Welcolme To Torquay- The Resort of **** Culture.
Torquay is the home of the 24hr **** lifestyle. Out of the ghettos of Hele village, Chelston and Ellacombe arise the unqustionable **** of the Torquay ****.
A usual week day for a Torquay **** usually invovles scoring some of the most dirty plastic-******** shoe polish ridden cannabis resin and smoking ‘shotties’ in the back of a stolen Nova. As the night draws in it is not uncommon to here the piercing sound of a Scooter album pass you by as the young ***** drive there pile of sh*** modded cars to congregate to the Mecca of the Torquay ****, Staples car park. Here the ‘clans’ of ***** disperse into there various groups in the different end of the car park. Anybody seen joining the visiting gang of Paignton or Exeter ***** will be hurled with abuse and threatening stairs. Opposite Staples car park McDonald’s drive through is jam packed with drain-pipe exhaust fitted 1litre engined Ford and Vauxhalls waiting to wine and dine there awaiting 13 yr old ******** girlfriends with milkshake and nuggets. It is not uncommon for the shocked and distressed parents of these young girls to come and rescue them from the gangs of Torbay ***** from the car park.
With Friday here and benefits safely in the Torquay ****’s traccy pockets its time to make the annual meet at Claires nightclub to get wasted on Torquay’s finest amphetamine and ecstacy that has more incommon with Flash microcleaner and rat poison than what there Paignton **** dealer told them they were buying. As the **** mob bounces up and down to some of the worst house and trance ever devised at 500 beats per minute, any poor DJ who trys to slip in some tasteful slower house music will be immediatelty shouted at and cursed. The usual reaction to this involves shouting ‘aarder fastaaa what the fook is this s****” your killing my high!’ as the angry mob slams there fists on the DJ box and head for Room 2 and try and impress the ********* with their moves to the latest 50 Cent track.
As kick-out time approaches, Torquays streets are laiden with drunk easy pickings for the *****. They usually wait till about 2.30pm, when most of the older harder piss heads have gone home and all that can be found is absolutely wasted young innocents trying to find there homes. These innocents will be descended on by usually a gang of 5 burberry boys between the ages of 11-18 who want to prove themselves by imprinting there sovereign rings onto the forehead of the poor individual who is usually unconscious before the incident thankfully. As the ***** add to there pockets its time to go and celebrate in the early morning by heading to the Chelston ‘pretty-park’ to poor shampoo into the natural stream and terrorise local residents with amateur firework displays.
For the rest of the weekend the local ***** can be seen wondering around Torquay town centre outside JJB sports and Torquay’s central McDonalds. Behing central McDonalds is a network of small alley ways leading to the multistorey and Abbey Road. It is not uncommon to find many ***** on patrol in this area and slumped heroine addicts alike, heading to the benches outside the town hall to score there latest hit. This only aids the Torquay **** economy so they can head to Liddles to buy cheap Vodka and cheap sausage rolls in the bargain basket for the kids.
The **** children are left to walk there pit-bull terriors around such areas as Hele. Usually on these fond journeys of the enthusiastic juveniles enjoyable games are played such as ‘who can slash the most tyres on this street’ and ‘who can steal the most from the Hele co-op’. As they head home from there days out on the street on there micro-scooters they impress mum with there latest takings. If they impress enough Mum might slip them cheap dessert and a Lambert and Butler for there troubles.
As you can see, Torquay Townie culture makes Torquay the ultimate Chavtropolis. And now it is even attracting ***** from around the UK, mainly Liverpool and Scotland, so much is the National appeal of this dreary town.