BROWNHILLS

Brownhills has to be the town that not just time but the whole world forgot, it lies on the a452 chester road just north of walsall and south of cannock, just the name of the place puts you off and you will not be disappointed, driving down the a452 you know when you are in the place as grey blocks of flats appear on either side, then as the high street starts you are greeted by dilapidated Victorian shop fronts containing “ **** me, it’s a pound “ type shops, although most are shut up now, there are many ***** bazaars to be found and at the end of the high street there is a lovely 1950’s shopping arcade with a café in where you really need to wear breathing apparatus to withstand the fog of woodbines and capstan full strength to be found there, those “how clean is your house” women would literally piss their pants at the sight of the sticky floor, flypaper ******* over the toaster and the staff, smoking and scratching their crotch as they serve up your “hearty full English on crusty”, and now the *****, well they are not really ***** as surprising as it may seem they are lower down the evolutionary scale than ***** if that is possible, even the “Frankie” t shirt is on show here and  the local mongs idea of a chavved up car is an allegro with a snazzy gear **** from halfords, I would say that 100% of the population of Brownhills from 1-90 are the pits of the earth and on Saturday they can be found monging round the huge market behind the high street looking at the drug tools and hard core **** pirate dvds, and behind that is the lovely scenic canal with an occasional shopping trolley or dead dog to be found, the local youth cant speak so the **** language is a no go hear, just some primevil grunts can be heard eminating from some Neanderthal, the parents are worst, theres more ********** here than a mormon christening party, and the site of a screaming child being told to “**** off and die by his mother was a joy to behold. Please visit this town, you will not be disappointed, there is no finer case for canon fodder I have ever seen.

How grim is your Postcode?