For fucks sake. Here it comes, a shining tube of white shit representing almost everything wrong with the world today. Toward me it slithers, a potent metaphor of unsubtle Americanisation in its shoddy craftsmanship and sickening exuberance. A fucking limousine.
I’ve arrived at the junction without enough time to cross, its too late, I’ll have to stand here and look at it a bit longer. Shit. The window’s down and I’m exposed to the tacky LED lit strip-joint décor. Even worse, its full of screaming 15 year old girls.
“WOOOOOOOOOOO” exclaims a wailing gobshite from within, a girl that The Sun would refer to unashamedly as a ‘reveller’. I’m cringing; I don’t need this, not least because I’ve spent the last 2 hours receiving a multi-sense shellacking courtesy of Neill Blomkamp’s alien-apartheid epic: District 9, something I’ll go into elsewhere.
“CHEER UP YA TWAT TEEHEHEEHEHHEHE”. Who’s idea was it to let an already clearly retarded 14 year old, get pissed on Appletini, and send her out into the city’s centre in an extended American joke-mobile resembling a long stiff stick of semen? Mmm?
My massive eyebrows are working overtime in expressing as much silent disgust as possible as the ‘limo’ begins to pull away. Freedom. Or it would be if I weren’t walking down one of Nottingham’s shittiest central streets. I reach the other side, greeted by a pair of aging alcoholics no doubt fresh from blazing through their dole money on pints of wank guest ale, one of which remarks, “mis’rible git, she were only sayin’ ello!”. Brilliant, not only am I being singled out by a traveller in Nottingham’s premier pimped up special needs wagon, but I’m being lambasted for not dignifying the little gimps with a warm response.
I hate city living sometimes.
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