|This article or section may be Overly British. Americans may not understand humour, only humor. Canadians and Australians may not understand anything at all. Don't change a thing to remedy this.|
Blackpool is always found in the northworst of England and is widely considered to be the inspiration for Las Vegas. Blackpool's famous Bellend Beach, from which the town takes its name, forms but a part of the prestigious Fylde Coast (pronounced "flaming child") which also encompasses such delightful towns as Fleetwood, Lytham St Anne's (pronounced "Lithimm Sintanns") and Lytham (like St Anne's but deader). No, it's not a black pool, it's a town. Yus! It is also home to people who have more DNA more similar to that of crabs than other humans. The city of Adelaide in Asstralia has been sued for copyright violation for making its seaside dump Semaphore too much like Blackpool - that is: full of drunks, and smells like horse shit.
Blackpool also played a key role in Britain's Cold War defence initiative against Soviet Russia. From Fleetwood in the North to Endotwerld in the South, the promenade can be lit up with millions of 100 watt light bulbs of various bright colours and becomes a blinding searing sight of inconceivable brightness. This was intended to be used to blind incoming Russian nuclear bomber pilots causing them to stray off course from vital targets and crash into the Endotwerld wormhole. While fortunately never used, this system is maintained and preserved to this day and is tested every September. Traditionally, a thousand kittens are huffed to mark the 'switch on' celebrations which take place annually.
During the great war, many of Blackpool's young were killed. This left the problem of there being too many pensioners. After all the ones with money had gone to Lytham St Annes, it was suggested by the Mayor at the time that a special colony be built in order to house the additional problem pensioners. After years of planning, and years of further building, Cleveleys was opened, and has housed Blackpool's excess pensionable population since 1963. Comprising of a Bingo hall, a few charity shops, a seaside resort, along with a couple of Post Offices and numerous cafés selling fruit scones, amongst other delights, Cleveleys was Europe's most well-equipped colony for (poorer) old people.
Around the year 2000, The old Lido Cinema in Blackpool Town Centre was turned into The Phoenix Club . Some believe it to be an artifact from some kind of master race of aliens, who will one day return to gloriously enslave us all, though the sane folk insist to this day that "It's just a working mens club where the Cinema used to be.". It is traditional that the Wizened and Elderly working class Woodbine Smoking Blackpudlians visit The Phoenix every Saturday eventide, to try to translate the messages left by our benevolent masters. These messages sound like idiots singing songs from the latter half of the twentieth century, an old Hammond organ having its keyboards tortured by a tone deaf organist, bad drumming, bingo and darts matches to us mere mortals, but the chosen few who visit The Phoenix can truly understand these portents from the prophets. It is said that these divine revelations cause them all to become drunk on shandy and mither shopkeepers for things they don't sell on a grand scale. However, these reports can not be confirmed, as none of us are old enough to get in. The Zealot followers of the Phoenix and it's licensee, one Mr Brian Chelsea Potter, may belong to a religion known as Scientology. We laugh at them now, but when the Glorious Leader comes back, and takes them through space by some kind of unknown form of propulsion to live on a Utopian planet, with no damned Frenchies, which patently exists, they'll be the ones laughing.
The Blackpool Tan is synonymous with the beaches of Cesspool. It is famous for its ability to tan people without them ever setting foot on the needle infested beach. It arrives in massive tanker loads, stolen from Britvic where it is used as the food colouring agent for Tango, the quite excellent drink. People with the Blackpool Tango Tan can be seen across the country as it has spread in popularity among the promiscuous. It might be an idea to avoid Blackpool tanned people at bars, as it often is a sign of promiscuity and therefore the AIDS risk is perhaps higher. Ask The Sun or the Daily Wail.
A popular pastime amongst a select group of individuals is the quest for the lost city of Ansdell, rumoured to be nestled somewhere between Lytham and Lytham St Annes. Few has ever been to Ansdell and returned to tell the tale, but in 1987, a telephone phone call was received from a mysterious gentlemen claiming to be in Ansdell. He declared the weather to be fine before the line went dead and he was never heard from again. Ansdell was cut off from the rest of the world in WWII when an idiotic German pilot accidentally dropped an experimental bomb (one which was designed to destroy bridges, roads and helpful signs that say "You are here" but not buildings) on Ansdell (missing the industrial town of Manchester, which was the actual target, by more than 50 miles) little is known of Ansdell except that it once had a nice pub and had existed since ancient times (the Pub, coincidentally, still exists, because in 1928 the landlord demolished the pub and moved it brick-by-brick, to Blackpool).
