July 24, 2005

Chavs Innit

Bits of the real England from the great Chavworld site:

jus ritin to let yall peeps no dat beein a chav ain’t all dat bad! i meen wen i walk down da street all da rudeboyz n widegirlz move 2 lemme froo, if day try n step up, ill just nok em spark out, innit!

Listen all you chav’s out there. Leighton Buzzard is the Chav capital of this world sittin on the famous market cross swigging 20/20 and wife beaters innit! we r all wearing burberry clothes from bovey market LOVE IT A !

Yes i’m a chav, but it seems that people make out that we’re stupid and illiterate when actually not all of us are. We do pick fights alot but only with people who deserve it, say if someone was staring at us for no reason (i can’t stand being stared at) we would say something like ‘what you lookin’ at?’ and if they started mouthing off then they would get a beating but if they left it at that then we would leave it.

I think chavs are great, coz i is one init! Theres nuffin wrong wiv burberry & S.I Novas are pure class. When i’m cruisin round the precinct all the other birds are well jealous cos they fink my choons are well bangin. My Lee rekons i am the fittest bird in school & none of the older girls can down Smifnoff ice like i can. I can drink 10 bottles & im only 15!

i is from wisbech an it fukin chav centraaaal!! Chavs rule! u is all sayin dat we is fick and all dis but we smash yo head in innit!

Chav jokes:

What do you call a Chav in a box?
What do you call a Chav in a filing cabinet?
What do you call a Chav in a box with a lock on it?
What do you call an Eskimo Chav?
What’s the first question at a Chav quiz night?
“What you lookin’ at?”

All ya peepz in2 dis chav stuf checkout chav forumz, mint innit?

Posted by Iain Stewart at 2:21 PM | Comments (23) | TrackBack
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December 4, 2004

The Dirt on the Hoe

Inspired into action by a hot tip on the BBC’s brilliant gardening pages, I replaced my usual lazy ‘Spray’n’Slay’ anti-weed strategies by mounting a direct physical assault on the most malignent weed-insurgents - dandelions, bindweed, those small London trees that appear overnight and have grown thirty feet by the next time you go outside, deadly brambles, nettles, rampant clover..i.e. the pits - that were seeking asylum in my beautiful long and narrow Deptford garden from the evil regime of the Weed Conservatory nurtured by my Irish next door neighbours, armed only with a good old-fasioned hoe I bought down Deptford Market for £2.

After I had been slashing and slicing into the adamantine roots of these most ruthless of garden terrorists for half an hour or so, my young friend Tamara, aged 8, came wandering out of the house with her hands in the pockets of her pink dungarees after losing interest in The Terminator or Last Tango in Paris or whatever it was she’d been watching, and came out to watch me sweating away in righteous zeal instead.

After a while, she asked “What’s that thing you’re using?” pointing at the hoe.

“Its a hoe” I said.

“That’s such a dirty word” she said, “I can’t believe you said it.”

Rap/Jamaica have a lot to answer for.

Posted by Iain Stewart at 5:54 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
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