Climate change really fucking with holibobs

Legions of disgruntled holidaymakers have complained that extreme weather conditions have fucked up their holibobs good and proper.

Heatwaves, flash floods and forest fires are putting a right downer on Brits abroad who asked merely for a bit of sun, sand and sangria and found themselves swept two thousand miles out to sea in their Vangos or poached alive in their Outwell 500s.

Clarice Meeth, holidaying in Rome, was dismayed to find that her husband had spontaneously combusted while ordering a Nutella gelato in 50 degree heat and that her pug’s legs had melted to the pavement.

Keith Pasty from Glasgow got so burnt walking from the plane to the terminal that by the time he reached the arrivals lounge he found himself suspended inside a giant blister, causing all sorts of problems at passport control.

Thousands have starved to death from intense heat-driven apathy, with people unable to muster the energy to dial for room service or make the trek across the room to the minibar for the tiny life-giving Schweppes and unfeasibly diminutive packet of nuts.

Tourism hotspots are advising Brits stay at home and resort hospitals say they are packed to the rafters with partners who failed to book accommodation with air con, each having been brutally assaulted by their other halves and many needing emergency surgery to remove ceiling fans from their rectums.

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