The year is 2009. Wars rage across borders, the world over. Hatred, suspicion and unrest are common daily feelings, in cities and suburbs from New York to Hong Kong. It is time for a new superhero to make his mark. Enter Bloke-Man.
Armed with his armchair opinions and fueled by a steady stream of the mythical amber nectar, this human dynamo is set to solve the problems of earth.
We caught up with Bloke-Man in his two bed semi-detatched council house in Wigan, for a rare interview. He is currently unemployed, as he has a dodgy back. But he gets a good payout from the social.
Bloke-Man sits infront of his flat screen televisual information module and randomly stabs at the various buttons on his control pad. "198 bloody channels, and sod all on!" he say's in a gruff, 60-a-day drawl.
We draw Bloke-Man's attention away from 'Total Fishing With Matt Hayes' and ask what he think's about the current state of the world's youth.
"National Service. S'the only way forward. Put a little respect back into their lives. Bit of hard work never hurt anyone, I say. If they were put to work, and had respect beaten into them from an early age, we wouldn't have all this stabbing and mugging malarkey we got today!"
Bloke-Man reaches for another can of his life giving elixir, code named Carling, the last outburst taking it's toll on his energies.
"Spare the rod, spoil the child. That's my philosophy," he barks.
We move on and discuss the current government. "That Brown is a moron," he says, "we didn't vote him in, he's a fake Prime Minister. We need an election now. Not that the other ponce looks any better. All liars and cheats, the bloody lot of them."
"That expenses scandal, we shoulda locked them all up and thrown away the key!"
The talk shifts from government, to foreign policy, to the war on terror. We even cover current celebrities and the power of money. Each subject is met with scathing criticism for those involved, and many suggestions on a solution, mainly involving 'locking people up and throwing away the key'.
As the night draws in, we feel it is time to leave. Our clothes smell deeply of acrid, stale Golden Virginia. We climb nimbly over the mountain of cans and cigarette butts built up on the floor, towards the exit.
We leave Bloke-Man muttering about 'bloody I'm A Celebrity, my arse' and fiddling with his control pad, trying to jam a new set of power cells in to the back of them, and as we reach the door he calls to us.
"We need a revolution, that's what we need," he slur's, the elixir obviously taking over, "when the call goes out I'll be ready and waiting, with my bayonette fixed!"
We close the door and head out in to the fog.
It is good to know that no matter what happen's in the world, Bloke-Man will have an opinion on it, no matter what is said, Bloke-Man will have a viewpoint, no matter what is done, Bloke-Man will have a suggestion on how it could have been done better.
With Bloke-Man watching over us, we feel somehow safer.