I was down in the village yesterday.
There was a little Snot Gobbler there, who couldn’t have been more than twelve. He must have strayed in from town or somewhere.
I hate Snot Gobblers. They are a form of low life that is frankly, a waste of oxygen. I can’t see how even their mothers could like them. They are always scruffy and aggressive, and the dribble of green eponymous snot is not a pleasant sight.
“Whaddyatinkyouzearefuckinlookinah?” he said to me.
“Pardon?” I replied.
“Are you asking me what I think I’m looking at?”
I sighed. “I’m looking at a grubby little urchin who obviously doesn’t recognise his elders and betters.”
“Wha? Fuck youze., I’ll bleeedin kill ya!”
I left him to contemplate the meaning of life.
Not that there is much else to think about at the bottom of a rubbish skip.