Blackpool: Through the Brown Eye of the 5th horseman and out to Dante’s cesspit

So you wish to give up on life and can’t afford the one way trip to Switzerland? You wish to go for the slow option, terminal decline along the Helter-Skelter to absolute oblivion? But how do you carry out the ‘slow’ option, a lingering, gradual death? Well there is one place that captures death in all its forms: the death of culture, the death of spirit and the death of hope: Blackpool aka Cesspool.

In essence Blackpool is a demographic dustbin, a place where paedophiles, druggies, alkies, and all manner of ungodly ********** ner’do’wells accumulate like feculence in the U bend of Britain’s biggest toilet. If Blackpool could be described as a woman, it would be a syphilitic, scabby junkie tombstone teeth *****, stinking of piss, lying in her own excrement looking at the stars, violently pleasuring herself over a picture of serial killer Peter Sutcliffe.

The people are an example of evolution in decline towards atavism. The men are fat pasty looking oafs, wobbling about in football shirts whilst the women are cellulite vinegar breathed harridans; nicotine stained fingers from picking butt ends out of alleyways, using fly spray as perfume. It’s not fit for human excretion let alone consumption yet as the Nation’s No.1 dustbin/toilet its serves its purpose with remarkable ease; in that sense it’s an outstanding economic miracle as all the dregs, Untermenschen and biodegradable flotsam is crammed into 8 square miles of concrete decay.

Its architecture is to taste, as incest is to morality; self-inflicted, self managed decline at the behest of institutionalised stupidity, aka the council which [allegedly] started Blackpool’s journey towards managed decline with the closure of Central station, against Dr Beaching’s advice! No other town has with significant ease and self-cannibalisation managed its own declivity successfully as Blackpool: The premier resort for Satan worshiping child Pimps!

Hideous buildings abound like Festival House or more colloquially known as the wedding shed. The kind of place where Rose West marries Dennis Nielsen with Jeremy Kyle officiating, given its incongruous and vulgar presence.
“it’s not just a good place to work; it’s a great place to live”,
Thus spake Blackpool clowncil, that inveterate institution of low brow, ne’er do wells who have over decades [allegedly] wasted prodigious amounts of cash in order to ensure Blackpool’s social and economic decline.

Obviously this must surely be the imagined viewpoint of a rabid disease spreading fly, gayfully with joi de vis, skating on a mound of suppurating excrement. A visit to this odious slum by even the most liberal minded of individuals will result in an epiphany, from which they would emerge as the most rabid and fanatical of national socialists.

It’s easy to envision “Arbeit Macht Frei” on the sign for the Seasiders way, along with a resurrection of the Gestapo and Waffen SS, with one mission in mind: To ethnically cleanse this monstrosity of its intrinsic amoral vileness. And that dear friends is exactly what needs to be done. An aerial cleansing: A squadron of B52s dropping 10 megatons of Domestos on this festering dump.

[iLiveHere has to point out that this top tier rant and one of the best we have had in years is satire, yes satire. Google what it means. Hopefully that will to save us a long and tedious exchange of emails – Ed]