Thursday, November 27, 2008

Bams.

Kelvingrove Park has joined the list next to bus stops, the ABC, T in the Park, my bebo page and Glesga morgues, of places that are full of neds.

Kelvingrove park used to be an early summer haven for all those with nothing better to do but fritter and pish the last of their student loans and the re-embursment on their Byers Road flat deposit. Buckfast, Sainsbury's disposable Barbeques and Diablos in hand and it was off to the park, iPod and speakers in their man bags, cross-gender sunglasses perched on their noses, we would all come together to worship the sun. It was, as dreadfully pretentious as it sounds, a great laugh and one of the truly cultured hotspots that Glasgow had to offer. We were important people in an important part of the city. We would sit around happily on our spongy arses, mincing from group to group, puffing badly rolled, grass joints and hesitantly sipping our "buckie" pretending to be oh-so-scheme. No trouble. Just wankers. Kings of our hill. All acting as masterbatory aids to each of the little boutique cleek members, rougue frisbies skimming overhead on an uncertain course, all to the soundtrack of the latest sound of Glasgow's glam jam underground. You can almost taste the carefully blanketed ignorance. It was fun.

But not so long ago, an entirely new, polar breed of wanker entered the park. Something different. An alien species that Glasgow's jasmine scented West End had not been prepared for.

Fat, shirtless, beetroot tinted plankton now sit as kings of the hill. Sooking their Buckfast as if it were contained within a breast, smoking immaculatley rolled council hash/Mayfair joints and convinced of their stance as the hills rightful owners. D2 jumpers tied around their waists, Hackett jeans rolled up to the knees and tattoos of their 6 wean's birthdays on their back.

Malkey - 07/04/2003
Chelsea-Ann - 23/01/2004
Lee - 30/10/2004
Stacy-Marie - 14/07/2005
Henrick - 24/05/2006
Leslie-Michelle - 18/02/2007
 
You also have the munter scheme dug women that hang off these unevolved bottom feeders as well. Lying there, sunning their chests with the first UV rays that haven't been ommitted from a lightbulb in 4 years, proudly sporting their Chinese tattoos that we're told ironically means Peace, Love and Harmony, but actually means Chicken Satay, black bean sauce and a side of fried rice. She's down graded from the bottle of Tropical MD 20/20 and Mayfair superkings to Blue WKDs and Richmond Menthols because she's "pregnant and that". Oh what joy, another helpless little murdering thug in the making. These are the type of people that have ruined the West End summer experience for peaceful, loving and harmonious student types.

I remember one incident where these things flexed their muscles and gave us all an example of their true control over the peaceful Belle and Sebastian fans.

"Ho you ya fuckin' prick! Aye you wi the fuckin' snakes oan his heed! Gees oor frisby back ya ride!" shouted one of these enormous, man-shaped prawns to an unexpecting young chap with dreadlocks.

Now, not only had these mockit fuck tards almost hit this man's girlfriend with a frisby, the frisby belonged to our dreadlocked friend! "Gees oor frisby back" is a little forceful isn't it. Not only are you barking an order at a person you almost assaulted with a flying disc, you are declaring ownership of the young man's summer toy. Our dreadlocked friend was caught right in the middle of a morale dillema, throw the frisby back and let this pointless act of "bam-up the spongers" continue, or don't and risk getting his cunt kicked up and down the hill.

This is exactly the sort of thing that we Westenders wouldn't tolerate if our testicles weren't internal organs. Everyone hates these people. They ruined the relaxed atmosphere we used to bathe in. They've pished in the bath. It doesn't matter if it's just a drop, it's in there, and it's a no go zone folks.
 
The most hillarious thing about the whole ned/human situation is that if neds were intelligent enough to understand their powers of intimidation, they could have a lot more than "a swig o' yer buckie big fulla" or "30p fir ma bus", they could in fact they could take over the world. With threats such as "gees yer ring or i'll take yer hond" and "tap us yer motor or i'll slash ye" they could reduce the Strathclyde Police force to a hole in the ground, and have the arm of the British Government twisted and pulled up behind it's back. They could control the world if they had a brain that wasn't being pickled in tonic wine and cheap eckies.
 
And I think we have every right to be frightened. How can you feel safe on the streets knowing that the criminals have better weapons than the Police? Police have a stick and a pepper flavoured spray, the bams have got swords and chainsaws.
"Hold it right there or I'll hit you on the head with this stick and spray your eyes with my poorly scented deodrant!" doesn't really compare to "Am gonnae burst your spleen through yer arsehole and turn you intae a lolly pop cuntybaws!!" Just wait until some wee bam in Castlemilk figures out how to re-wire his microwave and turn it into a nuclear weapon, on that day you have to praise the lord for letting us live in the most ridiculous century in history. But we gave the Police one good go with the guns and what happened...some cunt dodging a train fare gets 10 bullets pumped into his head.
 
Is there no boundary to this social disease? Will they stop at nothing until they have colon-ised every square centimeter in Scotland? Is it really all going to end in a blaze glory for the carefree social cockroaches? Or will the world suddenly realise that adolescent castration for anyone that tucks their socks into their trousers is necessary to maintain law and order? Take that chib out of their Fred Perry knock-off boxer shorts and chop their bollocks off, throw them down the drain and lets get into a bit of social cleansing.
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Vote Gardiner.

1 comment:

SmartCookie79 said...

Please, write a novel. Now. The world needs your view.