This article is classified "Real"
Stockport has for many years been a popular attraction for alien tourists, most specifically those with inclinations towards role-playing games of the grimy, harsh-reality, mindless-tedium variety. The most popular hobby of all is donning ludicrous clothing and trying to blend in whilst observing all the other infamously fashion-oblivious ugly semi-human individuals that live there. Most recently an upward spiral trend has been created by aliens arriving incognito in order to observe what they believe to be genuine examples of primitive human evolution, but which are in fact even more intelligent forms of life who think exactly the same thing about them. The bizarre irony behind such a boom has not been left unharnessed, however, even though all humans seem to not have the foggiest clue what is going on around them, especially in Stockport, infamous for having the world's highest proportion of car accidents caused by people forgetting they have legs to move, and consequently not having legs to move any longer. To make the most of the boom, various tourist attractions are prominent upon entering the city. The most prominent of all is the King's Valley Pyramid, as the human designers refer to it. At first a rapid name change rechristened it "the Canary Wharf of the North." However this title did not last, and it is now more commonly referred to as the Pyramint, not so much because the outsides are brown and gooey (truth be told they're not) (well, not very), but more that the insides are disappointingly hollow and devoid of humanoids, or mint, depending on which way you look at it. Tourists considering Stockport as a potentially entertaining holiday location are warned that in local terminology "entertainment" and "Stockport" are fundamentally antonyms. Amusement in Stockport is a gradually acquired taste, in the same way that camping holidays are fun if you like damp grass, big rocks, improvised toilets and horribly gratuitous sexual noises from neighbouring tents. The locals make livings out of being bored and/or nasty, although an interesting pastime in large parties can be to travel separately for a couple of days and see who can collect the most stab wounds. Essentials for a visit include no money, bad clothes, very little sense of direction and eyes that always seem to point either in a totally bizarre direction, or alternatively at the lower regions of any particularly well- endowed female in the unlikely event that you actually find one. Indulgent or keen tourists interested in improving their stay by learning some of the local lingo may at first find the phrases "you lookin' a' my tart?" or "I seen ya gaggin at ma gaal" confusing, and are advised that the answer "yes" provokes the most interesting developments, but that the answer "no" allows them to leave the planet with a greater number of their limbs. As far as local tradition goes, the quickest way to access the neighbouring customs is to tell somebody that Stockport is more violent than it used to be, and then get shot in the resultant argument. By popular demand, however, one of the most developed areas of Stockport has become the highly-signposted, and much-admired, "way out".