Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in North East, United Kingdom, Yorkshire

Friends, darkest Huddersfield, that festers within West Yorkshire is a place that spawns some of the lowliest, most pitiful chavs this country has to offer, yet despite this they still suffer from ever increasing delusions of granduer (ranging from how many “peng a lengs” they have banged, to how fast their “souped up” saxo will travel at, right through to the ever common chav boast of their physical accomplishments).

You see, this is a volatile mixture – they are s**t on the shoes of society, byt they believe they are the be-all and end-all physically, mentally (though time supposedly spent in Huddersfields frankly school’s is usually used to terrorize decent citizens in Huddersfield’s infested centre) and socially – if you are not one of the unholy brood, then you are a target for foul language, a bulls eye for litter and half eaten food (mcdonalnds sustenance for the bredderins) and anyone who shows any sign of wealth is begging to be mugged (an all too common occourance in Huddersfield).

This may seem like the everyday chav, but no chav anywhere else in the UK is as snobbish (confusingly so, I have yet to find out what is desirable about living in squallor, with more ASBO’s than anyone else has christmas cards on the matle piece) as the Huddersfield chav.

They delight in wallowing in their filthly hovels (Deighton, Fartown, Lockwood, Newsome, Lower Houses, Brackenhall, Rastrick, Walpole and Crosland Moor to name a few) they relent in trying to better themselves over their chav neighbours (I swear there is a regional “most matresses in the garden” contest going on), with ever increasing amounts of s**t on the wall, from malnourished hanging baskets (the perfect place to butt out a “fag”) to overly colourful (as the Huddersfield chav seems to be attracted to overly bright and garish apparel, which they deem to be posh) crap such as wind dials (Wilkinsons finest, but not necesarrily paid for) and rotting bird baths, courtesy of the councils attempts to spruce up local woodland areas.

These “wanna be nobility” chavs lord it up day in day out (from waking up at mid day to retiring at three in the morning, all the while taking every oppertunity to play the “bangin choon’ of the week on their wharfdales (aquired through means of dubious legality), making likfe harder for the people who pay for their ever increasing benefits, thats right – not only do these f*****s make our lives hell, we have to pay for them and their snotty little pseudo criminal children (of which there are many). Grandma Keighleh (aged 35) spend her day down the boozer with grandard Damian (just released on bail for GBH and theft) whilst their little rats, and indeed they are rats, just as they are a skeleton key for the parents ill gained benefits lie, cheat, mug, steal and litter their way into a young offenders institute.

The typical Huddersfield chav is dresses as any other chav, the females sporting a kappa jacket, velour pants and some reebok classics (from footlocker, complete with a four finger discount), crowned (they would think) with a nike baseball cap and argos’ finest “gold” braclets. Whislt the male sport a kappa/adidas tracksuite and some nike “tns” – also courtesy of footlocker/jjb. Cigarettes are always present, it, along with the stella can has become the moniker of the Huddersfield 14 year old chav.

In summary (phew), Huddersfield should be avoided by all those who desire to keep their wallets, mobile phones and most of all their sense of smell (uneducated AND uhygenic, what a pair), the Huddersfield chav is the snob of chavs, bumping around in their limousine of a pimped up, untaxed, un tested, uninsured saxo (lowered, aiiiii), they are both numerous and irritating – and the sooner the afore mentioned villages and estates fall into the pits of hell and float away like the giant pieces of s**t that they are, the better of we, the hardworking, tax paying minority will be.

I bid you adieu friends – stay safe, stay sociable and stay socially respectable!

Deathmole.