If you ever see me lying down in SW12, face down, with my trousers round my ankles and my gluteus maximus muscles flexing, don’t worry, I’m ok, don’t call an ambulance, or the police, its just me trying to fuck Clapham, I love it see, I just want to show my appreciation in the most basic way known to all animals, to run down its streets with my neck puffing away and making that funny noise like a horny pigeon and just mount something, a drain, the air vent in Chicken Cottage, a slightly ajar window of one of the nicer houses, a bin. That said, if you see me lying down on the common in a state of lower undress face down, please do call the police, and an ambulance, I’ve probably been fucked by members of parliament (literally), and given the new Lib Con coalition, they are probably out in greater numbers.
Why is Clapham so great you ask (adding you fuck pig on the end), well, its great because unlike most areas you can do everything in one night without having to leave (You cant bowl you say, in a cocky tone that makes my blood boil) I don’t want to bowl. You cant drink a pint of Magners in Saudi Arabia, I don’t see you moaning to them, too busy looking for somewhere to bowl no doubt, fuck you, get a life, you bowling obsessed arsehole. (You can’t ice-skate either, you add, tilting your head like Ann Robinson) Me and you are going to fall out, seriously, Ice Skating is for fairies, and you can get to Streatham if you are that desperate, capeesh? (You can’t weight train now that Clapham Gym has been closed by Lambeth Council, you have to go up to the Virgin Gym and pay £100 a month?) Right, I’ve had enough of you, get out of Clapham, go away, nobody does any of the things you speak of, I’m talking about pubs, restaurants, atmosphere. Plus, the Virgin Gym, each of these machines is made from the same stuff as Knightrider, they talk to you, and they have lights and more buttons than a 747 cockpit.
I’d like Clapham to form independence from the rest of London nay the world, we would have a deal drawn up with Balham and Battersea to let people use each others facilities but we would have our own currency, Clambats, we would have our own flag (probably an eagle head butting a bulldog), we would twin with a town in Middle Earth, which would look cool of the sign when you enter (I say enter, I mean pull up at the armed check point and have a full cavity search and your papers checked and your intentions made clear, while being anally fisted). We would have our own anthem, which would be Lionel Ritchie, Running with the night. In fact Lionel Richie would be our leader, and the Bandstand on the common would be replaced with a HUGE clay Lionel head where families could go and worship, and grasp handfuls of synthetic afro which could be squeezed in the palm in a reassuring way, the crest of his huge circa commodores ‘fro would be visible from any point in the UK and, like the great wall of China, space.
Everyone would say hello to each other, in the manner of the song and the uniform would be one of the many from his numerous songs over the several decades his career has spanned, for example the tight trouser, red shirt ensemble from ‘all night long’, the all black affair from ‘say you, say me’ or its black leather and sequins, for the penny lover look. Anyone seen not wearing a uniform would either be taken to the nearest clothiers or shot on the spot.
Children would study his lyrics, breaking them down into the component parts, which are usually, a party involving everyone which goes on right through the night, people invited regardless of colour, or gender, dancing in really impractical places, the street or ceiling, and generally breaking down barriers, such as wanting to have sex with a blind girl half your age.
In the meantime, until this gets passed through and Lionel comes to SW12 to lead us to a new age we will have to make do with the numerous facilities on offer, the cinema, the Londis near by, a fully functioning Blockbuster Video, I could go on?. I’ve written several letters to Lionel Ritchie, including sending him a quiche in his image, he has written back (via a representative), and although this only threatens legal action, the fact that he has responded and taken time out of his busy schedule, means there is a vested interest?
I suggest you move to Clapham, or one of its subsidiary boroughs asap, when the Great Commodore comes to rest and the Golden age begins, you will wish you did, especially when one of the checkpoint guards is forearms deep up your poop tube searching for contraband using your arsehole like a lucky dip.
Anyway, bullock, Clapham is the best, I don’t see you looking to install an 80’s pop star as your Fuhrer?
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