There is a car park opposite Mcdonalds (surprise surprise) where a bunch of ***** has been meeting for several nights now. The first I drove past, a row of chavmobiles, complete with spoilers and neon lights were parked in a line, and they were all standing, eating their fast food and discussing trisha or whatever. Nothing much happened, but when I returned the next morning the entire car park was completely trashed, litter everywhere for some poor bugger to clean up. Anyway, I returned later that night, and in a different section of the car park, (I think the place is called harbour parade, there’s a series of car parks in front of a line of stores, including jjb further down) a bunch of scallies were driving round aimlessly in a circuit, as I drove passed, one of them stopped, got out, and just stared at me, and didn’t stop until I left, trying it’s hardest to intimidate me.

Well, not too exciting so far. Tuesday evening, the following week, I go back to the car park, ready to provoke them. Yeah well, it is fun, and they do deserve it. This time, a couple of cars a parked in the middle of the car park opposite mcdonald’s. There is a large gathering of ***** and ********* in the centre. I enter the car park and, since there’s no-one else around, I am immediately stared at. I open all the windows, and start to blare out at full volume my favourite anti-**** song ‘in me burberry’ (available to download at I slow down and circle them twice. They stare back, I don’t think they really know what’s going on. Before I exit however, I put my head out the window, make two moronic ‘****** noises’ and then shout ‘its a ******’ **** innit , ya muvva’. I can hear behind me the pathetic voices of the chavvettes shouting ‘******, ******’. However, two scallies have now got into their **** mobile and decide to chase after me. I have a head start, but Southampton has the most traffic lights per unit area of all uk cities, and so am caught up easily. They start doing stupid manoevre’s pulling up beside me, with the little scally in the passenger seat making hand gestures. Every time we stop at some lights, the bigger driver keeps taking hi seatbelt off and staring into my mirrors trying to look hard. He wants to intimidate me, make me think he’s coming out to have a word or **** me up. The fact that he doesn’t actually leave the car renders it an empty threat, because we all no that ***** are really pathetic creatures that try to appear mean/hard etc but actually aren’t. They contiune to follow me, until they accidently get into the left-hand lane of the road which turns left. They attempt a dangerous undertake to pull infront, and then try to slot in behind, but the rubbish driving is too easy to deal with. I successfully block them off, and manage to escape.

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I have just returned from the West Quay shopping Centre in Southampton and felt that I must write to give comment on the atrocious scenes I witnessed.

West Quay seems to be some kind of shrine to all that is ****. Arriving at 10 am I parked in Podium car park number 1 and was almost immediately assaulted by Tyrone, Morgan-Chevrolet and little Roxanne conducting what can only be described as a pushchair Le Mans up and down the aisle around my car. This was accompanied by a banshee wail along the lines of “Oooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, Tyrone you facking facker, give us a ciggie you caaaaaaant!!!!!” Whilst all of this was going on my other half (Nancy – fairly non-**** I think you’d agree) had subsided into fits of giggles as she had spyed 3 unopened bottles of White Lightning acting as ballast in the bottom of the pushchair. (was this a rather feeble attempt to help eliminate understeer?) The sight of this Blotchy legged, Pram-faced ****** sent a ripple of unease through me. I wasn’t even out of the car park and my inner “chi” had become unbalanced.

Into the lift to take us to shopping level 1, fairly non-eventful although I feel that the scribbled graffitti of “Donna ***** Horses” carved into the glass helps set the scene admirably.

How grim is your Postcode?

Shopping level 1, I am instantly bombarded with the smell of cheap perfume (Tommy Go-Figure, Calvin Kleen……you get the picture) the source of this nasal monstrosity seems to stem from a group of young ********* spraying each other liberally in the main aisle. As we walk past I am given a liberal coating of Spazz or some such *****, whilst being told to “cheer up you caaaaaant! we is only having a larf” You, my dear, may well only be having a larf, I, on the other hand am already calculating the chances of being able to **** you repeatedly with a large pointy ****** stick whilst at the same time remaining outside the radius of the ***** your polluting the air with.

The massive numbers of ***** and ********* that congregate in this hell-hole is genuinely disturbing. Is it a fashion statement to look, dress, behave and generally appear to be a complete ****? If so we are in the Milan of **** world.

In the next couple of hours I witness Blotchy legs, mini skirts no bigger than belts, a massive number of caps worn at a degree of 45 usually accompanied by basketball vests, **** Ratners gold jewellery, acne and a pair Fred Perry shell-suit trousers.

We decide to leave **** Quay by the nearest exit in a bold attempt to find somewhere “nice” to eat. It is at this point that I stumble into a scene so disturbing that the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Milling around the main entrance to this boil on the **** of society are approx 150 ***** socialising the only way they know how (shouting and standing around in a tight little circle spitting into the centre) The massive amount of man-made fibres in this fairly small area seem to have created a static electric field, displayed admirably as I steal a glance at my good lady the missus wife and notice that she seems to be sporting a replica Flock of Seagulls hairdo.

