It's a Riot

As someone who lived in the same city as Mark Duggan, I was obviously angered that a man innocently driving through London with a loaded shotgun was murdered by the police. What is this country coming to that we can't even wander through the capital with loaded firearms without the police harassing us? It's ridiculous. In fact, just the other day I was quietly minding my own business, attacking pedestrians with nun-chucks and a katana when I got stopped by the police. Why is is that they only stop and search people like me? Where are my rights?

Like a lot of Londoners who had never met Mark Duggan, but lived within a 12 miles radius, I decided to protest his death. On Monday I was sat in my flat, watching my tiny 32" television and thinking that I should go and protest myself a more acceptable 42" or 52" television. Just because I don't have a job, why shouldn't I have a bigger television? Why is it that only the people that work all day and earn money have nice things?

As an homage to the free-speech protesters that gag themselves or place tape over their mouth's to give a visual representation of their oppression, I decided to put a scarf over my face to represent the way that the police was well getting in my face......and so I wouldn't get nicked. Anyway, I picked up my cricket bat and set out on to the streets. I got on bus and headed for Clapham Junction. After a good few hours of protesting my way through John Lewis's window I was ready for home. When I bought it I thought that £35 for a cricket bat was steep, but it paid for itself with as many deep-fat fryers and tampons that I could carry.

Tuesday night I decided to go out again. This time it was less in protest and more to find something more useful than a deep-fat fryer or tampons (I don't fry my food and my vagina has been defunct for years). After a few hours smashing windows in Canning Town, I decided to head home....swagless. On my way home I thought I'd nip in to Tesco and pick myself up something for tea, only to find that Tesco was closed due to the riots. I was devastated - You think it's all fun and games until you can't get your Tesco's Finest fish pie. Dejected,  I headed home.

When I approached the end of my road I saw a group of men my age looking like trouble. I don't want to sound racist here, so all I'll say is that though they are my age they don't look anything like me......though, to me, they all look the same as each other. Anyway, one of them pulled out a gun, I decided I should get home quickly....and change my underwear.

Once at home, I spent most of the night listening to Ride of the Valkyries, putting on camo paint and sharpening my "Justice Stick". I then barricaded myself in my room. You see, for years I have been accumulating oil in large drums and keeping them in my bedroom. Many of the women who had been in my bedroom (some, not many....okay, one) had thought that I was crazy, but I knew this day would come. A state of lawlessness where the youth rise up and lay our previous state to waste. Oil will be the new currency and I will be the king - In the end nothing happened and  I fell asleep watching Seinfeld.

Last night I was still in a bit of a rioty mood. Months ago I had been invited to a party on Facebook, at the time I didn't fancy it, but I re-red the invitation and in the description it said, "Anyone welcome. It'll be a riot". I turned up in my hoodie and ski mask, smashed a few windows and punched a woman in the face but it wasn't just the same. I forced my mate's thirteen year old brother to throw a cake into a ceiling fan, while I screamed, "Now you're a fucking man" - I don't think my friend will describe his other brothers bar mitzvah as a "riot".

I know a lot of you will be chastising my actions and calling me an idiot, but our government cut all the funding to local community support and summer programs. What you people don't understand is that if a man my age can't go to a youth club to play pool or ping pong, then he naturally has to go out on to the street and smash the place up. It's instinct.