Shawarmageddon: How Doner Kebabs Threaten Britain

Take a moment from your daily cat feeding and budgie grooming routine, dear reader, because it’s time we reveal Great Britain’s greatest enemy. It’s neither migration nor climate change, it’s not even Boris in his Hawaiian shirt at the Last Night of the Proms, but something far more sinister and…spicy. Yes, you guessed it – the homegrown scourge of civilised society, the Doner Kebab.

May the culinary Gods who preside over our Sunday roast forgive us, but this is far more than a simple matter of pitta bread and chilli sauce. No, it’s a tummy turning tale of cultural invasion and British values, embroiled in glistening lamb fat.

The Salacious Shawarma

The whole thing begins as an innocent trip to your local kebab shop. Poor, unsuspecting Uncle Reginald, all frilly shirt and braces, walks in after a pint or several for a bit of ‘ethnic grub,’ and before you know it, he’s chowing down chips out of Styrofoam with a side of garlic mayonnaise and pining the loss of the Blighty chip butty.

Oh yes, the sly and sinful kebab has wheedled its way into our glorious British culture, a homegrown danger lurking behind every street corner, ready to ensnare you with its exotic allure and tempting naan. One moment Grandma Ethel’s cheering on ‘Bake Off,’ the next she’s experimenting with, dare we say it, hummus and falafel. Where will it end, I ask myself with wild eyes and a trembling hart? Likely with baklava and mint tea, and by then, God forbid, we might have even picked up a smattering of Turkish!

Succumbing to the Seductive Kebab

• Abandoned Fish & Chip Shops: Where are the wholesome queues of lads and lasses, hankering after haddock? They’re all in Ali’s Kebabs, my friends, selling their heritage for a shawarma and a smile.
• Football Hooligans: Even the rowdiest of them are getting in on it. Yes, the epitome of Britishness, necking lagers and singing ‘God Save the Queen’ while throwing a donner kebab into the mix.
• The Disgrace of the High Street: Not more than a kick from the corner flag away, our ancient public houses are threatened, caught in an Istanbul-style invasion of neon signs, all promising the tantalising allure of ‘Kebabs 2 Go.’ Is nothing sacred?

True Brits vs. The Great Kebab Conspiracy

In this shawarma sordid saga, dear reader, every spicy skewered bit of mouthwatering meat, every late-night kebab binge, is nothing more than a well-orchestrated Turkish advance. The greatest danger to this sceptered isle is not coming from Brussels, but rather from Ephesus. And in the face of this terrifying threat, the true Brits have drawn the culinary line at tea and scones.

We at the ‘Daily Snipe’ salivate at the prospect of setting right this epic cultural wrong, campaigning for the restoration of steamed puddings and lukewarm pints. No more tzatziki or tahini, we are taking back control and sticking it straight into a pie with puff pastry and an airing on ‘MasterChef.’

The Call-to-Action – Your Duty Calls, Britons!

It starts in the corners of our country, the regaining of our identity, British with every Jammie Dodgers and Marmite sandwich. Brace yourselves, people of Britain, it’s time to rescue our heritage from the spice-laden, garlic-infused clutches of the dastardly doner.

We call upon all keepers of this proud isle to respond to this national culinary crisis by heading promptly and respectfully… to the nearest Indian takeaway. Chicken Tikka Masala, the nation’s favourite dish, anyone?