Blackpool should be on the top of the list for any world traveller. Its extensive range of five star (NCAP rated roadside) hotels and world-class restaurants is incomparable.
On avergage between 2000 and 2002, 27 tourists visited Blackpool, 7 went on purpose, though many were sent there by their sat-navs. Many who go there are actually aiming for Warsaw, but are too tight to hop on a plane so they visit Blackpool instead - which just is not the same, Poland's architecture looks far less Eastern-Bloc, although the demographics are similar.
Tourists marvel at the excellent range of attractions, including the world famous Louis Tussauds wax-works which includes exceptionally good replica models of many current a-list celebrities including Ena Sharples, Frank Spencer and the legendary Nasty Nick from Big Brother.
Tourists flock to Blackpool to climb Blackpool Tower and admire its views (some say they can see as far as the Tesco on the High Street). The tower was once threatened with closure after 20 boy scouts fell to their deaths from the very top, but it turned out in the resultant court case (the Boy Scouts Vs Blackpool Town Council) that the boys had been unscrewing the handrails with their pen knives and were caught by a security guard. Shocked, they fell against the rail and fell three thousand feet to the promenade. Moreover there's a entertainment complex with several attractions like Jungle Jim's, The Dungeon, The Circus and The Ballroom.
With over 365 seconds of sun a year, beautiful mud, 'crystal' clear and warm water (much like your toilet after you have pebble dashed the bowl), Blackpool attracts bathers from every corner of the planet. The water is also a perfect home for excrement-loving animals and everyone you hate. Check out the nudist beach too. You're guaranteed to see an array of well-hung hunks flexing their muscles while munching on some hay (eee origin of 'hung like a donkey' and 'the big one'). Recent legislation has however has meant that the endowed beasts need a rest from time to time, so over excitable tourists may be disappointed.
(Also known as "Lancashire's Pointy thing" and "The Blackpool Cock")
It was said that many eons ago, three of the universes Goddesses conspired. They quoth, "And verily, in many eons, we shall send down a portent of the heavens, and it shalt lie next to that Tobaconists near Oxfam's, and shalt overlook yon Promenade, and the Tescos." Blackpool was engineered around this speech. This perhaps explains the frankly ridiculously illogical one way systems in place around the park, as Goddesses they may have been, but they weren't exactly town planners.
Anyway, In 1892 the day arrivethed for the "portent of the heavens" to arrive. Eth. Unfortunately, things had changed with the once benevolent Goddesses. Gwendolyn had stolen Niamh's Stereogram, and Fionnghuala had been an alcoholic for the past seven hundred years . So it got to the morning before they were to send the tower down, and it was all like "Oh shit! we were meant to send down the great golden tower to heaven thing!" So at 7.30 in the morning, they ran down to the builder's yard, and bought whatever they could find. They had their minimum wage Irish builders build a near enough copy of the Eiffel tower, built a Work House to enslave children in (under the name "Jungle Jim"), and added other facilities, like ballroom dancing, an aquarium and a useless Circus. They then decreed, in booming, suspiciously manly voices:
|“||We declare this to be your beacon! Let the fleecing begin! We demand thou shalt spend no less than £47 on bringing 4 small children along for 2 hours! Thus is the decree of the Triforce!||”|
And verily did the tourists come. They were enlightened, with their ability to see far over the shores of Blackpool. The Meehan Monarchs could now survey their lands with peace, from Blackpool or their Cleveleys abode.
During 2001 and 2006 a street entertainer who made balloon animals and other creation from modelling balloons was wrongly believed to be Ronald Blackmore - the famous pedophile who was found dead in his cell a few years ago. The innocent entertainer who dressed as a clown ended his own life in 2007, to years after leaving Blackpool.
The Blackpool Tower Ballroom was originally built at the top of the tower itself, but had to be moved down to the base following stability issues caused by the enthusiastic dancing of Anne Widdicombe and celebrity astrologer Russell Brand. The ballroom is not really famous for anything important, but does contain a massive organ - as does yo mamma.
Blackpool has three piers in total, positioned along the shore between the tower thingy and that park with the giant helter skelter at its entrance. The piers are really hard to spot, so you will have to be very inquisitve to find these small hidden gems with their clean non-tacky appearance. If you find a big neon monstrosity of a billboard about the same size as the tower with "Roy Chubby Brown" smeared all over it, then one of them is just behind that and all the horse shit on the promenade.
