully constructed destruction, caved-in skyscrapers artistically painted to look blackened and charred in just the right places and large mounds of tiny fake rubble.
And amongst these mock ruins are the usual models of people, only on a second glance it can be seen that these are also quite different. Some appear to be dead, some seem to be engaged in acts of cannibalism. Many are missing limbs, some crawling on all fours. In short, an apocalypse in small scale.
Arrows point towards a big long mound in the center of the village. Walking over to it, you notice that set into the top of the mound is a thin strip of glass. You look inside. The contents consist of an actual shrivelled corpse, not a model but a real, full-sized, deceased human. Then you catch the sight of a sign nearby:
"MR BENJAMIN, THE CREATOR OF THIS GHASTLY PLACE, SHOULD NOT BE VIEWED FOR MORE THAN 30 SECONDS IN THE SPACE OF A YEAR DUE TO HIS REMAINS BEING HIGHLY RADIOACTIVE AFTER DYING IN A BIZARRE ACCIDENT. CHILDREN AND PREGNANT WOMAN SHOULD NOT GO NEAR THE BODY AT ALL. DO NOT DAWDLE. THE CLOCK IS TICKING."
Your eyes widen, and you run out of this demented tourist trap, past the gift shop, past the ticket counter staffed by Mr Benjamin’s weeping wife. You do not return. You will never return.
eye shadow on astro turf
Another case of the debilitating Blobby Hand Disfigurement which claims, on average, 6,000 Blobby lives each year.
Some vague dungeon for ya’ll. what do you think is going on here?
Weirrrrrrd. And good.