Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in Uncategorised


Anyone heard of the White brothers? Those little children getting ASBO’s all over the place and beating up their girlfriends? Well if you have, you’ve heard of Weston.
They are the model for the other wannabe chavs, apparently, who also go around in their crappy modded Novas’ and Escorts’ trying to deafen anything within about 3 miles. Then they stop at McDonalds drive-thru. Oh dear. God help any none-chav in the vicinity, for they will be subject to the most vile and idiotic verbal abuse these mentally challenged morons can think of (or can copy off their nightly watchings of Eastenders). But this is nothing. Oh no. Avoid, at all costs if you value your life, The Bournville Estate. Just to be fair, there are some decent people there. But they are the minority. The rest are council-house dwelling, Burberry/Kappa wearing Scum with at least 15 different STD’s each, only 3 of which are listed in medical dictionaries. They will steal anything. I heard a tree went missing from someone’s garden a while ago.
But anyway. There are an increasing number of goth/emo kids who can usually be found in the Italian Gardens (what’s so italian about them?) making a complete bloody mess of everything and throwing each other in the fountain, but overall the town is still full of chavs. If you happen to be near the sea front on a friday night, you will see the same 3 cars circulating endlessly, punctuated by the occasional tacky white limo full of 13 yr old slappers leaning out the windows and inviting anyone over 3 ft tall to join in. They promptly head for Vision, the central hub of Chav entertainment, where the children get paralytic and throw up outside a kebab house later, and all the over 30’s (or ‘granddads’ around here) perv on them all and try to get off with anything with a pulse. Saturdays are almost exactly the same.

Aside from the activities of trying to keep your wallet within your grasp (a chain attached to your trousers helps) there is nothing to do during the day. The high street merely caters for chavs, with at least 5 clothes/shoe shops, all for young tarts on a budget, and about a thousand mobile phone shops, because if all their children don’t have the latest Nokias, they just won’t be ‘cool’. There is no CD shop. They simply go to Tesco and pick up whichever awful dance remix album is on the shelf this week, and then play exactly the same song off it for the next 5 days.

To end. If you happen to be male, white and wearing a full-length black coat, you will instantly hear many cries of “eer, iss tha fookin matrix innit!!” and that horrific high pitched squeeling laugh as ‘Wayne’ comes over to try to ‘spark tha’ goffic wan’er right out’. The laughter stops rapidly if you then uncover the pole hidden behind your back and put the motherfucker in Hospital. Try to catch him in his tiny little balls to stop him breeding.

Good luck, and happy hunting.