You will find they are all named with the ability to confuse most residents of the north - there's the South Pier which is on the South side of Blackpool and the North Pier on the North side. Bucking this trend towards directory names, the Crystal Pier has not yet been discovered.
You will find an array of glorious attractions and cullinary delights on each pier such as:
- The Dodgy Doughnut man, who is of Iraqi descent and throws some greasy blobs at you for £1.
- 'Candy Floss' which is actually loft insulation.
- A couple of death traps that call themselves Fairground rides but actually resemble home-made shopping trollies with the added touch of chavvy bassline music.
- Some catapult and Bungee devices that were built as the quickest way for Posh people (and the French) to leave Blackpool, you must choose thy fate: Death or Ejection!
Souvenir Boutiques with wonderful displays of trinkets and general junk from the pound shop sold at twice the price, and some dodgy knock-off-nigel DVDs. The pleasureable game stalls that ensure that you will win everytime before you hand over your money, then funnily enough you either don't or you will win a piece of tat that costs 10p after you've paid £2 to play. But be assured that here you will not find a rough looking chavvy brute that will hassle you to play. They will simply gesture you over and yell at you every 2 yards, and maybe physically grab hold of you and push you to their stall. You can simply say "No Thank you" and they will only shout obseneties at you.
On the Central Pier you will find the iconic Big Wheel, you will be pleased to know that this is actually used as a giant shit-shovelling machine. It is used to push all the raw sewage from the Beach back out to sea so they can pretend that it's come down from dirty Morecambe with the tide, what they forget is that the sewage from Morecambe has been dissolved by the toxic waste that is being pumped out from Cellafield further up.
The piers were originally built as a way for people to have a swim in the sea without setting foot on the beach, this was incase you dirtied your shoes or were mislead to think that you had accidentally ended up in Beirut or by the River Ganges. The Piers were in decline in the mid 1980s when people realised that the sewage was in fact being washed out to sea anyway, but Blackpool council were quick to notice this and promptly installed longer outfalls to pump the sewage further out to sea so it would end up in Southport. I think Blackpool Pleasure Beach were influenced by this idea when they opened Pleasureland Southport and filled it with all the old shite left from the Pleasure Beach. In recent years, it has become apparent that the outflows are still not long enough and may need to be extended all the way to Ireland where they will allow shit to be pumped directly into Belfast.
The Displeasure Beach
Blackpool Displeasure Beach is a popular destination for idiotic tourists who don't mind if the Roller Coasterroller coaster's brakes are a sturdy pair of steel-toed boots on the feet of a spotty teenage East European ride attendant. Last year 37 visitors were bummed by gaylords when they were electrocuted on the merry-go-round. Despite this, thousands flock to the Pleasure Beach in hope of being injured so that they can show their gruesome injuries to their friends, perhaps the most disastrous incident at the theme park was the death two hundred boy scouts, They wrote in to Jim'll Fix it to ride on the newly constructed Scottish Nationalism ride, Irn Bru Revolution.
The quarter-minimum wage Polish builders had rushed to finish the ride and cut every corner (the brakes were just four bricks jammed into the rails and they couldn't be arsed to order more concrete for the foundations, so they used Plaster of Paris) and as a result the ride was a deathtrap; the Boy Scouts' injuries are too grisly to describe except to mention that the deaths involved milkshakes, sandwiches and ice cream. A teenage boy was recently castrated by improper fastening of the restraints of the Infusion roller coaster.
Europe's supposed tallest and fastest roller coaster, Pepsi Max Big One, was recently closed down and destroyed in a controlled explosion, The ride had been declared a death trap after it was discovered that moles had tunneled into the foundations, Two visitors, a Mr. Edward Hitler and a certain Sir Richard Richard Esq. VC MBE, were killed in the blast, The pair had been causing havoc around the park, Mr. Hitler had blinded a Darts stall proprioter and had an 'accident' on the Ghost Train, the park's owner said, "If only he had taken a piss instead!" while Mr. Richard had touched up the burly roller coaster operator believing him to be a girl.
For a laugh the park staff turned off the Pepsi Max's engines leaving them trapped 350ft in the air. Barry Manilow lives under the mouse ride, and gives any man with an earring a bumming before the ride ends - be warned.
