Preston is a very small village in the even smaller village of Bambi Bridge. It is famous for its many farms which are full of reindeer.
Boy George was eaten alive by George Michael in the town centre public toilets. Due to the incontinence of the populace the toilets have since been demolished and backwards locals urinate freely in the street, while tap dancing on a jam rag.
It was discovered in -1360BC by SirJameslcfc MBE from The Bronx, who was looking for smack and a place to keep his large Non-RP banlist. He also invented the Preston pig, and been knighted by King Richard III .
The city that shouldn't be allowed to survive, Preston is the cause of much bitterness in local rivals Lancaster, Blackburn, Chorley, Burnley ("the land of the 6 fingered"} and Blackpool where it only costs ten pence to have a donkey shit on your head.
Districts of Preston include Deepdale, also affectionaly known as Baghdad, Moscow, Walton, Whittle les Woods and, unfortunately, Clayton Brook. Clayton Brook goes by many aliases including: Little Bosnia, Mordor, The Ghetto, Auschwitz, Wastelandistan, and Costa del Street Crime.
Fulwood is another district of Preston that is seemingly a haven for the richer people who would rather have a PR2 postcode. Unfortunately the local Civil Helpfulness and Variety Society constantly barrage local residents with cock grabbing and other such games. Fulwood is often seen as a desirable area and it would be had it not been for the CHAVS and the fact that the A6 connects Preston with Fulwood. Many attempts have been made at dividing Fulwood from the rest of Preston as is seen by the many brooks that run through the area. Unfortunately, the local slappers thought the brooks were perfectly proportioned so that they could prop their legs up on the banks of the brooks and just go nuts.
The Idea Behind Preston
The original idea behind Preston was that of a joke by the Roman emperor. He ordered that a town be built and filled with simpletons that could be used as a base model that no other town or city should fall below or even close to. Whilst it may have been a funny joke to the emperor, sadly over 1500 years later ,still no-one in close proximity to the town or anyone who has had the misfortune to go there is laughing.
The story goes that the Tudor house of Lancaster didn't like the national football museum very much and ordered that it be sent away to the black hole that is Preston.
Every 13th of November, the mayor of Preston nakedly dances down the High Street while being urinated on by the proud population of the wonderful city.
Preston is now proudly the only city left in Britain that follow pagan beliefs. Locals are officially afraid of gays and worship Hagnash, elephant god of the harvest.
Its well known wide across the world that Preston has the biggest cemetery in europe, something the locals are very proud of. So proud in fact that as not to be overtaken on this proud statistic they invented a strange game. Seeing as there is nothing to do in Preston (the locals usually have to enjoy themselves by speaking their nonsense accent and fake made up language into mirrors and giggling whilst furiously masturbating themselves into a coma) the locals find ways to end their lives in ingenious ways to add to the every growing cemetery. The latest casualty of this game was Barry Norman 29, a proud prestonian. He wanted some more excitement in his life, so he ended it engulfing his head inside a giant meat and potato pie and suffocating. He is now another proud number in the ever growing cemetery and its believed by the locals that this sad end is much better than life in the local area.
Sheep in the area are wary of the locals but this still doesn't stop them getting dry bummed into submission. Whilst this may seem a strange pastime on the face of it, after seeing a sample of the local women it soon becomes clear why this is such a popular tradition for proud prestonians. Still, this is not without its dangers, as locals will happily tell you, there is widespread 'sheepcock', an std that turns the end of the penis woolly. Still, this doesn't seem to bother the locals at all and they miserably go on with their dull lives.
The town centre is still to this day used as one of the only places in Preston now that still practises the ancient local treatment of having buckets of raw sewage thrown at your face by naked pensioners. The treatment is supposed to not only improve ones looks but also ones breath, personality and confidence.
Other things locals love to do include staring at walls, shouting at traffic, breathing exhaust fumes and taking collective shits on statues.
It is believed by historians that the Preston accent comes partly from listening to sheep noises, a large Asian population, but also from the echo of local voices created by the lack of people who visit the town. Bar a few hardy souls and the locals Preston is pretty much dead to the UK/world. Upon hearing this constant echo, along with the above elements you can see why, over time, its had a detrimental effect on the local accent.
Tourism in Preston is extremely limited. Although its well known that largely, the preston tourist board is a man in a shed saying Blackpool's that way. Apparently there are wonders in Preston to enjoy, but as of yet no-one has been able to name any. Probably the best thing in Preston is the road out of there.
With its new-found social order, Preston got above its station, declared itself county capital and invested in running
for City status, something which well-deserving rivals Blackburn had failed to achieve every time they went for it during the previous decade. As HRH Queen Betty II had nothing better to do at the millenium, she jokingly told a Royal aide that "one should let them have it". At the same time, PM Tony Blair, who was in the room presenting his case for another war in Iraq to her, thought he had just been given the go ahead to approach parliament on the subject.
