I live in sunny Weston-Super-Mare. The birthplace of lying celebrity fucknut Geoffrey Archer, Deep Purple's hippie guitarist Richie Blackmore, Monty Python's John Cleese (AKA Basil Fawlty), and the mother-fucking god damn cider drinking Wurzels.
I used to pay hookers for BJ's under that pier and shoot BB pellets at the scabby Donkey's from the pier walkway but now those memories have gone up in smoke. What to do???????