The Ice Blast was another ride to be closed down recently when the carriage was blasted far too fast due to a bored employee The unfortunate few on the ride were eventually extracted from the top of the tower by a team of seven firemen. The incident is said to be recurring
Finally, you have the Suicide Warehouse, commonly referred to as Valhalla. Your ride begins when idiotic ride operators over fill one side of your boat with fat shits, commonly known as 'Americans'. As your surprisingly short long boat slowly sinks as water flows over the edge, you are sent into the Warehouse which is poorly decorated with a plastic rock front, with added holes lest from people's attempts to escape. The ride takes you through a room full of gas to make sure you're unconscious as to not notice how shit the actual ride is, before dropping backwards to make sure your wet, and then through a room of minus-god-knows-what in temperature, to ensure all riders get hypothermia. After freezing your bollocks off, you then yet again drop an impressive 80-something foot (which is quite a lot for what is basically a log flume) into what they call a water tunnel, which fails to clear the boat, and instead drowns the riders and snaps your neck by pumping a few hundred gallons of water on top of your head, and into your mouth. The ride continues by yet again lifting those who survived upward again to the top of the curtain poles, and into the part of the ride which could easily be mistaken for something out of a SAW film, as a log of spikes comes down to smack you in the face, hammers try to smash against either side of your head to mush up your brain, and little guns of fire aim to burn your eyes out. If you are lucky enough to get to this point, it is quite likely you may escape, as the ride has a habit of breaking down by now and "evacuating" everyone claiming the traps have broken down, when really the ride operators just want a fag break.
Your ride finalises by dropping into fire, to ensure, and I quote the Windows 95 screen at the beginning, "Where the fires rage to ignite your soul" or something like that. He's a Northerner, so it's hard to hear properly. As I was saying, you drop into fire, to which it is quite likely your girlfriend's chest will catch fire and burn her nipples off. You finally exit the suicide warehouse, and anyone who is just unconscious and not dead, and lets face it you'll be one or the other, is awoken by a very hard jolt as the boat turns into the station, due to the fact the pillocks at Pleasure Beach couldn't build a ride to the plans given. This normally puts any survivors into a coma, to which the on-Site medic pushes you into the ride's water system, to add to the effect of Valhalla, which for those who don't know means "Viking Heaven". The ride claims you "May get soaked". Ignore that, it's like being in a Tsunami, and requires a full change of clothes, possibly a shower, and most likely a wheelchair when and if you finally make it off alive.
And all this is only the fiction!!!!
Blackpool Football Club were quite popular in the era when the world was not yet in colour, and were helped by the footballers who decided Blackpool was a nice quiet place to stay in World War II. They won the actual British Footballing Cup in 1953, when they beat Barnstoneworth (the "Wanky Wanderers") in Wembley. Due to a typographical error, this become known as "Matthew's finale", a great pity for Stan Mortiseandtenon who scored the three goal shoots that won the game (and who later became a joiner and invented the well known woodworking joint of the same name). Blackpool also played football in foreign countries as Holland F.C. and created "total hoofball".
The orangey colour of the teams uniform went out of fashion after the "swinging sixties" and the club decided to play some easier teams in Division 2. In 1978, after the Blackpool team had gone on their holidays, Cardiff City F.C. rather cruelly decided that they wanted Orient F.C. to stay in the same league instead. As with all things in life, never trust the Welsh. Blackpool F.C. carried on for a short while, but closed due to lack of interest in 1979.
The football ground was subsequently used by a local amateur team and was eventually bought by a family of local philanthropers, the Oystones. During their continuing tenure, the Oystones have always strived to uphold their family motto "Ad Profundis", and have nearly always succeeded in doing so. Under their careful guidance, amateur football continued and the ground was awarded heritage status as the most traditional stadium in the country. The Oystones wanted to buy a £50m "multipurpose arena" for the townspeople but locals decided this was all too continental.
Once the original ground was carefully relocated to the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Oystones decided to build something that would soon become like the traditional old ground. Two parts of the Oystone Halfadome were soon knocked up, and the rest is awaiting new stock at B&Q.
Meanwhile the Oystone family, with typical thoughtfulness, have adapted this situation to the advantage of others. Aware that many visiting fans will be from inner city areas, the Oystones have provided an 'outdoor' stand, much like those used for golf tournaments, so that visitors may benefit to the full from Blackpool's famous climate. In recognition of Blackpool's show business traditions, this stand has not been named after a famous player, but after the entertainer Gene Kelly (star of the marvellous film "Singing in the Rain").
The Football Club reopened in 2007 under mysterious and unexpected circumstances, trained by the future Dirtyleeds United manager, Simon "Barry" Grayson. The team attracted a host of top international stars, including Latvia and the Faroe Islands, their high salaries paid for by Eastern European 'beer' money. The team had a fantastic first season in the Champion's League, with a memorable victory over their old rivals the "Nob Eaters" of Preston in their first meeting for many years. A 3-0 home win over nearby Dingley was also a highlight for Blackpool's "Donkey Splashers".