Before we knew it, Preston had a lot to answer for. "Roadside bombings galore in the Gulf" became the city's new motto.
Anyhow, with prominent Prestonians sneaking into power in Parliament, Lancaster's attempts to reclaim its county capitalship were thwarted recently when the boundary committee was considering another shift in county boundaries. With the alarming prospect of Lancaster coming under the newly-founded hoaxsters' Cumbrian banner, Lancaster backed off and wished Preston well in sorting out the previously bollocksed Library-lending database.
Preston Bus Station
This 'icon' was originally supposed to be a dumping ground for waste concrete for the uk. After the waste concrete was received it was bundled together into a long pile and about to be crushed. That was until a local stepped in.......the way and was crushed instead. From that day forward further plans for the site ceased and it was left to rot. Expected to be disliked by the simple locals, it strangely had the opposite effect. They loved it and made it a local iconic landmark.
One bus per day only runs and this is again largely due to the locals fear of the modern world. Bus routes had to change as only last year one was pounded with spears and mud bombs after taking a wrong turn onto a council estate. Its thought the locals there had not seen elements of the outside world before.
What About Blackburn?
Blackburn, however, was not to be seen off so easily. The recent mobilisation of the QLR under the Blackburn banner saw the seizure of Fulwood Barracks in Preston, by a Major Walter Holland and his Baxenden-based catery battalion. The surrender was signed by Brigadier-General TH Ashworth, who knew when his crust was crumbling. Jack Straw was also known to have made a comment, but his constant murmurings about the veil debate made the comment irreversible and pointless.
“Burn the burkha!”
“Twats... on toast!”
Preston North End
The simple folk of Preston just love following their beloved PNE. The club takes it name from the North End Library in portsmouth, named this way by visiting fans after experiencing the white hot atmosphere of silence, quite intimidating. Their motto is that of Ronan Keating 'We say it best, when we say nothing at all' and this motto is proudly displayed on all north end merchandise. The rare time that north end do actually have the misfortune to score the locals are left in such shock that some break the code of silence and scream with joy, due to their weird accent they can sound like a bunch of gay pirates with speech impediments.
The Deepdale stadium, up until now a cabbage patch infested with lily-white clad men who fraudulently purported themselves as players of a game known as "football", is famous for its shit pies and dodgy-looking structural defects.
They have had many great managers over the years and none better than John Westley, their current manager. After recently rightly warning the players by late night text against the dangers of Al-Qaeda, he has since stepped up his late night text campaign of awareness by such warnings about underage sex, the dangers of felching and cross species breeding to name but a few. This has helped the players understand life and that football is just a mere game, as their football shows they appear to not take it seriously. But this is an incorrect observation, they take it very seriously but sadly are just incredibly dire at it. The recent formation change from the old 6-3-1 to the new 6-4 (no attackers) has impressed the locals. The majority happy with westley and his tactics but one angry fan said this 'reet cocker, ey-by-gum bloody awful, init cha' Harsh words indeed said the interpreter. The recent tactical change has done little to halt the run of defeats with the latest being a 9-0 loss away at the mighty Chesterfield, although North End did manage to muster a record 2 shots, 1 on target.
Ribbleton, jewel of Preston
Those seeking a tranquil second home should actively consider acquiring property in leafy Ribbleton, on the eastern outskirts of the 'city'. Generations of chav-on-chav breeding have brought forth here the slack-jawed Lancashire uber-chav. The male's distinctive markings are done with a biro and a pin,in prison, his natural habitat from the age of eight onwards. The females are multigravidae by the age of sixteen and do badly if compared to a robber's dog chewing a wasp.
Many of the ancestral homes of the area boast the landscaping attentions of the renowned 'R Kidd', complete with trademark old sofa and hand-finished burned-out scooter. Twinned with Helmand Province, Ribbleton holds the same noble traditions of hospitality to outsiders displayed by throat-slitting taliban and a sense of communal ownership that would make Chairman Mao look like a stockbroker. Anything of yours will be owned by one or all them if you do not leave it chained down. Ribbleton - where 'glass' is a verb.
Causes of the War of the Pies
Following Yorkshire's unfair presentation of the "good old" meat and potato meat pie of Lancashire, Lancashire fought back with much deliverance in the matter by revealing the shockingly high salt levels in Yorkshire puddings (commonly known locally as yorkshite puddings, except to the majority who are incapable of speaking English), sure to give any unsuspecting outlanders a heart attack if experiencing as much as a whiff, not to mention how defiantly crap they are. After sailing down the South gravy river, Lancashire's army of socially inept coal miners launched naturally low in saturated fat meat and potato pies at the giant yorkshire pudding castle of , battering its already deteriating crust-walls; nibbling at its crust appeared to have been much to the fancy of the wooly-backers of Leeds who were, and still are today, sheep, the much loved entertainment source for the people of Leeds who can't find anyting better to do in their spare time other than practising bestiality and producing highly salted Yorkshire puddings.
