Nuneaton or to give it its proper title

WarwickshireWest Midlands

Treacle Town: so called as all the roads are sticky with tarmac permanently due to the local council’s fetish for road works (well it does keep 5 more ***** off the dole and out of trouble I guess) and because the local’s are as thick as the aforementioned substance. The fact that it was the site of the UKs first public condom machine says all you need to know. Nuneatons retail area, is currently going through a slump bigger than a room full of pregnant ********* engaging in a cornetto eating contest. About half the shops have closed down, from small independent shops to hulking commercial behemoths such as Virgin. the council claims this is a temporary setback in the glorious history of the nuneaton reich as when the seemingly messianic ropewalk shopping centre is built all the retailers will be flocking back faster than a souped up nova. Unfortunately, a year into its development, it still resembles the architectural equivalent of a nervous breakdown captured in plywood. the only evidence of commercial life to be seen is down the same road from the ropewalk, as surprisingly enough, McDonalds, Woolworths and Cash Converters are doing a roaring trade. around this area we will find the common household variety ****, fake burberry, cheap tracksuit, yadda yadda yadda. Unlike their counterparts in other towns though these lot are forced to be a lot more inventive as pubs and clubs in nuneaton have a lifespan shorter than a gnat due to the locals regrettable habit of making such ventures unprofitable due to their antics. Try keeping your licence when you to explain how a few of your patrons got into your establishment with crowbar

type Nuneaton into the BBC news search engine and you will see just how inventive a Nuneaton **** can be, from setting a 11 year old’s hands on fire to happy slashings, where a random bystanders ear is cut off for the rest of the crews pleasure. the two most favourite pastimes however are racist beatings and ***** Snooker. I don’t think I need to explain the latter, but the former is as follows: the twenty or so participants must wander round a particular area of Nuneaton in the early hours of the morning, until they find say a Ford on which point they slash all the tires, then must slash all the tires of a Honda, a Renault and so on in a particular order, with the one who slashs all the required makes winning the grand prize (presumably a whole barrel of white lighting). this fun games usually ends up with hundreds of cars in a particular area vandalised over the course of one night, with the police simply shrugging their shoulders and advising the car-owners to keep their cars in the garages in future (which they would do if they could afford houses with garages attached).

apart from your common household variety **** you will find another type of **** living in the North-East of the town around Higham Lane. these are the upper-middle class *****. unlike your normal **** they have no excuse of upbringing or circumstance, they are ***** simply for the hell of it. you can tell these apart from normal *****, as they are always decked out in the finest designer clothing, and the most expensive haircuts. your normal **** hangs around in novas and ancient escorts, these lot have fairly fancy motors and more bling than the whole of G unit put together. I’ve been in residing and ******* out in some fairly dodgy areas in my time (Hillfields, Coventry, Shellthorpe, Loughborough, Digbeth Birmingham etc) but NE Nuneaton is the place I most fear trouble in. in Digbeth or Hillfields people generally don’t go out of their way to cause trouble as for all they know the person they start on is carrying a knife or a gun. In NE Nuneaton, the only kids are who aren’t ***** are alternative types or geeks who are more likely to be packing band merch or their Warhammer 4000 playing pieces. In Digbeth or Hillfields any trouble that breaks out whatever the outcome, will bring unwanted legal attention on whosever involved. IN NE Nuneaton, most of these kids parents are connected (through several neo-masonic “social clubs”) to the cops, or their parents actually are cops. whatever they do its a win win situation, they batter the person they start on, that person gets leaned on by the cops not to press charges before they’ve even got in contact with them, if by some fluke their would-be victim batters them, then the whole weight of the law can be relied to fall on them and crush them with witnesses popping out of the woodwork as if by magic. and when you have it so good why study or get a job, why not hang about outside the one stop or the threshers every day blasting out R Kelly, pressing your car horn continually, trying to pick up 14 year old girls, trying to pick fight with 14 year old boys as you don’t like the fact they have a System of a Down Hoodie, glasses, or brown skin.

to end this insight into Nuneaton life, let me tell you about one of the more humorous and unusual (as in no one gets hurt) occurances that took place in NE nuneaton. Now I’m walking down higham lane one may afternoon in 2003, when a car comes speeding past me with some moron screaming out the window at me, at the same time a brick comes hurling out, missing me by about a mile. this happens once more before I get to the end of the road, by which time I clock that my would be assailants were the sons of quite a prominent policeman. he comes round a third time just outside the onestop by which point I pick up a brick (the idiots had been getting them from a skip in the middle of the lane) and pretend Like I’m going to throw it straight at his window, the gimp sees this just as he about to scream, and his facial expression turns from leering mockery into a look of pure horror. I never throw the brick of course, that would just be asking for Nuneatons finest to get their claws into me. on the road junction near the shops at St Nics avenue, our intrepid imbecile comes round a fourth and final time this time stopping his car in the middle of the intersection and staring at me with his best Tupac face whilst “say my name” by Destinys Child is blaring out of his car stereo. This particular sight is to funny to behold, and I collapse onto the floor in hysterics, this bemuses him so much he drives off and forgoes following me home the rest of the way.

That sums it up for the NE Nuneaton *****, they want to be “gangstas” but they are too affluent and establishment to achieve this even to the meagre level their less well off cousins have. The only solution is kidnap these tools and set them free in Compton, to show them the delusional nature of their homeboy fantasies

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