Commercial street
Man, this is just a Hillbilly Love Town, family runs thick here. You’ll know when some peakcapless slaphead asks you if you’ve got a *** and calls you Bra, like you’re wrapped around a pair of **** and difficult to undo. If this happens, reply No, then enjoy your leisurely walk up Commercial Street.
Greet the **** in the white shirt asking if you’ve had any accidents, with the palm of your [imaginary – Ed] hand firmly into the bridge of their nose, they will eventually leave you alone. Unfortunately, this is not the case with the Chuggers, be sure to walk over any good looking dreadlocked chics asking if you want to give money to some lost cause prostituting itself by sending its filthy employees out into the day and making your ears weep.
It becomes a tad boring being asked if you want a Big Issue by 10 different clucking glassy eyed dog-loving twits, but be creative, reply by asking them if they would like to buy your copy of the Argus (hoody loving rag), before giving it to them for free, shoving it heartily down their throat [in your imagination – Ed].
Dodge the prams being pushed by the mingest of the ******* ming hair tightly scrunched back, fattest of the ******* fat, Clover eating Iceland heroes.
Then,
contemplate,
Family.
Hate Them.
