Written by Anonymous.

Meadowhall. What an inspiration to the city this place was when it first opened in 1989. That was until a species of ‘human being’ took it over for themselves. The Chav. For all of us unfortunate enough to have entered this chav-ridden, God-forsaken, p***y-infested s******e, you will easily be able to identify what I mean.

It gets hot in Meadowhall, too hot. And being hot, claustrophobic, and surrounded by chavs is the worst combination, because they reek of common, council house dwelling smeg. All around you there are horrendously freckled, ginger, filthy single mothers with second hand prams and half-caste babies writhing around in them. These species of chavette ‘mutha’ are far from sympathetic, telling their six month old chavlings to ‘shurrupwillye?!’ Charming.

Their humongous bright plastic earings, and fake gold chains round their leatherette, cracked, wrinkly necks are a repulsive sight. Of course, they all don their three-quarter length peddle pushers with the chav trademark pull strings at the bottom, so you can see their monstrous foot-tatoos, and a fake Burberry cap with a Le Coq Sportif jacket.

The male chav is no better. An obvious thug, always with a throbbing temple and puce in colour, this grease monkey walks around sporting the latest Sheffield Wednesday strip, with his gorilla arms ready for a fight like some wild animal. Well, thats hardly surprising is it?

Leaving Meadowhall is the most interesting thing one can see a chav family do. Deep down in their twisted hearts, or other appropriate organ, they know that they’re going back to a shitty fleapit council house/flat/landfill site. The chav young are obviously more sensitive to it, though they soon harden up, because just as they set out to go back, they scream in a common, COMMON, disgusting accent, “iwannagoforafookinmacdonalds!” The chavette mutha will scream quite embarrasingly loud, “meanyedadavjustbought300fookingciggies, wedontavenoughmoneyyeungratefullittlebastardyer!”

The chavling already showing the aggressive signs of what he is going to grow up to be begins a tirade of cursing, as the chav family cross the car park to their last-times X reg Ford Escort, which used to be white, but now has a blue wing, red door, and hand brush-painted bonnet, presumably to go home and watch some ITV s**t on the telly.


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