18+ Offensive Content. Not to be taken seriously. Pussies
Public transport in the United Kingdom is bad as a whole, but in Manchester, it’s a whole different story.
After anxiously waiting twenty-two or so minutes for a train expected twenty minutes ago, in a state of utter self loathing, i thought to myself ‘Why do I even bother, going out of my way for the privilege of piss soaked seats and dangerous Schizophrenic squatters, surely I could do better for myself’
Then I remembered, this is the only option I have. With the country being in a state of complete dismay, being in the bracket of young drivers unable to afford insurance, because of my less privileged background. ‘Why must I miss out on the opportunity’s that driving provides, just because of my socioeconomic standing’ I thought.
Then I realized in my delusional stupor, i’m too piss poor to afford a license let alone a car.
With the cost of living, increasing by the minute, I can’t afford a new pair of trainers. Let alone a old shitty ford to impress the ladies. Not that mattered where I was going, the clothes on my back are enough to impress these girls, at least until their binge drinking comes to a grand finale, which i imagine to be quite sometime after their second liver transplant.
Before I could finish my trail of thoughts, the train appeared in front of my eyes.
Like an Iranian at a LGBT nightclub, I reluctantly entered.
As to be expected, the seats were all but taken; breathing room was a concept long lost with the people of Manchester.
Unfortunately i was greeted by an extremely talkative chav, probably a procreation of a brother and sister experiment, blatantly high on a cocktail of chemicals given to him by a man he probably considers his friend, unaware of his ulterior motives. Poor fool.
Although most of his speech was unintelligible, I managed to decrypt this much ‘Fuckin’ ell mate, mad people’ The rest i doubt even the Anglo-Frisian dialects could translate.
There was infact ‘mad’ people on this train, in the numeral sense atleast. So much so, I replied with ‘Do you not know why? The shit bells are coming to town, end of the line’.
I was just met with a confused look and what I assumed to be ‘what the fuck are you on about’.
What was I on about I wondered, Was I just talking complete absurdity, or did my words have some sort of hidden meaning, only time will tell i thought. Unknown to me, I replied ‘What, surely that’s why your here. The rapture’s coming, we’ve all made a suicide pact, there’ a dirty bomb strapped to this train. no turning back now.’ I could see a wave of dread wash over his face. Maybe i shouldn’t of said that, because his reaction was to run to the emergency brake in a drug fueled frenzy, luckily I was able to catch the swine, just in the nick of time.
I looked him straight in the eye, smiled. And softly whispered ‘Close, but no cigar’ His vibes went from worried to aggressive, suddenly he attempted to punch me in the face, but missed due to complete lack of space and loss of all motor skills. His fist landed on a lady that i imagined to be around forty five, with an extremely aggressive Geordie accent she yelled at a tone I thought unthinkable ‘What the fuck are you doing dickhead!’, and punched the inbred fiend in the face with so much force, that he just fell against the man next to him. Causing an almost domino like effect, knocking down a row of four people.
Luckily the train came to a holt, I was finally at Manchester Piccadilly! I leant down to my inbred buddy, of whom I now thought we shared a deep bond. and whispered ‘Now everyday is a blessing, son’. Feeling like an almost twisted Jesus, I made my grand escape into the crowd of people in the train station.
Manchester, my home town. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.