Once upon a time the south Cheshire town of Crewe was renowned for its position as undisputed capital of the nation’s railway industry, turning out a constant line of world-beating trains. Whilst this is now nothing more than a page in the history book, Crewe has a new product for which it is renowned – maybe not throughout the country, but most certainly in and around the south Cheshire countryside. ‘And what is this wonderous product?’ I hear you ask. Please, don’t get excited – this Crewie export is one of the most undesirable excuses for humanity know to man. It is the well-known and universally despised ****, but not as we know it. For Crewe breeds hundreds upon hundreds of a new, mutant **** – a bit like a common **** crossed with Neanderthal Man. The results can barely be described as human, and are as good a reason as any why the United Kingdon should recommence its nuclear warhead testing program. What could be better than wiping the town of Crewe and its ever-increasing **** population off the face of the planet?
Whilst in many other towns and cities across the United Kingdom ***** tend to grow out of their ******** tendencies, this is not the case in Crewe. Through the average Crewie ****’s inability to read the instructions on a condom packet, many a Chavling is born unto an entire lifetime of Chavdom, faced with countless years ******* around the bus staion harassing innocent travelers with such nearly-unintelligible outbursts as ‘lenzaquidmate’; rebuffing of their attempts to boost their DSS-provided income is greeted with something nearly as unintelligible, ‘fookoffyercun’ being a particular favourite.
Standard attire amongst Crewe’s considerable **** population is the obligatory Burberry cap and plain white trainers. These are almost universally accompanied by tracksuit trousers and white socks; it is considered the height of **** fashion to tuck the former into the latter. Especially during summer months, many ***** consider no other garments necessary, choosing to stroll round amongst the shoppers and the town’s small working population showing their invariably hairless chest and large, fake gold chain off proudly for the world to see.
One need only take a leisurely stroll around Crewe’s hellhole town centre (taking care to dodge the kebab trays and discarded cans of strong cider) to experience this misguided fashion ‘statement’. The timing of this stroll is unimportant; as surveys have proven that the majority of Crewe’s **** population has never been employed, no matter what the time or day, it is always guaranteed that a positive **** sighting will be made – although, as most ***** consider rising at 9am antisocial, it is better to leave this expedition until after lunchtime. It is also possible to see the odd shell-suit still being worn with pride in Crewe. Beware large groups of *****, however, as they may well see fit to shout all manner of abuse at you, although this only ever happens when there are at least six of them and one of you. Their favoured daytime hang-outs include the railings in front of ‘MaccyD’s’, the town square, the seats adjacent to Home and Bargain, and, of course, the steps to the dole office. The dole office area is particularly worth avoiding as, even by Crewe standards, this is a veritable hotbed of **** activity, the giros dispensed here being many a ****’s sole source of income.
Before we look at the ****’s night-time pursuits, we shall look at the ********, to be found in nearly equal numbers to the ****. To be accepted by her peers, the Crewie ******** must fulfil a few criteria. First, she must have lost her virginity before the age of fourteen, to a man at least eight years her senior. She must also have had her first child before reaching sixteen years of age, and also have been ‘taken’ on at least two occasions, by two different men, in the car-park to the side of the town’s nightclub. It is also considered a point of immense pride amongst ********* to have slept with a large number of men; extra brownie points can be gained by sleeping with two at the same time. Furthermore, admittance to the ******** community is only open to those females who left education at sixteen with no qualifications whatsoever, and to those who have never had any kind of job. It is also advisable to be the mother of a child who’s father you neither know nor remember.
Whilst the daytime is good for Chavspotters, is pales in comparison with the after-dark hours. The Crewie **** has an almost endless list of options when choosing his night-time activities. The most basic, underage **** settles with such fulfilling pursuits as throwing bricks at moving buses, stealing cider from the local Bargain Booze, and engaging in sexual encounters with like-minded ********* in the ever-popular Crewe Park, literally a stone’s throw from their favoured area of occupation, the well-known West End. More mature *****, however, have a multitude of options, although it is not unknown for ***** entering their fourth decade of existance to engage in the aforementioned activites. The town’s famous nightclub Steam acts as a veritable **** magnet, where ***** and ********* gather to fight amongst themselves and engage in the simple yet amusing first stages of the **** mating game. This usually consists of the hopeful **** picking out a suitable ********, pinching her arese, buying her a bottle of WKD and offering to take her home. The success rate using this sophisticated method of snaring a member of the opposite *** is approximately 98%; the **** will then proudly walk round all night with the ******** – woe betide any other **** who may even look at ‘his bird’, as a glass in the face is a frequent and popular method of dissuasion. The jealous **** need not worry, as by next Friday he will be able to try his luck with the said bird; within a week the ******** will be activley looking for another sexual partner to satisfy her desires.
Anyone not looking like a true **** is not advised to attempt to gain entry to Steam; to a ****, anyone not looking identical or similar to themselves is perceived as a threat, best summed up in a ****’s limited grasp of the English language as ‘a fookin cun’ and should be beaten to a pulp for having the audacity to wear something remotely smart.
The truly classy **** chooses to spend his evenings on MacDonalds car park, or occasionally Dixon’s. Here they can, to their heart’s content, pull handbrake turns and wheelspins in their Novas and Fiestas, whilst comparing their oversize exhausts, stolen alloy wheels and bodykit. On some nights it has been known for a Metro or even an Escort to turn up to add to the excitement! There is also a ready supply of willing *********, complete with their standard attire of ultra-low cut top, miniskirt and high-heels; some even push the boat out and shave their legs before attending one of these events, having managed to work out how an electric razor works. They are only able to attend if they have been able to find a babysitter for their eight kids, of course.
I could go on, but what’s the ******* point? I seriously very much doubt there is any worse town in the UK than Crewe. It is no more than a sheer hell, 100% of whose inhabitants can be described as either trainspotters or *****. The Government should just build a huge wall around the place and leave them to it.
In conclusion, I give you Crewe – **** capital of the World.