War of the Pies
The so-called "War of the Pies" did not only see the crushing of Preston as its outcome.
The Baxenden-based catery detatchment had, however, struggled in its campaign for glory by thwarting first the Borough of Hyndburn, who had sided with Preston. The fall of Accrington was swift and comical as the mayor fled, boarding a canal barge in Rishton and setting sail for the safe haven of Leeds. However, Leeds, being in Yorkshire and despising the pitiful Lancaster, promptly shot him as he docked.
Liverpool had blockaded the mouth of the same canal to all Hyndburn-registered vessels in support of their Blackburnian brothers, forcing Accrington to flee to Leeds.
"Why?" you may ask. Simple. Liverpool, enviously lacking in talent in the football department with three failed attempts, recognised Blackburn as the future in football legendry. As a victory tribute afterwards, the three Merseyside teams dropped the ball and picked up the movable type to found a media organisation in Blackburn-not knowing what to call it, they used their former organisations as a basis-and so the L.E.T. was born.
Yeah, but what about the war?
Back to the outcome of the war. In return for his life to be spared, Brigadier-General Ashworth bribed the Mayor of Blackburn with one of Preston's distant vassel states, Bolton. His Grace Blackburn, not liking this vassel state because of it's close associations with the old enemy, Manchester, gave it to nearby hangers-on Darwen, as a gesture of goodwill. He promptly declared war on Darwen and during the signing of the surrender in a railway carriage in Sunnyhurst Woods, remarked on how the mayor of Accrington "...had at least tried to flee... whereas I see Darwen here before me, I shall pity him and give him a job at the new Blackburn Service Station."
To this day, His Former Grace Darwen works in the McDonald's as the new "mayor of trays and tables". And the "War of the Pies" was not over. Burnley, the treacherous borough that constantly rebelled against the rest of Lancashire in attempting to declare itself Yorkshire, rose-up against its Allied-Lancastrian occupation force and tried once more to become part of Yorkshire.
Lancastrian forces, now somewhat overstretched in the subjugation of a small group of hard-core Darwen guerillas, awestruck the region in appealing to Yorkshire for help. One five minute negotiation meeting in the bordertown of Ramsbottom later, saw a public declaration from both sides: "Neither of us really want Burnley, but as it's Lancashire's problem, we'll keep it as Lancastrian soil."
So the Duke of York's Fuseliers marched on Burnley, storming its only two structurally sound buildings, the Waggon and Horses pub and the DingleDome, another cabbage patch full of footballer fraudsters. Meanwhile, Lancaster saw an opportunity and invaded Cumbria. The leader of the Cumbrian County Council, the Rt. Hon. B R Ewe, a sixth generation French settler, aggressively surrendered before the first shots were fired.
Modern Politico-Economic Constructs within Lancashire, as a result of Preston
So then, where did that leave the delicate balance of power in the Lancashire region?
Well, Blackburn came out on top in Lancashire, gaining the territories of the Borough of Preston, the Borough of Hyndburn, the town of Darwen and reluctantly the vassel boroughs Bolton and Burnley.
The Cold War with Yorkshire thawed a little, with a peace treaty lasting over 100 years being signed. This was eventually broken at a diplomatic function when the Yorkshire League's Chief Ambassador referred to the Duke of Lancaster's Canape as "a marathon bar". His Grace Lancaster rammed the Snickers down his throat and war was declared.
Liverpool and Blackburn affirmed positive and mutual trade and economic agreements which severely harmed "the old enemy" in the Lancashire region, Manchester.
Manchester appealled to the Duke of Lancaster to step in and stop these agreements, but the Duke was bound by County Constitution not to meddle in Bourough-affairs.
However, these freedoms backfired when a small group of renegade merseysiders who were banished from Liverpool, secretly fled to Blackburn, rebelling and setting up their short-lived nation state of "Shidvar". Shidvar was mercilessly crushed and renamed Shadsworth, but a small terrorism campaign continues to the current day.
As mentioned, Cumbria became part of Lancashire once more. A parliamentary campaign to reunite the whole of Greater Lancashire under the red-rose banner is underway with Liverpool and the rest of Merseyside wishing to return to the fold. It is progressing steadily but all entry applications by Manchester are being ferociously opposed, with the House of Lancaster threatening to secede from the Kingdom if HM allows it.
With another war on the brink, this time against Manchester and its newly conquered vassel, Salford, Lancashire is once again facing an expansion of its borders, this time reluctantly southwards.
Preston has a lot to answer for. But remember, if it hasn't got a Cathedral and Boulevard, it damn well isn't a city!
So, Should I Visit Preston?
Well, you would be in for a bit of a culture shock. If you like simple folk with weird age old traditions and odd accents, can stand a hostile welcome, don't mind about the inbred fear of the modern world and a hatred of outsiders, then Preston just might be the town for you.
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