Torres Vedras

PastelDeFeijão: The Cod-Crazed Chronicler of Torres Vedras

In the shit-stained alleys of Torres Vedras, there’s a nutter called PastelDeFeijão, a proud Portuguese prat who’d rather gargle cod oil than live anywhere else. This wanker’s so in love with his hometown, he probably wanks to the stench of its fish markets and prays to a shrine of bacalhau bones. Born in the heart of Portugal’s cod-obsessed underbelly, PastelDeFeijão’s the kind of tosser who’d tattoo “Torres Vedras Forever” on his arse and mean it. His blood’s as salty as the Sizandro River, and his heart beats to the rhythm of a drunk fisherman’s sea shanty.This mad bastard’s behind the Torres Vedras page, a digital cesspit he’s cobbling together like a drunk bigodeiro stitching a cod net. It’s still under development, mind you, because PastelDeFeijão’s too busy chugging vinho and hurling peanuts at tourists to finish it. The page is meant to capture the town’s rancid glory: its Cod Rot plague, its fish-gut cannons that scared off alien twats in ’96, and its sacred ceramic cocks from Caldas da Rainha, handed out to pilgrims dumb enough to visit. He’s weaving in tales of Sócrates I, King Eusébio’s mullet, and the Great Cod War, where Vasco da Gama sliced bollocks with a swordfish. It’s a grim love letter to a town that smells like a trawler’s armpit, and PastelDeFeijão’s pouring his rotten soul into it.Expect a page as unhinged as a codfight in the mercado, with stories of radioactive goblins shitting out Portugal, locals sawing the country off to float to Iceland, and FC Porto bribing refs with hookers. It’s not done yet, because perfection takes time when you’re knee-deep in fish guts and existential dread. PastelDeFeijão, you glorious Portuguese fuckwit, keep building that shrine to Torres Vedras. It’s the only place where a cod-slapping, cloud-chasing, statue-shagging lunatic like you belongs.