Another Absurd Story Written for An Eng. Mock Exam

who cares

London. The home of true urbanisation. With tower blocks one centimetre away from each other, much of the population speaking in an accent no one outside of the country can understand, and the best paying jobs involve sitting in cubicles. A truly remarkable city. And here, much of the population is not aware of the money laundering, what John Major did with the Home Secretary and MP of Sussex in 1996, and much of the things going on in abandoned areas across the city, something which never had been referenced in the tourist guides, nor official government documents.

Peter Sellers, not to be confused with the other Peter Sellers, is a man who runs a few odd jobs. An office job? You bet. A technician too. But his main job is to do surveying, and much of the job involves surveying people across the city on viewpoints and opinions about the government. He was doing a survey on whether the Salmon Act should be repealed (essentially the act that prevents salmon being used in "suspicious circumstances"). And luck was not with him, as he was often told to leave or "come with the actual Peter Sellers".

And quite unfortunate too, he had 9999 people actually willing to put up with the survey, out of the required 10,000. With one day left, he turned to the place he knew he could find someone willing to survey- the local pub. Everyone, being the old intransigents they are, told him "please stop, my brain's hurting".

A man who was just trying his luck on the Who Wants To Be A Millionaire quiz machine approached him after (just for the record, he won £2). He was the stereotypical man you'd see in a pub; beer belly, shirt of his football team, trousers that barely fit him and all. He began with:

"Down on your luck, huh?"

"Yeah, there's this survey I'm doing and nobody has been willing to give me a shot. I only need one more signature." His voice was very mellow, and he sounded depressed, but he came to the sudden realisation that "Hey, maybe you could survey? It's about the Salmon Act."

The man turned down Sellers. "No need to bother, I'm not interested. But, I know a place where you could probably find a few willing to help you out".

"Oh yeah, where is it?"

"It's an old, abandoned Tube station near [REDACTED, ACTUALLY REAL] Road. It used to be a station between {REDACTED] and {REDACTED] until they realised they did not need it. Now it has a different purpose. If you go through the back you'll realise what it is."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, you're bound to find someone willing to give you a chance there."

"Thanks then mate."

"Cheers."

And he went off to find the station, which was relatively easy to do as it mainly consisted of going onto a bus. As he approached the back of the train station, making sure absolutely no one was taking a gander, and jumping through tons of gates, he finally reached the ever so obvious secret area... which was marked with a neon sign on top of a door saying "The Ever-So Obvious Secret Area". He opened the door, and was greeted by a muscular, Brazilian man who quite obviously, asked him in an intimidating accent "What's the password?"

He was truly shaking. Quite obviously, the ever so impeccable Liverpool supporter decided to not give him the password? How great. He decided to think of one anyway, with an audible "Uhh..." sound.

"That's correct. You may now enter."

"What?" Sellers said, very befuddled.

"Yeah, Uhh is the password. Now get out of the way!"

He immediately entered and ran and was greeted to what looked like an underground canal.

There was water spreading through what was once the train tracks, tons of tents lying around, and many, many, signs. He entered one of the tents, which according to the sign was supposed to be some sort of a gambling den. It had its own Blackjack table, for one, and the staff were dressed like Native Americans. Surprisingly enough, there were... many, many politicians, including the likes of John Major, Gordon Brown, Jeremy Corbyn, and Rishi Sunak, all playing roulette. Plus the skull of Thatcher they kept lying around.

"So uh... this is quite odd" Sellers thought to himself.

With as much courage as Courage the Cowardly Dog, he asked the MPs of past and present "Hey... would you like to do this survey?"

One of the politicians, specifically John Major, approached him with "Sure, what's it about?"

"It's just a survey on if you'd like the Salmon Act to be repealed or not."

"Yeah, revoke it all you want. I never liked the law anyways. I tried to get it revoked, but nobody ever agreed on it."

"Surprising. Now what are you even doing here?"

"This is the gambling den we use. When this station shut down, people thought of using it for multiple purposes. A former Labour PM set up his own gambling den here, and it's been going ever since. One rule is, you never talk about this secret area, just like Fight Club. It's been passed around by many politicians, though we've yet to pass it onto Boris. I beat the Home Secretary here at blackjack once by cheating."

"So it wasn't an affair?"

"Nope."

"Good to know. Well I'll be off."

"Remember, don't tell anyone. See you around."

John Major had never been seen as ever more informal in Seller's life. With this, he finally completed his job, and got a bonus due to it. Now he could pay his £11m worth of two weeks rent, with the £11.5m.