Chav ShoppingChav Shopping
By our man in the High Street, Robin Scunthorpe

Robin Scunthorpe strips away the crotchless thongs from the sordid world of Chav shopping to reveal the festering yeast infection at the heart of our sick society
Mrs Scunthorpe (Gertrude to her friends), owns a trendy clothes shop in a city centre which is very popular with Chavs—Britain's burgeoning new underclass of anti-social yobs and fashionable, teenage mums. Thanks to the recent introduction of the latest security system, which boasts high-gain microphones as well as 360 degree, cctv cameras, utterpants have left no knickers unsoiled to bring our readers the full transcript of a conversation between two Chavs and the (female) shop assistant who served them. To protect the guilty, the principal stars of this seedy soap opera will be referred to as Darren, Sharon and Karen—names that are sufficiently common among the Chav community to conceal their real identities. Who am I kidding? Those are their real names. Serve the little buggers right for not coughing up the two hundred quid we demanded to protect their revolting identities.

Sharon: Cam on Darren, stop pissing abaht an’ get over ‘ere ya lazy sod.
Darren: Oim starvin’ ent I.
Sharon: Shaddup ya whingin', or ya not geddin' any 'ead tonight. You and ya bloody guts, them's always empty, anyways Macky D's is doin' 'alf price stuff af'er two, so ya can wait 'till then, innit.
Darren: But...
Sharon: Its always me, me, me, wiv you innit? Just get over ‘ere and do as I say, or ya dumped.
Darren: (muttering) Stupid cow...
Sharon: Y'wot? Wot did ya say...Hey, look at them Republic tops! An' they've got Religion skirts! Whaddya reckon eh? Ohhh—that’s well mint innit, Gemma'll be real jealous, whaddya think Darren? Oi stop oglin' dat slag's tits over there. Dat's Wayne’s sister...anyways she's a right minger. She only got this job coz she let the boss and all ‘is fuckin' mates give ‘er one, di'n't she? Oi! Look at me when I'm talking to ya, will ya? Do you fancy ‘er or summat?
Darren: Nah, course not, babe.
Sharon: You do dontcha. You fancy ‘er, that little slut.
Darren: (embracing Sharon and sliding his hands under her top): Yer know I love you, babe. Mmmmm..

Sharon: Oi! Get ya 'ands off me will ya. They're all lookin’ now. They're just jealous—'specially when they see me in this black skirt at Emma’s christenin'. Dontcha like it?
Darren: Nah.
Sharon: Y'wot? Why not? It’s fuckin' Gwen Stafani, mate. Posh wears them.
Darren: Y'wot?
Sharon: Are you windin’ me up? Posh! Victoria fuckin' Beckam ya dick'ead. Safe, innit, babe? Go wiv 'at white Republic top wan' it? Ya do like it dontcha?
Darren: Nah. Can we go now?
Sharon: No we fuckin' can't, ya miserable wanker. Well what abaht this one then, d’ya like this, D'ya?
Darren: Nah.
Sharon: Oh for chrissakes, what the fuck is wrong wiv ya? Ya don't like this, ya don't like that. What do ya like then, for fucks sake?

Darren: (seizing a pink, leather microskirt) Like this.
Sharon: What? I’m not fuckin' wearing that mingin' tat, it’s too bloody short. Everyone would see me arse in that. Whaddya think I am? Some kinda slut? Fuck it, Darren, you ain’t got no taste, 'ave ya? Ya just wanna see me arse 'angin' out me thong like that mingin' slag Stacey, dontcha? Well you can kiss fuckin' good-bye to that idea.
Darren: Wots wrong wiv Stace? Wayne says she's well fit innit.
Sharon: Well fit? Don't make me laugh. She only 'as one Nicholson jacket and no tracky bottoms or any quali'ee bling. Fuck it, Darren she only dropped anuvver littlun last month an' she's not sixteen yet. Dat's two kids she's 'ad in 18 months! Ya know wot they call 'er dahn the Social dontcha?
Darren: Wot?
Sharon: Open all hours.
Darren: Y'wot?
Sharon: Er legs, ya dick'ead. Even that dirty ol' geezer wot I blag fags off dahn the paper shop 'as 'ad 'er.
Darren: So? She's a bit unlucky wiv blokes...
Sharon: Y'wot? I can't believe I'm 'earin' this. You give 'er one, did ya, when you was wiv 'er behind Macky D's bogs the other night? Someone did, coz Jade says she saw the little slag wiv her legs in the air and some buff rammin' it.
Darren: No...I never.
Sharon: But ya fancy the little slag, dontcha? Dontcha?
Darren (cowering): Nah...but...
Sharon: But wot? Wot? Ya do fancy 'er dontcha? Fuck it, Darren, ya such a twat. I dunno why I go aht wiv you.

