Having left Dartford at the first possible moment after school to further my studies at university, (“readin’ an’ s**t” for the kevs, there) I can’t wait to return one day and wipe the place sterile with napalm. By all means come to Dartford on ‘C**v Safari’ as I used to indulge in occasionally. The delightful priory car park often sports vauxhall novas with twenty exhausts coughing out their wheezy engine’s last splutter to the deep thump of “drum and barse”. The park is a delightful garden of shrieking inbred caaaancil flat mothers and retinues of nameless rat children frolicking amongst the herion needles and condomns. Stay in the pleasant Temple Hill estate where the genetically challenged walking acne retards steal handbags of all colours, and stumble their way to get giros and scag for their twenty thumbless children called chantelle from the sisters and mothers they reproduce with.
Here you can sleep securely to the sound of corsas crashing, windows breaking and sirens of all types- but not before sampling the quaint and diverse night life! Dartford’s nightclub with the ever-changing name offers the unique opportunity for twelve year old c***s of all shapes, sizes, genders and trainers to mate in the slippery and infected toilets or be sick on each other. A veritable plethora of fake gold or sportswear merchandise can be seen adorning some of the most shocking examples of mating as you stroll around avioding stabbings and mockney c***s who NEED to be shot in the f*****g face.
You may even be lucky enough to be invited to race a broken ford escort around the one way system! This is a novel experience, and when you win you can complete the evening by driving to Dartford Heath to witness the most revolting humans in the cosmos playing with each other’s diseased sexual organs in the car park.
There are some things to remember about Dartford:
Most of the offending c***s are teenagers. These can be disposed of with gifts of a cigarette, twenty pence, or a steel pipe to the eye if no others are present.
Advice on visiting Bluewater: Don’t.
In order to preserve the functionality and wheels of your car park a little way from the town to ensure security. Twenty miles out to sea would do well.
Don’t forget, there are some reasonable people to be found in the ranks who, despite their attire and language and appearance and cars and offspring are genuine and decent townies. However, searching for one would be as fruitful as searching the desert for bubblebath. Don’t go to Dartford unless on C**v Safari or unless you plan to bomb the burberry out of the place.