Even when i look out of the window next to me i can see buses going past, my eyes instinctively head straight to the back seat of the top deck, where theres yet ANOTHER herd of c***s! surely that girl holding what looked like a cigarette must not have been older than 12? they’re getting older!
I am somewhat saddened to say that i live in Coventry. It has the potential to be a nice community, even though god knows that even my school has a better council than our own city. Lady Godiva must be turning in her grave…some low-life probably dug her up and robbed her clothes.
Fortunately though, im not counted among the poor souls who live in the likes of Hillfields, Stoke, Cheylesmore and Tile Hill, situated (nearish) around the outskirts of the city. I live in an area called radford, but with three houses, an old peoples home, a canal and a bridge separating my house from the city centre, I’m safely out of the way of all the mazed streets, made up entirely of c**v infested terraced houses.
I never dare to venture to the heart of radford alone, Jubilee Crescent. Satan himself must feel sorrow for the helpless non c***s who live there. It is basically a huge coplex of houses, sorted into streets, with a large patch of grass and a few shops in the middle. Oh yeah, theres a chippy too. A c***s gotta eat! Before you wonder though, the only reason anybody SANE strolls into this hell-hole is due to the ‘tesco’ there.
What would normally be a quick walk to the shop is a venture through hostile ground, a journey for people with steel balls (or no brains), what with all the numerous staring eyes and menacing hooded figures around. The problem with that though is that none of the c***s talk to each other, even though the lack of improper and somewhat damned annoying english is a rare abd pleasant gift. The second edge of the blade slams down though, as you realise that the silence means that the c***s recognise you as an enemy – a non c**v!
They all stare in contempt and hollow hostility at this outsider who is not part of the tribe. The fat, uncovered and three-quarter-length tracksuit uniformed females of this clan show their admiration for the obvious alpha male; the fat one with the burberry cap and fake gold chain. The now fascinated, if not confused c***s rarely even take drags from their desperately acquired fags, even a toke of the odd spliff is yet to be seen. All the c***s in this part appear like statues, but sadly the pigeons dont s**t on them.
There are gangs crammed into every corner and every orifice of this place, ever vigilant to work out the pin number of the man at the ATM machine. Funnily enough, credit fraud has dramatically risen recently. Eye contact with the c***s is not advisable, and so is a reply to the question ‘what you lookin’ at’. The trick is simply to let these sad cases bask in the glory of a mutual victory – staring contantly at every male who isn’t wearing a cap!
After having reached the golden safety of the tesco store, normality resumes, and the c***s decide mutually that the security guard there looks hard and will take more than staring at to conquer, and so they just go off towards the nearest bottle bank and get drunk/high.
Theres simply too much to say regarding the city centre – i will simply say this. The puddles of vomit (must have been last nights kebabs) that stain the bridge en route there are only the start. Even the public library is a crack den! (only the toilets though.)
Its a shame that when we look back in the future we wont be able to compare to the ‘disco’ 70’s or the ‘rockin’ 80’s – all we will remember is the millenium s**m. the c***s. still, theres still time before this decade is out. All we can do is wait…’chavness’ is only a temporary illness! i hope, anyway.
If that doesn’t work, i reckon the old folks will get fed up and rebel against these embarrassments. I believe that some sort of revolution is in order. that or another noahs ark. Hasta la muerte, c***s!