NO-GO BRITISH AREA 2: PRESTON PARK, BRIGHTON

LIKE all decent, Daily-Mail-reading Brits, I have absolutely NO problem whatsoever with homosexuality. All I ask is that these deviants: a) do their blasphemous business behind closed doors, b) refrain from rubbing their transgressions in normal people’s faces, and c) don’t ever – under any circumstances – engage in any kind of erotic activity with a member of their own sex. It’s not a lot to ask.

The so-called ‘LGBT’ movement has gained power in Britain over recent years, as vast swathes of England’s once green and pleasant shores have turned pink and unpleasant due to an overwhelming influx of gays. Indeed, on the various German military history dark web forums I frequent, I have read that areas such as Preston Park in Brighton – a town which boasts a large number of gay and lesbian residents – have become bona fide ‘no-go zones’ for upstanding, red-blooded straights.

Could this be true? I aim to find out.

I saunter onto the Brighton seafront on a sunny Saturday afternoon, dressed in heterosexual attire – a baseball hat, football shirt, cricket slacks, trainers, and a pair of bright red boxing gloves slung casually around my neck.

To test the no-go waters, I head straight for the nearest pub. The humble public house is the bedrock on which this great country was founded, and I want to see if I – an out-and-proud straight man – am still able to sup a pint of bitter in peace in Broken Britain’s ‘gay capital.’

The initial signs are NOT good. As soon as I step through the door of the establishment, I feel desperately ill at ease. The clientele, all gay and lesbian, are sitting in small groups chatting, no doubt about how to impose their lifestyle over the rest of society. As I make my way towards the bar, I notice every single one of them straining to conceal their distaste for my sexuality by pretending to pay me literally no attention whatsoever.

I feel sick to my stomach. All I wanted was a quiet pint – as is my God-given right – but instead I’m being subjected to an intensely hostile atmosphere. I glance around me in horror to see that the hostility is rising, the clientelle making half-hearted attempts to ignore me by checking their phones, talking to each other or watching the football on the TV.

But make no mistake, they know I am in their pub and they don’t like it. I am a marked man. Fearing for my life, I emit the piercing scream of a man whose country is no longer his own, and sprint out of the pub and into a local park.

Settling down on a bench in front of some swings, I have to struggle not to vomit as I notice that there are several gay couples in here with CHILDREN. You simply couldn’t make it up. It’s all I can do not to call the police, but I remember that I have a job to do – I must investigate whether a freeborn straight Englishman can still go about his everyday business in no-go Britain.

With that in mind, I begin to peruse a few magazines that I’ve brought with me, which are full of wholesome images of green and pleasant heterosexual couples performing green and pleasant heterosexual acts, as God intended. And surprise, surprise – within minutes of me casually flicking through the pages of Cum Guzzling Sluts, I notice most of the couples shooting me wary glances and hurrying their children out of the park. Clearly, these heretical ‘families’ feel uncomfortable around a straight white man simply minding his own business in a public place.

Moments later, the sound of sirens fills the air. I shake my head in disbelief as a police officer comes marching towards me. Placing handcuffs on my proud English wrists, he claims that I am “under arrest for public exposure of sexually explicit materials.”

Even in my horrified state, I can’t help but emit a hollow chuckle. I know exactly what this copper is REALLY saying: your kind is not welcome here. It’s time for you to leave.

In a town full of perverse deviants, somehow it is I – a hard-working British heterosexual – who is considered to be the ‘indecent’ one. As I am bundled into the police van, I feel the bile in my throat rising once more.

It seems the Woke mind-virus has infiltrated every corner of NO-GO BRITAIN.