A second season carried on where the first left off. Various other teams sent unwanted players up to Blackpool for a holiday, and with typically generous hospitality, over twenty were invited to join in on match day. The Bloomfield Road pitch was converted into a coastal nature reserve complete with dunes, completing the holiday experience for visiting teams, who thoroughly enjoyed their regular victories there.
Blackpool decided they had better win their away matches instead. Father Christmas came calling early for Barry, who decided that even Ken Bates was better to work for than Harry.
'Cheerful' Tony Parkes took over and, with heavy heart, guided the team to their highest league position for over 30 years and a now-traditional 1-0 win over the Nob Eaters.
Tony was rewarded for this excellent work by the offer of the manager's job full time but, owing to an unfortunate administrative error, the salary was based on that of the groundsman. Tony pointed this out, but due to a regrettable communications mishap, this message was interpreted as "I don't want the job". Once again Tony patiently pointed out the club's error, but Harry responded "well, he was old, and we didn't like him anyway".
Fans protested but, as ever, the Oystones knew best. Ever sympathetic to Blackpool's entertainment traditions, they have now appointed Ian Holloway as manager, with his famous catchphrase "you can't believe a word I say". While a few have cautioned that he is a 'posturing, self-centred media whore', most fans seem happy to have a full time comedian as manager - "he's a good laugh, innee, must be good eh" being the typical unemployed fan's response.
In keeping with the town itself, Blackpool supporters are predominantly gay or elderly. The Oystone family have strongly heterosexual traditions, however, and the head of the family was jailed for a number of years because of the strength with which he has expressed these beliefs. 
In an attempt to change the demeanour of the fan base, the Oystones now employ 'a bit of skirt' to tempt the younger fans back onto the 'straight and narrow'. They have also recruited a loud drummer to keep the older fans awake on match days.
The Oystones' son, Harry, is so loved by free-spending Blackpool supporters that he now has a personal fortune believed to be over £100m, despite handing most of the money given by fans to local companies which he runs on a charitable basis. The Travelodge Hotel, built on the site of the club's unfortunately flammable Tangerine Nite Spot, generously offers free views from its rooms on match days, uninterrupted by the former South Stand.
It seems the success of Blackpool Football Club is now set to continue for many years. Price increases for the 2008-9 season were greeted warmly by fans, many of whom are keen to see Harry upgrade his Ferrari, and wish to deter the 'working class' element. The huge demand for seats that followed this change has meant that the club is set to maintain this highly successful policy. The signs are good that the club may even break their astonishing transfer record of £295,000, paid for Chris Donkey who gave the club many weeks of service after his transfer from Bindip Rovers. At least two people are currently employed in building the new South Stand, and one has recently purchased a new shovel. An email from Customer Services at B&Q has confidently promised that they will continue to evaluate their options as to how new stock can be obtained. Most exciting of all, under the new club management, promotion to League 1 is now talked about as a near-certainty next season. "Progress" indeed.
Blackpool is well known for its musak, being the home town to rock legends such as Robert Smith of the first UK emo band, The Cure and Chris Lowe-Brow of thrash metal band, Pet Shop Boys. The current scene is not quite so booming with bands mostly producing indie rock music much worse than good bands like Coldplay and Radiohead with a small amount of punk bands.
Bands in Blackpool are vetted by Nazi dictator SpikeH who overthrew former communist ruler of the music scene Skelly, SpikeH has a very interesting story behind his name and if you were to meet him make sure you ask, it's truly fascinating.
The Locals are often subject to petty abuse from faceless cyber warriors whom get bummed nightly by their homosexual fathers. Though unfortuantely they sound like every other indie band from the last 4 years and so they have joined the viscious cycle as so many other bands have which includes the girlish cross dressing style so many "indie kids" seem to think they look good sporting. Though unfortunately a recent accident occurred after a gig in which involved 3 of the band members being rushed to hospital, a later anouncement in the gazette revealed two of the band members had died from heavy blood loss due to severe bleeding from the rectum, also found after the post mortem wedged in the deceaseds colons were three wine bottles, two dead gerbils, a small Afghan immigrant family and a 1980 Harley-Davidson Shovelhead reported missing earlier in 2008 by a Mr David Fern in Southport. There was no comment given as to if these objects contributed to the deaths or not.