Ringtones to blame for Rude Chavs Ringtones to blame for Rude Chavs

By our filly with her finger on the pierced belly button of Teen Culture,
Keli McTaggart
When my sweet 12-year-old sis started raggin' this month she was not far short of being a polite and innocent little angel, much like me really, only not half as cute. So you can imagine my horror when instead of learning the essentials of being a woman like knowing how to match blusher and lip gloss and choosing well wicked frocks, she discovered ringtones and has turned into a well-minging rude Chav

Rude little Chavs are overrunning this friggin' country; they speak their own lingo, have their own religion and wear totally skanked out, grungy gear. They must be stopped. Why? Coz if they're allowed to breed the entire human race is going straight down the friggin' toilet!

It's bad enough having to listen to Natasha talking absolute bollocks like: "I wuz hangin' wiv me m8s when dis well kwl buff sent me a mint nu tone," without having every question answered by: "fit fankz, m8. Wussup wit u?"

I blame the polyphonic ringtones she's started downloading from the Net. I reckon they've cut off the blood supply to what remains of her tiny brain. I swear if I hear 'Baby Cakes' or 'Don't Phunk with my heart' one more time I will strangle the little cow with her own designer thong! Since she became a well-minging Chav slagette, Nate's whole life has been reduced to a mindless urge to rebel and be dead cool—sorry, 'Well bangin' innit.' First she started listening to thrash metal losers like Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park, then she discovered 'really fit Buffs', and now she's taken to wearing dayglo, baggy pants and hooded tops plastered with massive, utterly naff logos. If that wasn't bad enough, last week I caught the dirty little kaka-slapper in the toilet wanking herself senseless with our mum's electric toothbrush. Why can't she use a bloody rabbit like a normal person? Now she wants to put cheap, gold bling in her friggin' belly button and get a tattoo on her spotty arse!

When she heard I was writing this article about her, she texted me with a message that would have made Shakespeare give up writing plays and marry his sister.
"Oi i herd yu ws chattin shit to ppl on da net about us chavs been lower class dan u if we are lower than u y do we wear more than one colour and dont spunk our fukn money on sm grunging dress and shitty stilletoes u wanna take a look in the mirror grrl and see y u never get no fit buffs coz u got fuck all talent an look like shit shout out dis chavzee."

See what I mean? Oh, don't worry if you didn't understand a word of it; it was all complete and utter bollocks anyway. Now Nate's out every weekend with other 'hot chavzees' hanging outside places of great Chav religious importance like MacDonalds and JD Sports, in massive, So Solid Crew type groups all wearing identical white Rockport trainers, baggy Nicholson track suits, and more rattling gold chains than Hamlet's Ghost.

Chavs engage in bizarre rituals such as playing ring tones on their sacred Nokia 3G mobes, blagging fags off dirty old geezers in exchange for a quick grope, painting their nails in the most hideous colours and seeing who can masturbate the longest with their Harry Potter brooms without cumming. These are the thoroughly rude grrlz that think Limp Bizkit is 'fit', Girls Aloud 'kick ass' and Holly Valance demands ‘respek’. You don't know Holly? You're not missing much. Nate thinks the belly-baring sheila from down under is 'majestik'. The dozy kaka-slapper probably doesn't know the nasty little cum guzzler admitted to phone sex before blowing her rep by slagging off Brit blokes for making her gag!

There is no hope for my little baby sis any longer; she is lost to the mindless world of polyphonic ringtones, cheap bling, designer labels, thrash metal and well-minging pop tarts. Though it may not be too late to save yours; just say no to ringtones!

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© 2004 utterpants.co.uk /300904 A240605

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