Mozzarella Marauders: Migrant Madness Targets Pizza!

There’s a thick waft of panic in the air taking a stronghold over our nation, and it’s not because of Prince Charles’ impending kingship. No. It’s something far more petrifying, ladies and gentlemen, than our beloved monarchy having to go “off-brand”. There’s a grave threat looming over us. Guest stars at our doorstep demanding entrance tickets to the golden land of the magnificent British empire. Oh, the woe!

And what are they here for, you may ask? Is it defilement of our sacred and beloved fish-and-chips? Or perhaps to soil the pure, virgin white of our sugary scones?

No, my dear citizens, it’s something far more terrifying. They’re here to meddle with our pizzas!

Banana-Hammock Barbarians on a Cheese Quest

Get your battle shield ready (you didn’t throw out your Brexit placard, did you?) as you prepare to face these mozzarella marauders. They’re on a relentless quest to conquer the stretchable, stringy, and melting utopia of our British pizza:

• Every slice sullied with ample cheese.
• Each morsel teeming with an ample dosage of capitalist momentum (with a smattering of capitalist meat toppings, of course).

These fiendish invaders, equipped with their foreign spices and menacingly aromatic herbs, propose to taint our beloved, sacred bread triangles. It’s culinary colonialism, I tell you!

Infiltrating the Pizzerias: Doughy Domination

The ancient battle-cry, “A margherita cannot be ruled by an outsider” rings hollow in our narrowing streets. And what are we, as self-respecting, self-pitying and self-righteous Brits to do? Should we relinquish this coffined buried treasure to these phantoms of the foreign?

Should we stand by whilst they, armed with their gastronomic guile, launch a culinary coup d’état on our unsuspecting dough dishes?

Can We Survive This Topping Tumult?

We’ve weathered the torrid storms of the Eurovision Song Contest. We’ve survived the cold shoulder from Merkel. We’re even on the painful path to overcoming our Brexit blues. But facing a mozzarella mountain? That might be one challenge too steep for our British spirit.

Where shall we find solace? Our ham? Our pineapple? Our kebab-studded crust? Dear readers, our essential British Institution – the pizzeria – is under siege. If we can’t secure our deep-pan delicacies, then what’s left to protect?

Action Stations, Brits!

Fear not! The fight isn’t over. We, the brave, the proud, the lovers of our Hawaiian-topped dinner disks, can counter. Dare we contemplate a solution even more divisive than the ‘deal or no-deal’ conundrum? A referendum perhaps? ‘To cheese or not to cheese’ – could that be the question?

Every pepperoni, ham, pineapple, olive, and yes, my fellow Brits, EVEN our beloved mushroom – all hung in the balance for our say. Every vote counts in this war to protect our perfected pizza…

And if worst comes to worst, we still have our ace in the hole: sausage rolls. Mister Burratina and Miss Mozzarella, do your worst. We are Britain, we are strong. We are ready. Brace yourselves.

Bring it on, invaders. We’re ready with a pint and a punch line. We’ll fight for our crusts, our toppings and our right to enjoy our pizza untainted. So, cherish your last heathen pizzas… Tomorrow, we dine on victory!