The "upper beaches", on the other hand, is a lower/middle income neighbourhood, with government housing popping up like cancerous tumours all over the place, bringing with them the blight of poor, slovenly, and unwashed proles. Even in the middle-income parts of the neighbourhood it's not uncommon to find that they have a run-down look about them, what with all the husks of humans, the ugly, dumpy housewives and their balding, eunuch husbands, with their dead eyes and their putrescent souls, who just don't care. On top of that there are the mouth-breathing little punks who fancy themselves graffiti "artists" crapping their poor excuse for a tag all over every fencepost and mail box they can find (when caught in the act it is typical for the local beaches citizen to break both the offenders' kneecaps before slowly flaying them alive and rolling them in salt; this is permitted by local bylaws).
Video footage of the same building. Can you feel the evil? Does it exude through the screen and into your pores? If not, something is probably wrong with you. I'd see a psychologist.
The reason the upper beaches is called what it is, rather than "pseudo-suburban craphole", is because real-estate companies want to leech off the esteem that the original beaches(for some reason) carries, so that idiots will pay $700,000 for a crappy town house wedged between a lumber mill and a building full of hood-rats who get into loud shouting matches with their fat common-law wives at 3 in the morning.
The beaches is typified by block after block of streets that look the exact same. To illustrate what I mean, picture the beaches as limbo to Unionville's hell. Down by the areas namesake, we find the waterworks, the location of such masterpieces of film as Undercover Brother and Half Baked, and a celebrated community gathering point, from dog-walkers, to children tobogganing in the winter, to wayward youth gathering to drink until they are vomiting orange foam (true story, it happened to a friend of a friend of mine). Other features of the beaches are old women with small, annoying dogs, and several chemists and herbalists on every block.
The assignment says something about posting a recent news story, so here's one.
Apparently people care about this. That there is a market for this type of story shows why we need a good war (not this occupation, "build schools for girls" hippie crap; finish stealing all their resources and leave already!) That was only thirty nine words so now I am going to just type a long run on sentence because the assignment handout (technically not a handout because it's posted on ecentennial but I digress) called for one hundred fifty words and thirty nine words is not one hundred fifty words. In fact I just copied everything I wrote between the link and the end of the previous sentence and it was only ninety words, so obviously I have a lot of padding yet to do. Now I only have twenty more words to type, now fifteen, now thirteen, now eleven, now nine, now seven, and bloody finally, one hundred fifty.
I am also supposed to profile a local resident. I chose my favorite local character, Tea Bag. That may not be his real name, I've never asked, but it's what everyone calls him. He is short, slight, and thin faced, with a high-pitched, reedy voice, and he will approach strangers on the street and make very polite requests. Sometimes he'll ask for a single penny, sometimes he'll ask for $17.50. He will often claim to have type 1 diabetes, and that he needs the money to buy food, however, it doesn't take much to get him to admit that he just wants to buy crack. He wouldn't allow me to take his photograph, but he looks something like this:
