so if its gonna be 800 quid to repaint the offside door and fit the wing mirror back into its rightful place then I’m not going to even think about what it’ll be after chav mcnasty from the west earlham posse and his 3-quarter length trouser friends have hoofed their reebok classics over the bonnet, roof and hatchback after they’ve been turfed out of weatherspoons at 1:30 in the morning. our neighbour’s brother’s dad’s mate’s cousin has done some work on her car but of course they’ll probably be back next week after a night out in KFC and they’ll sick on the sunroof or something. that’s why I’m going to beat out the panels myself. I’ll be taking a club hammer to the underside of the bodywork, with my head in the engine, battering out a pissup from last saturday while I curse yob culture and hit myself on the thumb, crushing my knuckles.
you can get stabbed 6 times on the top deck of the number 43 these days and nobody looks up from txting their girlfriend. I’m not starting a provincial vigilante group to roam the golden triangle with wet celery and brickbats, but if I had a big gun or something, I’d probably hang out the upstairs window for a couple of nights, just in case I got line of sight. I’ve been playing a computer game where I shoot people like that so I’ll probably complete the loop of virtual and actual bodily harm and provide a test case for the daily mail and get imprisoned for like, forever, just to deter other people like me who got pushed over the edge by nobrains who choose to indiscriminately wreck stuff while gurning like halfwits and ending up with a fine because they’re only 14. I mean, our car’s a bit rubbish, but that’s not the point. I’ll choose when to kick the wing mirrors off and jump on the roof, thanks.