Yes, it was the annual BLACKPOOL FALSE PRIDE PARADE!
Our correspondent Cilla Blackledge was THERE!
She files this report:
"Why can't I ever get a GOOD assignment instead of time-wasting shit? Jesus, it's like I was working for the Grimsby Telegraph. Am I going to be able to sell these images to the BBC website? They'd tell me no, these pictures are enough to make a maggot throw up!
"Look at this..."
"The parade had hardly started, and some ridiculous dick was showing his willie to the Mayor of Blackpool. Good thing the Mayor is a closet homosexual. Or, is he? He might be a REAL homosexual. He seemed to get a chuckle out of the exposure. If he opened his mouth a bit wider, he could've had more than a chuckle!"
"Now here's a bunch of marchers proud to tell the world that fat-shaming is out as is telling people to stop being loudmouth idiots about what makes 'em horny. Remember, if 8% of the population does something weird, but yells about it constantly, then you can't just be TOLERANT, you have to consider it "normal."
"Sure, sure, me wanting to lick another woman's twat is perfectly natural. Because 8% of women do it. And being a fat slob isn't bad for your health. And who wouldn't want to be on a takeaway queue, trying to figure out what to order while listening to a pair of screaming drag queens calling attention to themselves? Most people just get on with it, and DON'T need or want an audience, and DON'T have to be excessive. And DON'T march in the fucking rain! My shoes began to make squishy sounds, like Sam Smith's asshole getting gang-banged in a men's room.
"Meanwhile, I was SO GLAD to see some old friends with their very own float!!"
"Bill Hoobastank was declared Grand Marsha of the Parade, and tried to stand next to himself for a photo opportunity. Then he tried to get his autograph. I asked him if his frock was something he bought from Piper Laurie, but he just gurgled. It's hard to tell if it's a YES or a NO or I'M INSANE.
"I asked him about the last time he saw Cuntwell. He looked confused. He mumbled, "I have never seen a cunt very well. In fact, I don't want to look. I'm a homosexual virgin!"
This was MY turn to look confused. Then I looked to my left. YIKE. It was hard to miss Amy Wagmyblubber. It was like Ahab NOT seeing Moby Dick.
"Amy Wagmyblubber was taking a selfie with her new friend Robin, but they both couldn't fit in the same frame. I asked her what became of her YouTube project of droning out narration of shitty novels, but she just opened her mouth like a gasping fish, and began to drool something quite smelly. I think it was mashed up chips made with new potatoes.
"As for Robin, he had that far-away look in his eye. Yes, he liked the idea of a big parade of gay men. He told me he wanted to "fish" for " big eels" and that he liked to master bait. But...more than sucking cock, he had his eye out for boot sales, and Matt Monro 45's. Alas, it was raining, and the local boot sale was canceled. Robin said it would be a small consolation to bend over and get gang-banged by so many faggots that his asshole would stay gaped open for hours, the size of an American 45 rpm spindle hole.
"Lastly, what a lovely surprise to see the fabulous SHAUNA make an appearance! She was promoting her music, but the gayyyyyyyyys were not interested in her off-key singing or her cutesy-poo girly-girl antics. As for the lesbians, they urged Shauna to take her top off. When she did, and saw her flat chest, they huffed, "YOU are really a BOY!"
"Did I have a good time at this rain-drenched ego-fest of excesses and false pride? NO. Am I thinking of retiring from working as a freelance photographer? YES! The pay is bad or there's none at all! I think I'd do better working in a Sheffield massage parlor!"
