| Bastards! Bastards! Bastards! |
| As you may have guessed from the oh so subtle title, this page is about those people I'm not quite so keen on, kind of an evil cousin to "People I Know". Except with probably less ass-kissing and more lies and abuse. There are very few things in this world as much fun as making up stupid lies about people. Or as likely to get you in trouble but we won't think about that for now. |
| Kevs (That's townies/trendies/scallies for all you non-local people - don't ever say this isn't a multi-cultural experience) What is wrong with those people? Am I doomed to live my life in constant fear for my life and the safety of my possesions (they're on the rob!)? The world is full of them, people in Burberry clothing - (I cannot see the attraction of a baseball cap in vomit-coloured tartan, am I missing something?) who drive about with the windows of their mother's old clapped-out Metro wound down (for god's sake, you must be freezing), with that abuse-to-mankind excuse for 'music' pounding out at a bone-fracturing volume. Why? Please, people, I just don't understand it. Just as bad are their women-folk who wander around, hair smeared down and slicked with lard (or alternative fat source - margarine, anyone?), with gold in copious, small-village-in-Africa-feeding amounts strung from their ears, faces, necks, fingers - anywhere that can hold it really (I don't want to know). One swing of that deadly head could put you in hospital with concussion and cranium fracture. My suggestion for dealing with this problem is to round up this terrifying division of society (how? All too easy, my friend - simply a Burberry/Signet ring/lard sale in local shopping centre) and subject them to either a Clockwork Orange-esque brainwashing programme, or preferably (and more easily) large-scale Kevicide involving deadly-disease-infected gold jewellry and a mass grave on Dartmoor. Previous Bastards: Gut Records Men In General |