Wetherby. What a sad tale. This once quiet market town has now been invaded by repulsive, subhuman creatures, donning their crappy fake barberry caps (buy one get 5 free down the market) and Kappa shell suits. A few years back and people did not know such cretins existed, but now, at least one person falls under the spell every day and feels it necessary to walk around like they are carrying a years supply of toilet roll under their arms.
Last week, I walked past a gang of the vile insects, just minding my own business. However, it is the job of a c**v to ensure that everyone’s life is as miserable as theirs and as I continued to pass the group of in-breds I heard the following…
‘What the f**k are you lookin’ at, you wanna fight, you startin’?. Puzzled by this phenomena, I walked on, only to be overtaken by a self contained, radioactive Ghetto blaster, that is a keved up Micra, booming its way down Main Street followed by a procession of supped up novas and corsas with the bodywork so low it caused sparks as it went.
They continued to drive around the town continuously, only stopping to refuel on Chips, leaving an array of greasy newspaper, most of which have their photographs on, (court roundup).
Then on the other hand, you get the c***s who have decided to do something with their lives, get a career, and make something of themselves, get a job and in doing so inflicting themselves and their vile appearance upon the local Wetherby people. Choices, Spar, Kwik Save and Morrison’s cafe tend to be the favs.
The fact that the cafe serves up delightful concoctions of defrosted c**p is made worse by the fact that it is brought to you by either a girl who looks half Chinese due to the extreme force of her hair pulling back on her face and smoothed out by a combination of grease and a whole factory of hair spray or another slapper who looks like she hasn’t slept for years as she has been the main feature of the freak show at the circus, all thanks to Barry M and Collection 2000 cosmetics.
Then you get the boys, who still insist on tucking their trousers into their socks (Kappa obv) with their brand spankin’ new Reeboks, squeaking when they waddle around attempting to cope with carrying a tray AND waddle at the same time.
Every so often you will hear a crash and a c**v just stood there with both earphones of a stolen I Pod in their fully pierced ears standing over what resembles the sick of about 5 seriously ill dogs.
But there is one c**v in particular; who I aptly named the Wetherby C**v. She is about 13, long, rats tails hair, clinically obese and wears the tightest, bright pink Kappa tracksuit or a denim mini skirt with all the trademark c**v accessories, including a pram and baby c**v/c******e (it is difficult to tell). She is part of a large, in bred family who are the ringleaders of this sorry race. She does f**k all but wander the streets, followed by an army of wannabes, squawking and swearing at every normal person they happen to walk past. Despite her best efforts, she has yet to find a job, even Morrisons have refused her. But she can be spotted outside this establishment on a daily basis chomping her way through a bag(s) of ready cooked sausages, then wiping the grease over her blinged up baby’s head, trying to achieve the greased back look, but this time(literally)….
Anyway, just be careful next time you have the pleasure of visiting Wetherby. All is not what it seems…You have been warned.