The Eastend , a world where The Vic's landlord knows you have raped and shagged his 'pwincess' daughter up the arse , is certain you tied up and gagged his wife then proceeded to bludgeon her about the head with a Morphy Richards iron before picking his safe and stealing the takings from the arches , is aware you groomed and bummed his son , is conviced you planted a gun and 'dwugs' in The Vic just before the 'ole bill' arrived , is satisfied it was you who pierced his new coffee jar lid with your cock , is in no doubt you left the immersion on all fuckin day ..... yet you can still get served a pint in his ale house ?
The landlord slamming your change on the bar is the only hostility you'll recieve never mind being barred , maybe a few daggers from the regulars perhaps ? In fact you can taunt the landlord who's life you've ruined by leaning against the bar sniggering at him while cuddling your pint only for a few locals to grunt at the landlord ' leave it .. he's not worf it ' Then when you leave it's mandatory for someone in the pub to utter ' The nerve ..he's gottit cammin he has , make no mistake '
Once Peggy hears you've been in for a bevie you're fucked. It's obligatory she clears everyone out the pub early and locks up ' Go on ..haven't yer got homes to go to ' Then screws her face up and states menacingly ' Wait twill Gwarnt n Phil ear abar dis ' She's then staight on the 'dog n bone ' to Phil .... then the door opens .... and out of the blue in wanders Gwarnt wearing the only facial expresion he's capable of wearing , confused / angry. Doubtless confused as to why he still wears leather bomber jackets several sizes too small the portly dense fuckin twat. The telepathic gobshite always turning up when his mum is in ' a spot a bover' whodda fought!
' Everyfins ok mum ..I'm here now. Gerron the blower , get Phil darn ere '
Why what's he going to do Gwarnt ? Fuckin pummel me with his inhaler the fat wheezing c*nt.
' Gwarnt son , werve yer bin , last we herd you were racing ostritches in Mozambique and had shacked up wiv the gwandaughter of the inventa of the clockwork wadio , wasis name..Twevor Bayliss, an he wanted you to invest all yer savings in a bloomin injector seat or sumink , you tell im that I'm not lettin you go near no ejector bleedin seat , jetisoned fwom a cockpit a twenny farzand feet , well it aint right is it lav , for goodness sake. Anyway , how ave yer bin son ? '
Ohh fuck off.
Enter random stranger / down-and-out / drifter / tramp. Most normal people if approached by a weird outsider would fuck em right off. Not the good old Eastend though. It is binding that the constant arrival of complete strangers are immediately given a room upstairs in The Vic and offered a job in The Arches ( start in the morning ) Fortunate for Phil the strangers are often ex F1 Maclaren mechanics before they decided to wander the streets of Walford stinking of piss. Consequently the new mechanic / car-lot owner will punch above his weight by goosing a more attractive cast member and later realise and feel compelled to confess in a Christmas episode to being her father , or accidentaly running her over , or accidentaly shooting her.
Oddly all denizens of Walford appear to be able to phone their solicitor ( bweef ) any time of fuckin day for the most innocuous events without even considering the chiseling bastards probably demanding the going rate of £170.00 p/h. Very bizzare bearing in mind the cockney c*nts are always skint and living in dingy shitholes.
Least memorable for me was Sonia's girl-on-girl escapade , put me off lezzers for life. I was content throwing meself around the bedroom after leering over 46 year old women dressed as cheerleaders shoving their twirling batons up each others fannies until I witnessed that special faced lisping boss eyed goon kissing another woman. I emailed my objection to the BBC. Weighing up the cost of the TV licence and that filming an episode that featured a woman who drinks from both taps could they not have splurged more money on a more attractive / slimmer non lisping actress in Eastenders instead of that bowl headed, corpulent, fried egg titted, fat arsed rasberry blowing unbearable fuckin gorp. Still waiting for a reply ?
They all seem to have a compulsion to air their dirty laundry in the middle of a fuckin packed pub. I bet when the bastards are about to have a blazing row at home they say ' Right get yer coat , we're gunna sort dis out once an forall in the lounge of da Vic ' the gormless fuckin nob-eads. Likely a resident won't last a month without being set-up , shot , blackmailed , burgled , house torched , mugged or raped but all seem content to reside in the fuckin cursed dump despite the fact most normal people would get the hint and fuckin move. Mind you , being shot or mugged is an improvement from having to circulate for any length of time among that throng of cockney fuckin dick heads. A week in intensive care recovering from being shot must feel like a Spa break away from Walford. No witnessing emaciated Billy trying to flog a few bananas from his stall or clocking the skeletal c*nt throwing a free apple to a young scamp , then winking at him and saying ' go on yer little bleeder ' No more having your retinas engrained with the sight of the worst clobber in the world on Stacy's stall. In my world I imagine that guys step out of there old prams and go-karts then come to life for one day on November the 5th. Stacy shouts at a few alive fuckin ragged one armed blind teddy bear guys who happen to walk past her stall that day.
' Ere you go lads , latest jumpers six quid , com'on gerrum while you can '
Guy - ' Fuck off yer slut , wouldn't be seen fuckin dead init '
DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH ... DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH....DAH DAH DAH DA
