I cannot believe that the official No1 crap town in the UK, Kinston Upon Hull, or “Ull” as it is fondly referred to by the C***s, does not make it into your top ten list of iLiveHere. Hull to C***s, is what the Sargasso sea is to eels, one endless spawning ground. The Petri dishes of Hull’s sprawling council estates have incubated strains of gutter life previously unknown to mankind. The living hell of the many decent folk, who are forced to endure these cesspools, is unimaginable.
The female C**v in Hull, usually comes into season at the age of eight & can typically pump out four or five Chavlings by the time she is rendered infertile by chlamydia at twenty. Hull’s record holding (worse in the country sir!) education system then takes over, & can turn out a fully fledged C**v or C******e by the typical expulsion age of 13. By this time, the more promising ones will have acquired no useful legal life skills whatsoever, & more ASBOs than Michael Schumacher’s podium count.
As soon as a C***s parents can obtain no more child benefit payments, the young C**v is sent out to make its own way in the world. In the past, a large proportion would get a job on a ship & thankfully drown at sea. However, with Hull’s decline as a major port this is no longer an option. So apart from the odd “Lovable rouge” who gets blown away by an irate citizen with a sawn-off, or crashes his s**t heap into a tree while pissed, the cycle starts all over again.
These days, a fully developed C**v’s life starts at the Ferensway dole office. A major C**v hangout.
On obtaining his first giro, a young Hull C**v’s first priority is to obtain some permanent transport of his own from the local scrap yard. For less than the proceeds of two muggings, a basic untaxed & uninsured Vauxhall Astra or Nova can be procured. With a spot of twocing for spares, a cheap body kit, & a Halford’s sound system, a C**v can have a ride to be proud of. It is alleged that the local Halfords branch will accept DHSS giros for a small handling fee.
Nothing annoys a Hull C**v more, than the sight of an asylum seeker strutting down the road with a mobile telephone to his ear & a fat lass on his arm. Asylum seekers are actually displacing C***s in some parts of the city. Thus the C**v motorist society turned it’s efforts away from organizing city centre road racing, to mowing down asylum seekers for fun. This C**v passtime has come to a halt of late, when a crown court judge took a very dim view of the practice, & threw away the key on two C***s who had scored a respectable ten pointer. This came as a major surprise, to the hapless C***s, who were expecting probation or better still, community service, with its opportunities to blag old biddies savings while doing a spot of gardening.
This is just a mere taster of what Hull has to offer a C**v. The city’s benefit teat supplies all they want, & more beside. I kid you not dear reader, J.D.Weatherspoon pubs, fast food emporiums & pound shops literally line the streets of Hull. The pavements are truly lined with fake bling. On a Saturday night, a C**v can have ten pints, a f**k & a fight & still stagger home with change from a £20 note.
One last tip for visiting C***s. Hull also has a unique barter system in the form of the Craven Park market / car boot sale. Here, C***s can obtain fake designer gear & trade in the former property of honest folk, don’t miss it.
With all the above, is there any wonder they never leave?