EU referendum day is finally here, and people across the country are braving Biblical amounts of rain and very long queues to make their voices heard at the polling booth.
Weary campaigners on both sides of the debate are giving it their all in the final push to sway undecided voters - which the last polls from Wednesday estimate make up as much as 10 per cent of the electorate.
Social media is awash with normals and political campaigners alike in last-minute pleas to friends and family to get out and vote.
But for our money, this guy’s rant about the Britain we might wake up in tomorrow is one of the best:
Here it is in its glorious entirety:
Friday's going to be amazing! I'm going to wake up in my Union Jack jim-jams to the sound of a squadron of Spitfires racing overhead and leaving a trail of hot buttered crumpets behind them.
I'll run to the corner shop past all the British children who are laughing and squealing with excitement as they make a beautiful statue of the queen out of happy wriggling bulldog puppies - with two corgis for her eyebrows!
Bunting flutters everywhere and the man from the betting shop steps into the street - 'guess what! England just won the World Cup and The Ashes and The Grand National and here's the best bit - Boris put a bet on it for everyone! You're all MILLIONAIRES!!!'
The Red Arrows fly overhead dropping fish and chips as I walk into the corner shop, get my morning paper and go to the counter. 'How much please?' I say to the Asian lad there. 'One pence, everything in the whole shop now costs just 1p!' he laughs, leave it on the counter, I'm off back to Pakistan - we all are!'
And he's right! Outside in the streets jolly old Nigel Farage is leading a huge crowd of happy foreigners - Turks, Poles, Romanians, Syrians - there's even a few English people with heavy suntans mixed up in there! Nigel's playing Rule Britannia on a long pipe, rather like the pipe that takes the gas into your oven, and they're all following and smiling and talking foreign, bless them!
Just then Boris flies overhead in a concorde made of Bank of England gold - 'don't worry!' he laughs. 'I've cut out all the bits the French made!' and with that he crashes into the ground at 1200 miles an hour, along with the economy, the country and all the dozy nostalgic foreigner-fearing f--kwits who fell for his bulls--t.
Grow up. Wake up.
Well. That escalated quickly, didn't it?