Words really cannot express the hatred that boiled up inside me on that rainy Wednesday. When I think of ***** I clench my fists and grit my teeth. The thought that foreign visitors to our shores could well leave with the impression that all brits under the age of 40 are **** **** is one that honestly makes me extremely embarrased to be british.

The sooner we find a way to deal with the menace that is **** the sooner we can all enjoy a better standard of life. Can I suggest we place a large JD Sports Superstore on a floating barge somewhere off the south coast, wait for it to fill up, then sink the ******?

Alternatively, as my gardener used to say when dealing with pests “Find the nest and burn it”

thank you for allowing me to rant……..

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Unfortuately, I’m nominating my own town.

It’s by far not the worst infected place by the sub culture that is ****-ism, but I feel I have to add my bit here.

Estates such as Thornhill, Lordshill, Totton, Northam, Shirley and Millbrook should all have a mention as they are all important to my story.

How grim is your Postcode?

Basically, there is no place in the UK that is tinged with *****. Things have got so bad in some places that they have employed security guards outside newsagents (One Stop) and small supermarkets (Somerfield, Co-Op etc). What on earth is the UK coming to? Society appears to be capitualting!

I awake more or less every morning from my suburb home for a bus journey that takes around 40 minutes into the centre of town to my workplace.

Just one day can mean several accounts with ***** and **** activity.

On the bus, you can see (from a safe distance) the smashed bus stops, glass everywhere, and bins burnt completely by last nights congregation of lowlifes and their activities – and guess who’s paying for their mess? Yep, the good people, the taxpayers.

Anyway, about 2 years ago – we had enough – we started taking things into our own hands and formed a mini rebellion against these ******.

One form of action was to circulate ***** areas such as those above and pelt eggs (bought in large quantities) at them, and let me tell you, there is nothing better than seeing a group of ***** ******** themselves as several eggs pummel their very positions – and, lets face it, minimal chance of collateral damage when you’ve got so many targets to choose from!

But anyway, where isn’t their a town not suffering with scourge of these horrid beings? Having read most accounts on this site so far, its absolutely startling the amount of similarities there are with their dress senses, postures and interests.

They all seem to hang around outisde Newsagents at night – like flies around ****, for some reason, causing minor disturbances and frightening good natured people in large numbers.

Their dress sense – why the **** would anyone think they look smart in that clobber? The only time I wear sports gear is when I’m bumming around the house or playing sports – but that seems to be their ‘going out attire’.

McDonalds – what is it with that place that attracts them? Maybe its low class food for low class people, I don’t know, but to venture into one you’d think you’d just walked into a prison sponsored by JJB sports. Unruly, uncouth little irks as young as ten spurting foul mouthed tirades at their friends and other customers before they are either thrown out or get bored and decide to go vandalise yet another bus stop or something.

Can someone tell me where this blatant disregard for normal social interaction comes from?

During the daytime, you can find alot of the younger ***** residing in the Sega Arcade in the Bargate Shopping Centre. This is where they will witter away the last of Mummies/Daddies benefits on mind numbing arcade games and, if the evade the security guard, a flutter on some of the gambling machines, before, most probably, returning to/outside McDonald’s again for the remainder of the day.

And when they are old enough to get into the many drinking hotspots in the town, they tend to descend on the same places – thankfully not infecting the decent nightspots for the decent people. However, if you’re a ‘pint and a fight’ man, I suggest you try McClusky’s or Leisure World for the **** club scene or one of the many highstreet bars – your bound to find a few ***** round that way, more than likely being thrown out by the bouncers or being carted off by the Police after yet another unprovoked attack on decent citizens.

And, if you want to definitely be sure of seeing a ***** contingent, another good bet is to come along to the many fair’s the city holds – no **** would miss a fair that gives them the opportunity to win fake buberry by hooking ducks!

The woman – ohhh dear. Immedietely, the term ‘Traceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!’ comes to mind. They are insistent on wearing fake gold jewellery, ridiculously hooped earrings and sports leggings, sometimes baggy jumpers to disguise the fact they’ve been knocked up by Scott/Tyrone/Lee/Ricky/Can’t remember.

But it’s the guys that crack me up the most – don’t they know that ‘normal’ people laugh at them? I mean, for starters, pick any **** group in the UK and you won’t be able to tell the difference between them and Blazin’ Squad.

It pains me to say it aswell, and, I don’t like calling people ugly but, **** me, they are so ugly aswell. Who or what the **** breeds these gruesome monstrosities? Are they cross breeds? In Breds? Goofy, spotty, snarling mini ogres dressed like AllSports mannequins. And what’s with the white socks tucked into the tracksuit bottoms?

Their existence is a double edged sword for me – for starters, if they didn’t exist, I’m sure I’d have alot more money for myself not having to pay for their families, Argo’s runs and vandalism – on the other hand, I’d have nothing to laugh at.

Foul Mouthed, Ugly, non contributing arseholes – most unredeemable to put back into a normal social circle, no matter how good a ‘life coach’ you could employ. Can we have a cull now, please?


Pm me to join the Universal Anti-**** Alliance! (UACA)

Top 50 worst places to live in England 2022 as voted for by you