My C**v-o-meter starts to smoke when I enter the town. On a Tue (market day) it blows up. For a small town it has a huge inbred count.
I would feel more safer in Iraq than Alton on market day. The c***s head for the market to buy ten thousand bags of cheese ‘n’ onion crisps to feed their baby c***s for a week.
Next stop on the c**v tour is the Post Office where you have to avoid the over-weight single mums that hang outside the entrance. They sport the usal c**v-wear: hooped earings, jogging bottoms, fag in one hand, kid in the other.
Other c**v hang-outs are the job centre steps, outside the newsagents and lady-place car park where driver c***s can impress in their 1.1 saxo’s.
I know I am impressed by a Nova 1.4 wheel spinning in the wet. I can see why they get the girls, and I bet they buy them their chips and coke. Romance ah?
Yes Alton c***s come in all ages. It really is worth a visit, just walk along the high street and within a few minutes your c**v count will be through the roof.
Want a fight? Try the local night club at weekends. One time about 250 inbred family members had a mass brawl outside…even the cops just left them to it.