I can’t keep quiet and must provide you with my further adventures of everyday life in the spunkbubble town of Woking and its despicable ‘care in the community’ burbury wearing shitcreep population of *****.
In Dantes Inferno he describes that there are in fact 7 levels of hell and on the bottom level you will find Judas Iscariot in a block of ice. Well that’s ********. You will in fact find the town of Woking.
Did you know that Woking only exists because of the fact that during the black plague in London, the cemeteries were so overfull that they decided to cart the bodies out of London and bury them. Thus Woking was created. ON DEAD BODIES!
Anyway, Woking has two shopping centres the ‘best’ location is called the Peacock centre. The Peacock centre is on several levels connected by a series of escalators. Obviously since the Peacock’s has a Macdonald’s and a Madhouse it’s a magnet for the little ******* and a couple of Saturdays ago I was descending on one when I noticed that the exit was crowded with what I can only describe as a bunch of *****.
Why I immediately came to that conclusion is that they were decked out in regulation tracksuits (primark), burbury caps (matalans) and white trainers (**** knows, but I bet they stank of ****).
Anyway the ****** ******** were hovering like farts so I walked straight through the bunch giro touting *******, nearly pushing one particular **** on his ****. This resulted in the aggrieved **** asking me what the **** did I think I was doing.
Now theres an old saying of wisdom in hindsight, and now I look back and think of all the witty one liners I could of said but none come close to my simple knee jerk rejoinder of ’**** off, son.” Whilst walking off.
I really do know what the **** made of this affront to his pride, I’d walked off but I can tell you it felt great, although I did have to wash my hands wear they palmed the **** out of the way, for fear of contracting a disease.
I’m lucky that I can get out of the ******** for 8 hours a day on weekdays as I commute to London to work. However, this means that I have to run the gauntlet of Woking train station! The townside of the station sits amusingly opposite an off-licence which lets face it, acts as a loaded **** gun waiting to go off, and regularly does, like a ******* machine gun with unlimited ammo!
It’s not so bad in the morning, as everyone’s knows the **** only gets up in time for Trisha, but come six o’clock when I step off the train I feel like demanding a direct apology from god for making me live in such a fuckwitt town.
Through the ticket stiles the casual observer will be assailed by groups of these filthy kings and queens of ****. Not for the faint hearted you will have to stand by the pedestrian crossing waiting for the lights to turn red whilst the standing ***** hurl abuse at themselves, you and the other unfortunates all praying for the lights to change.
This brings me to my second tale, which occurred at this crossing. I’d left the station and was standing queuing with other ‘norms’ waiting for the lights to change when a couple of ********* wearing hoop earrings (T-Maxx) and not a lot else emerged from the subway. I wouldn’t want to speculate the subject of their conversation, which ended abruptly when they emerged into the waiting crowd. But one of the walking STD’s tailed off their conversation with “so I was sucking his ****…….”, Bless.
Ladies and gentlemen, boy and girls I give you Woking Town. No really, I’m giving it to you, you can ******* have it.
