Nanny Slaughter at the Local Nandos

So me and some of the lads were out shopping for trainers at JD in some small, English town. I was like, to my friend Felix, " Mate I'm hungry, lets kick it for some grub, hope there is a KFC or a Nandos." The town as I recall was called Cuntington-on-Shit in the county of Bollockshire. It was a quaint, yet eerie town with little infrastructure or general community. My mate Tom, the Archbishop of Banterbury, was like, " Fam this town is well creepy, lets just bounce and get on the nearest Train to Kush-on-Tyne." The only problem with this was that the train from Cuntington-on-Shit to Kush-on-Tyne was down because of those pesky Network Rail peeps who can't run the lines for shit, so there was a replacement Bus service and there was no way I was getting on that.
We were scouting the town for a Nandos but there was none in site. Then out of a seemingly empty pub called 'Ye ol' Farage Entourage' came a dark and shadowy figure with a hyper-realistic pint of Old Speckled Hen and old fashioned jacket. Me and the lads were proper on edge at this point a Phil was willing to shank anyone with his flip-knife, given to him by Old Boy Billy who, if you don't know, is like the original lad.
The man said, " You kids looking for Nandos?"
He could tell that we were looking for a Nandos because of the JD shopping bags in our hands. "I know where you can find one, but, be warned, no one goes near there any more."
James, another top-notch lad, asked, "Why does no one go there?"
The man replied, "I am afraid I can't say, or they will find me, and rip m' head off."
To be proper straight with you it was all white noise, my stomach was starting a riot over my lack of food consumption in the past couple of hours spent shopping for reem trainers.
He gave us the directions and we followed them. The atmosphere of the town was foreboding, it was almost as if the town was toying with us, like a cat and mouse situation. There was nothing inviting about the Nandos we were walking towards, as we saw it in the distance; only slightly obscured by the fog coming off of the River Shit.
We walked in to find its patrons to be all those over 65 and female, in other words Nannies. Phil retorted, " What is going on? I haven't seen something this weird since that holiday in Bangkok." But this wasn't the same, no ping-pong balls fired out of a females nether-region, just pale elderly people eating chicken with peri-peri sauce. Tom said, "I am well bustin' for a piss," And just like that he walked past the rows of the old and into the bathroom. We looked around for a place to sit, but our concentration was broken by the scream from the bathroom.
Tom's head came flying out, flame grilled, with a peri-peri season. Flocks of the old ladies swarmed the decapitated head and began to scrape the meat off of it, and then began eating the brains.
Felix was in tears and Phil pulled out his knife and ran at the pack of feral OAPs, shanking everyone of them in an orgy of blood and violence. But that was the biggest mistake he could have made as all of the nannies stood up in unison from their chicken dinners and began to gank poor Phil. He tried to fight them off but they ripped him to shreds, pulling him apart organ by organ, limb by limb. We all felt his screams of agony as the ladies yanked out his spleen and then his esophagus, till his screams were muted by gurgling blood. A couple had grabbed James but Felix couldn't do anything as he was frozen with fear. It was up to me to do something.
I jumped over the kitchen counter to find an adequate stabbing weapon. I reached for a large kitchen knife and then, from seemingly nowhere, my hand was grabbed by the chef. He stared at me with his mutilated face and glowing red eyes before shouting, "You stupid chavs with your lad culture." He laughed maniacally before calming himself, "Don't you realise that we lure you in before feeding you to our brainwashed OAPs, because that's our special ingredient in our sauces, and now we are going to kill you all!"
I look back for just a minute, it was too late, James and Felix were eviscerated by the talons of the Nannies. I used all the willpower I could muster to break free from the chef, grabbing the knife, and plunging it into his throat.
I hid in the closet to think through a plan of action. I felt hands on my shoulders. No, it... couldn't be. It was, the one and only, Bill Cosby. "Zip-zop-zappity well what have we hear another young one, well better feed him to my wrinkly bitches." He was the mastermind behind this, using the grannies to kill off all the young men so he could have the early 20s ladies. This way he wouldn't have to drug them, just kill off all the potential mates. I turned around and stabbed him, "Bippity-bop my stomach is bleeding heavily, bye-bye world." He collapsed to the floor. Now was the time to slaughter the Nannies. I walked out and hacked at the crowd, blood spraying everywhere. After a lot of hacks and stabs I had done it. They were all dead.
I thought it was over but I have been wrong before and I was now through the door was the Necro-King and Lord of Bollockshire (of course I didn't know at the time) Nigel Farage. He said to me, " What are you some kind of Romanian hooligan?!" He resurrected the dead, all that I worked so hard to slay. I realised I could not win so I ran for the fire exit, Nigel shouting after me, "Get back here you good-for-nothing benefit scrounger!" The Nannies chased me, good thing I shut the door in time or I am sure I would have been next days luncheon meat.
So the moral is, don't take a trip to Bollockshire as it is the Kingdom of the Great Necromancer and Evil-doer, I still search to this day for a Man that can slay him.