Living in Stretford, Manchester
Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in Greater Manchester, North West

Stretford is a place that is a Mecca for chavs and scallies. They’re dressed in the typical scally uniform of trainers, trackies and a snap back hat. they’re pockets are filled with the latest skunk weed that smells like cow piss and cat piss mixed in with giraffe piss. They’re usually walking around with this smelly bag of leafs acting proud that the weed they just bought is the latest strain designed to make you eat all the smart price rice grain cereal and make you talk a load of s**t because you suddenly grown a brain cell because the weed makes you intelligent.

The local park is full of teenagers who have broken the children’s climbing frames. These teens are usually swearing their heads of pissed off white ace and thats just on a Monday afternoon. the local council then put a murder tape round it for nearly two years. The people who cant escape have taken to impaling themselves just to end it all.

The Arndale or AKA The Mall is a grey oppressive looking building shaped like a radiator. In there you will find cheap s**t galore pound-land, pound world it’s that low, Wilkos f*cked off to better pastures and took their cheap s**t [you mean “lovely merchandise” -admin] somewhere else. The locals have been in a whirlwind waiting for the new Aldi to open, so they can purchase the latest dodgy [yummie] German sausage, thinking they’re classy. Gabbots AKA Crenshaws usually drop their prices after 5pm, then there is usually a scrum of st tropez tanned trollops with cheap blonde hair, fighting for the pile of bacteria filled “still fresh” meat going for 20p a kg. They take their spoils home with a look of glee on their faces, smiling showing their roll up stained gnashers. They get in and proceed to throw the meat in the black tar coloured oil in the deep fat dryer. It’s usually joined by chips, peas, beans and gravy thrown in. The bath of stench is then left to fester in the oil whilst she rounds up her gang of twats, dressed in mini me trackie and fake trainers.

They then sit in the living room on the warped laminate eating the pile of shite. The staffie benefit dog, drooling at the prospect of left overs. They all then run upstairs fighting over the shitter, because of the stale oil rotting their guts, they then argue over the toilet roll because there is none left. Callum picks up the benefit dog and wipes his arse on the brindle stained fake pit bull.

The walkways are a danger to human life, the old people shoot up and down them on mobility scooters shouting “move f*ckers” when you get in the way. The smell of piss wafting after them. They’re usually making a get away as they’ve [allegedly] stolen 180 teabags and some custard creams from quality save. You will also see droves of people going into Bright House to pay 90 quid from their ESA. They’ve ruined their credit rating buying Air Max and getting an iPhone 3 from little woods.

There is a pub attached to the Mall. Every local loser attends the dive. Pisscans and their shitty staffies loiter drinking beer outside smoking dole ups. The stench of mouldy beer and cigs fill the air. After they ingest the stale beer there is usually a few waifs and stays asleep in the church grave yard a stones throw away.

Shitford as i like to call it, is a place where the streets are lined with sh*t and not gold. The pavements are covered in semi solid dog s**t from the dodgy meat the dog owner bought from [a place you can’t mention -admin].

The locals have taken to spraying the dog s**t fluorescent colours so you don’t walk it into the beech laminate they’ve had down so long its all warped and makes you feel sea sick.

They all think they’re the next Tony Montana because they’ve got a grow-op in their loft. That’s until the local Police catch them and they s**t themselves thinking there doing life for 2 weed plants.

Stretford is a place where you can see it all went wrong just drive past fast.