Knott End & Preesall: where the spirits die of boredom.
Believe it or not there are places upon this earth that could only come from the warped imagination of some evil genius James Bond villain type. A dark figure sat in a lounge chair, cackling with glee whilst stroking a cat, conjuring up their latest demonic plan to rule the world. A kind of Lex Luthor on steroids carrying out a psychological war of attrition upon an unsuspecting populace. Such dark places of interminable monotony, decay and complete absence of hope or optimism do exist and not just within the darkest depths of a warped imagination.
Without doubt the perfect example of such a place is Knott End and Preesall or more appropriately: **** End & Pissall (Over Wyre). A place that where the Angel of Death would die of boredom.
It has the intricate architecture of the interior of a ping pong ball and is populated by those middle-class hypocrites whom we love to hate, the people that talk “Left” but act and behave “Right”. The kind of pseudo intellectuals you see swanning in their local, Woke activist types pontificating about how the world is full of bigots, racists and sexists etc, and how they as having white privilege have a duty to free them from their ‘oppressors’.
Yet, if a person of colour were to walk in, they would be running around like a bee on amphetamines pointing out that there was a black guy in ‘town’ and how they are a threat to the “cultural fabric”; (as cultural as a baboon’s ****), to the social equilibrium of their cosy little village.
Curtain Twitcher’s Paradise
With its bland streets with the all original bland bungalows, it’s a curtain twitcher’s paradise. A place where [imaginary] Satan worshipping child swapping parties are in profusion; where mealy mouthed spectral figures wander come out from under the pavements at night to prey on and any accidental interlopers.
It’s a place where you drive through without stopping, otherwise you will succumb horribly to a supernatural malevolence, as articulated in a Stephen King Novel.
Naturally the population of middle class dysgenic degenerates is all closely related, there being very little in the diversity of their corrupted DNA through years of ********** across multiple generations.
Local entertainment? Parlour games?? Pastimes include [descriptions of eye-watering depravity we can’t publish!!] using glass coffee tables for those of low **** retention, the luxury version being without the glass coffee table, glue sniffing and supping a yard of turpentine contests.
******* naked middle class 5 fingered heathens, playing tiptoe around the tulips dressed in SS uniforms, shouting “Heil Hitler”. A dystopian suburban hell where an assortment of middle-aged middle-class credit card millionaires slip and slide over each other, like a brewing bacillus in a glass retort.
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