Boris Johnson looked at his body, half-expecting to see blood oozing out of an orifice, but no…nothing.
Vladimir Pudding looked, too, at his body. Nothing.
What happened?
“I heard something,” said Jeremy Punt. “A metallic clang,”
Sergey Lapdog looked down at the ground between the duellists and announced: “I think I know what happened. The bullets hit each other – look, there are pieces of them.”
“Oh my great Aunt Bertie!” exclaimed Boris. “What are the chances?”
“The bullets hit each other?” Vlad groped for confirmation. “It’s a miracle! I truly am the Chosen One.”
“What?” countered Boris. “What are you drivelling about? I survived as well, you know. So, I’m also the Chosen One?”
“Oh, you’re nothing. You’re a has-been. An ex-PM.”
Boris’ cheeks reddened and his tousled hair stood on end, as if a bolt of electricity had coursed through his body.
“You obnoxious, fat-headed little runt,” and with that, Boris launched his chunky body at the Russian dictator.
Minority News Report 