Welcome to Worcester, the ancient **** capital of the **** ******** West Midlands. From the derelict and depressing Angel Place in the centre of town, to the sprawling Council ****-Estates of Warndon, Brickfields, Ronkswood and Dines Green, this once proud old city now stands as a monument to all that **** culture embraces.
A visitor arriving at Worcester’s Foregate Street railway station, and heading off in search of cultural stimulation, would soon be in no doubt that this city is now a wilderness of drab mediocrity surpassing even such nearby delights as Droitwich, Redditch, Kidderminster and the **** utopia of Birmingham.
Right at the centre of Worcester you will find the inevitable **** temple of McDonalds, and within yards of this are to be found other such culinary sewers as fried chicken outlets, burger bars, kebab houses and baked potato vans.
During the evening and weekend the hordes of Worcester ***** and ********* will congregate around these stinking emporiums of **** stuffing their spotty faces to their hearts content, leaving behind them a mass of rubbish for the pigeons and **** to gorge on.
In the evening however, Worcester comes into it’s own as a **** hot spot of epic proportions. **** boozers proliferate in Worcester town centre, The Courtyard, RSVP, Bushwackers and Chicago Rock to name but a few. Chicago Rock in particular seems to attract the true hardcore ****. Situated in an ancient medieval side street it really is a sight to behold to observe the ***** piling out at midnight, fighting and spewing their way down New Street towards the taxi rank by McDonalds.
For those still standing Worcester has an array of high class **** night spots, including Tramps, La Mango and Images, although those over 19 years old might feel a little out of place.
Yes, Worcester really has succumbed to **** rule, a true intellectual and cultural wilderness to match any in England.