The other day, a group of three Chavs, perched on a hill, called me a 'Spaziak'. This spelling is phonetic.
I think I can guess at what they were inferring, but the term is generally new to me. And it's all because I looked at them. They were positioned beautifully, high up on the other side of the train track, in order to begin the spectator sport (a sport consisting of yelling abuse at commuters). I looked at them, because I couldn't figure out how they'd abseiled down the hill to the spot in question. And thus, I was christened 'Spaziack.'
It took me back to the weekend before when a Chav addressed me as if I was a cat, rubbing his fingers and making come hither noises, before asking, 'Does Kitty want a f**k'? I was very tempted, as you can imagine. Particulary after his friend had a wee all over my driveway. And they say romance is dead.
Then there's the balcony bunch, who seemingly have rented an apartment on the High Street of Morley, in which to sit, eat crisps, and spew forth wisdom. It's a balcony in a cage. They manged to squeeze about five of their chubby bodies, and plastic chairs into the meshed space, established like dirty kings on a throne. They laughed heartily at an old man in a motorised scooter, who was struggling to negotiate the garden furniture outside the American diner.
Would it be so wrong/illegal of me to start carrying a weapon? I'm not talking about anything too severe, like a potato gun. I'm talking about a samurai sword, or a rifle.
I feel inspired to take the law into my own hands, my own blood thirsty, dagger wielding hands.
It's not like Morley couldn't handle a few body parts, the streets are already strewn with litter and dog poo.
And aren't I supposed to be part of a pro-active, out-spoken generation who believes in change and forward thinking, albeit a somewhat violent, lethal kind of thinking?
Who will join me? We shall march out onto the streets at dawn with our machete's raised high, and our tonsils vibrating with the cry of war!
Anyone?
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