Imagine my delight upon reading the local rag and finding a huge, indignant article about a posting on this website. I am thrilled to find a forum for like minded people, who spend every day in a state of constant amazement at the ever increasing amoeboid mass of s**m that slither their way round this vile little town.
What can I say? The fact that Stanley Kubrick saw fit to film some of A Clockwork Orange here was horribly prescient. The similarity between Alex and his droogs and the ratfink scrags that irritate the piss out of me every day ends here. At least Alex was a witty, if misguided soul. The inherent whiff of violence, that hangs like a smog around Aylesbury, is more primitive than a shark attack.
How I fondly remember the time when I was greeted by a fuelled up c**v outside The Littern Tree. I bitterly regret simply walking past him on my own. Maybe he took offence to my carefree stroll and decided to bring me into his world. With a headbutt. To be fair, it was a f*****g good headbutt that floored me. As I lay dazed on the chewing gum splattered street, he towered over me and asked, ratherly agressively, if ‘I wanted some?’. Funny, I thought he had already answered that question for me. I replied that I didn’t want any and got up to get the f**k out of there, as he was held back by his acolytes. A taxi driver who saw what happened told me that this chap had been having a pop at people all evening. I guess that just made me a statistic.
Even worse, was a Sunday lunch at The Aylesbury Duck. This was a meal born of necessity, not desire. In retrospect, perhaps we should have gone hungry. This is a Hungry Horse pub and is the scourge of modern society. Imagine the delight of c**v s**m where they can find a place to get pissed and dump their spawn. I was pleasantly surprised to see that most of the mewling brats had taken their shoes off, out of respect for the typhoid ridden carpet. On closer inspection, it seemed that their feet were blackened with dirt and that the carpet may have been better off if they had worn shoes.
What a treat! As I ordered the drinks, my arms stuck to the bar. As the ashen faced hag that presided over this establishment served me, I noted that the drinks were also in plastic glasses. The signs weren’t good. The menu was diverse, offering big f*****g plates of food, all with chips. Even the exotica, like the sweet and sour chicken. Food for the scared, indeed. We settled on a roast.
It wasn’t very nice. It may not have even been beef. I wouldn’t have been shocked to find a collar in amongst the veg (such as it was).
We ate quickly, which seemed fitting with local custom. As we dined, we were entertained by some urchins. A little girl was upset because another child had been nasty to her. It’s mother, necking a bottle of WKD, gave her some words of comfort and advice,
‘Well, don’t come to me. F*****g hit her!’
It’s good to know that the future generation is in safe hands.
God help us all.