Often acknowledged as one of the most poor and rancid areas in the country, the West Midlands, like all other deprived areas, is a hotbed for that ever expanding breed known as c***s. Nestled in the middle of this county, forsaken by decent society (once part of Staffordshire until they got sick of it and chucked them out) lies the old mining town of Wednesbury (wenzbry if you’re a c**v). Few of ever heard it and few would want to. Once a home to the affluent business owners who gained riches from it’s plentiful coal supply, the closure of the mines (it’s primary source of income) made Wednesbury nothing more than an over spill for Birmingham, declared by the government as one of the top five most deprived areas in the country. Made up of several estates, Wednesbury is home to the single teen moms, drug addicts and petty criminals spawned by pathetic, jobless scrots who got off their lazy, fat arses long enough to procreate a brood of mini mes the size of which would make a catholic proud.
The majority of the infestation occurs in the estate of Friar Park, once farm land until a few unruly p****s decided to settle – therefore creating a hive of c***s (or townies as they were known)which has spread at such an alarming rate, it can only be described as a virus. Controlled by three ruling families (of which EVERY resident of Friar Park belongs to at least one whether directly or by proxy Friar Park is like a bad episode of The Sopranos. With their own code of conduct, Friar Parkers live in their own deluded, chavaliscious bubble rarely venturing out of this safe haven for scutters. In an estate where rule number one is ‘don’t nick off your own – they ain’t got owt’ and carrying Netto bag is ‘a badge of honour’ (That isn’t a lie – it was in an article in the local rag Express and Star – number one for c**v gossip), there isn’t much hope for the poor little s***s born into it. Whether it’s Wodensborough C.T.C or Manor High, the only qualification the chavlings can expect is an ASBO (or an E grade in woodwork if they’re lucky)
We are daily bombarded by images of poor African families on Oxfam adverts, eager to lift themselves out of poverty yet the c***s of Friar Park are quite happy to stay exactly as they are. Their self proclaimed anthem, set to Prodigy’s ‘Firestarter’ is ‘I’m a Friar Parker, a scruffy Friar Parker’ – I think this speaks for itself. Wednesbury is a place where the uniform is trackies tucked into Winnie the Pooh socks, purchased from West Bromwich indoor market and Argos bought/stolen jewellery, where the average age of c**v grandparent hood is 32, where aging c***s congregate at local watering hole The Cabin in their legging and slippers, where every week the post office is packed by rioting c***s, all jostling to try and get to the front of the queue to cash their giros so they can go ‘up Ethel Austins and Peacocks and get little Harmony and Kieran new gear’.
Now to come to Wednesbury’s ‘nightlife’. For the under age c***s, the fall of evening means heading to the park to get tanked up on whatever the elected c**v has managed to steal from the local offie (usually paint stripper vodka or some form of cider). Then, if it’s a special night, it means a trip to Wetherspoon’s where the average age of customers is 14. Full to the brim of teens wearing their best Bladidas (fake adidas), all crowding the bar demanding ‘blue wickeds’ and cider and black, Wetherspoons has become the new hang out for the exiled Patrick goers who were cast out into the cold after the closure of Wednesbury’s one and only nightclub (although I use that word loosely). And of course it wouldn’t be a proper night out without a leisurely joyride round the estate in a stolen Nova, 50 Cent blasting out of the speakers.
Choose life. Choose your giro. Choose having 6 kids by the age of 20. Choose Tv’s, stereos, Dvd players (all carefully robbed from Curry’s). Choose poor health, smoking 40 a day from the age of 10, drinking s***e cider and black. Choose a council flat. Choose Sport‘s World. Choose fake sovereigns that turn your finger green. Choose wagging school to go to get pissed down the ‘dockey’ . Choose losing your virginity age 12 on the field at the back of the canal. Choose beating the s**t out kids from Menzies High School and getting bundled in the back of police riot vans. Choose wedding receptions held at the Legion. Choose appearing on Jeremy Kyle for a paternity test and saying ‘At the end of the day, right’ 20 times a minute. Choose Friar Park.