Glasgow – The Dear Green Teethed Place

When I left Glasgow a decade ago, the Ned fashion comprised of a thin nylon tracksuit, trainers and baseball cap worn by a dentally challenged youth scrounging ****, drinking Buckfast and picking fights with strangers (their pack-like nature means that they prefer 10 **** onto one passerby while shouting, as only hypocrites can that don’t know what irony means, ‘come oan, big man’).

Now that I have returned, I note that the **** fashion still comprises of a thin nylon tracksuit, trainers and baseball cap worn by a dentally challenged youth (though presumably by their identikit offspring as this gene pool is weak and deficient in many respects but not in the realm of fertility.).

Times have changed but the only thing that stops me from having a perpetual Groundhog day is that when I left, they were uniformly rat-faced, poker thin and blue-skinned.

Now many of them are grossly obese, particularly their women (who cannot buy earrings as large as their face as jewellers do not manufacture Jumbo hoops). And often (and usually in tandem with this) their complexion is either orange or actually terracotta in hue, like they’ve had a collision with a tanker full of Henna.

Sometimes it is now possible to pick out your attacker in a Police line-up. Although the teeth are still all green, the hairstyles have got awfully dainty on these vicious **** as they now tend to compete with each other to produce outlandish and unique coiffure. However, because of their tendency to violence, the public have tended not to point at them and say ‘his heed looks like the back o’ a guinea pigs ****..’ or ‘gay hair’.

The Ned has two career paths. One is to breed and claim benefits – 7 out of 10 of the working population of certain areas of Glasgow are on Incapacity benefit (and cynics would surmise that the remainder is either in Barlinnie, on JSA or in a maternity ward).

Sadly, the other path is to sink lower into Dickensian squalor and toothlessly quarrel with each other in town as they seek out the best spot to practice their sport of ‘polystyrene cup thrusting’ or ‘BO hurling’ which, for the tourists on this site, is the lowland DSS equivalent of the Highland games.

Both, which ever path destiny chooses for them, are distinguishable by their preference for casual sports wear, or occasionally, excessively distressed jeans. This uniform of fitness orientated clothing perversely operates as a kind of reverse tartan by making them part of the same McNed ‘clan’.

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