Chavs — Smokers.
W.I. Women — Weapons Institute. The Smokers call them ‘the saggies’.
Major Majorie of the Weapons Institute called a meeting at the book-club headquarters. It was 8am as the bloody marys were passed around the room while the women settled themselves. “Today ladies! We wage war!”
The little grey haired woman in her floral dress downed the cocktail and looked around the other old ladies with a fire in her eyes. “Those smokers have ruined our afternoon cream teas for too long!”
There was a solemn nod around the room as they all agreed. Today, was the day they would be rid of their long standing enemy.
It wasn’t long before the women were ready. They had adorned themselves with their battle wear. Smart gingham frocks with tidy little hats adorned with fresh flowers and mini jam-jars strung around their necks. To finish the look and instill fear in the hearts of their enemy they had tea-cup saucers in their bottom lip and teaspoons through their nose. The Yorkshire terriers were all hitched up to the sleds, with the casserole dish bombs stashed and good to go. Each woman was ready with her sharpened ladle at her hip and a frying pan on her back. They sprayed on lavender scented perfume and began the charge into battle.
The Yorkies in their tartan coats pulled forwards, their tiny frail bodies heaving before they got into the momentum. It was a sight to behold!
The smokers braced themselves in their tracksuits and backwards burbarry caps. Each having ammo belts filled with cigarettes around them. The girls had covered themselves in full war-paint, layers of bright orange foundation and panda eyes formed of heavy eye-shadow and eye-liner. Each time they blinked their false lashes a small breeze could be felt brushing past the baggy clothing.
As the Weapons Institute came around the corner the captain looked to his men, scrawny boys weighed down by the fake gold bling around their necks. “Saggies! Men, Load torpedos! Fire on my command!”
The boys hauled bottles of white lightening cider into the torpedo tubes.
The smokers fingers their packs of ciggarettes as they awaited the command, they tried not to look at the wind flapping the dresses around the varicose vein covered legs of their enemies. One girl, heavily pregnant with her 23rd child by the 23rd father screamed as she was blinded by the sight of those twisted and haggard legs. The captain called out “Fire torpedos!”
The White Lightening flew through the air towards the old women. The women braced themselves for impact. Two old ladies went flying off their sleds landing in twisted heaps as they were hit by the exploding bottle of cider.
The croaky voice of the leader cut throught he air “Ladies! Aattaaccckkk!!”
The smokers dove into their pink velour covered prams, they picked up to an incredible pace as they were powered by the foul language and abusive screams of babies barely more than 8 hours old. As they neared the saggies, ducking and diving to avoid the incoming jam jars and fairy cakes they began to throw the ciggarettes. The cigarettes flew through the air with precision and speed to rival a ninja’s flying stars!