Inner-city police are warning of the rise of a brutal new “sport” among the working classes, a savage, twisted parody of the fine ancient tradition of foxhunting, known among the poor and common as “Tarquin”.

“Tarquin” involves a defenceless neighborhood pet, such as a chihuahua or tomcat, both common on poor estates, being stolen and painted bright orange. The animal is then chased around the local estates by the gang of “Tarquins”, themselves employing only brown and white dogs for the chase whilst wearing bright red “Donnay” and “Adidas” hoodies along with white

Our reporter secured an interview with a man who described himself as “Rochdale’s biggest Tarquin”.

RH – Tell me, what is the appeal with your…sport?

T – Well, you might think it’s about blood, or savagery – but you’d be wrong. It’s actually about tradition and privilege…

RH – Privilege? Could you elaborate?

T – It’s not about the death – I feel bad about that sometimes, but not so much I stop. It’s about privilege, as I said – did you know that “privilege” literally means “private law”? As in, one rule for you and another for me. THAT’S the appeal with Tarquin. Getting pissed with your mates, securing deals outside the office and scoring coke is a bonus, but it’s not why I’m there. It’s so I can feel the rush of a copper looking at me, breaking the law in plain view in a horrific manner, and look away as if I were invisible.

RH – So the police do nothing?! I find that hard to believe!

T – Trust me, you get that colour-combo just right, you may as well be invisible. We had a few teething troubles until we figured out anybody black had to paint their face pink and shout “FACK AWF, YOU HO’BBLE COMMONUH!” to complete the ruse but it worked eventually. So while I understand people not liking it, I can’t see Tarquin just going away, can you?

Until the police get better at identifying crimes regardless of stupid little fucking uniforms, nothing much will change.

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