Darren (slipping his hand into her knickers): Coz I give ya good 'ead innit babe.
Sharon: Ya cheeky fucker! 'Ere stop that! People are watchin' us.
Darren: Try this then.
Sharon: Oh well, fanks very much. That’s a fuckin' 14 an' ya know I’m a 12...an' even a Topshop 10 if I don't need the lav.14? That’s a fuckin' insult Darren. Ya really know 'ow to hurt me dontcha? I’ve a good mind to dump ya ‘ere, so everyone can see what a propa dick'ead you is. ‘Ere, ‘old me bag while I try this on. Nah, ‘old it. Don't just drop it on the floor. Some bastard’ll nick it in ‘ere.
Darren: Nuffink worth nicking....
Darren: (Cringing back as Sharon slaps him) Owww!
Sharon: Shut ya gob, an' just hold it an' wait while I try this, and this...and this.

(A smartly dressed, female shop assistant approaches)
Karen: Can I help you madam?
Sharon: Bog off ya poncy tart. An' ya can leave ‘im alone an' all. We're engaged ya know.
Darren: Y'wot? No we ain't.
Sharon: We fuckin' well are, coz the uvver night after them Bacardis and spliff, ya deffo said you’d marry me.
Darren: No, I never.
Sharon: Oi you did, ‘coz Chantelle 'eard ya, ya was screamin' it aht so loud. 'I fuckin' love ya Shaz and I wanna marry ya!' The ol' fuckin' street 'eard ya.
Darren: I never.
Sharon: Ya wanna 'nother slap?

Karen: Look, you have to take your items to the desk over there, so we know what you have taken into the changing room madam.
Sharon: Y'wot? It's only two skirts innit.
Karen: It’s a precaution against shoplifting, madam.
Sharon: Y'wot? Ya callin’ me a thief? Eh? Ya wanna watch it ya moggy scrubber, all gold bangles an’ fake labels. That's libel that is, me Dad said that, an' I can give ya a slap for that, me Dad said. Don't start on me, ya stuck up cow, 'coz I'll propa make somefin’ of it!
Karen: Look madam, we have the same rules for everyone. If you don't like it, you can always go to TK Maxx. Now would you like to try on the skirts you have? And what about the one your boyfriend is holding? You can only take three items, is that the third?
Sharon: No way! You fink I'm goin' in there wiv a 14? You're fuckin' joking, right? Upper class slag. I’m a 10 I am.
Karen: Yes, madam but what you have in your hands are 12’s.
Sharon: Y'wot? smartarse, are ya? Don't ya get all clever wiv me; I'll smack ya. I’ll take that in a 10 as well, then.
Karen: Right, madam. Just show them to the assistant at the desk over there.

Sharon: All right, all right. Who the hell do ya fink ya are? I could report you to your boss an’ get you the sack. This is harassment in the workplace, this is.
Karen: I am the boss, madam. I am the manageress of this shop.
Sharon: Ooooh, get you, ya stuck up lezza. I know you 'ad to shag the bitch wot owns this shop to get ya job coz Jade said—
Karen (raising her voice): —Now, look...
Sharon: Chantelle saw ya round the back of Revolution the other night flat on ya back an' pissed out ya 'ead wiv some mingin' old tart rammin' 'er fist up ya bum an' she's seen ya dahn the pox clinic as well, ya dirty lezza slag.
Karen (pushing her in the chest): Right! That’s it, get out!
Sharon: Oi! Get yer 'ands off me tits, ya dirty lezza!
Karen: I wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole.
Sharon: (pushing her back) Y'wot? I'll fuckin' do you propa bad! Yeah I will, ya lezza slag. I propa will! Don't start wiv me, you stuck up cow, 'coz I'll propa make somefin' of it.
Karen (sliding her hand into her jacket and pulling out a knife): Oh you will, will you? Come on then, you little Chav slut, just try it.
Darren (stepping warily between them): Hey babe, let 'er go and try them on. Don’t get her angry, or she’ll knife ya. Stace says she knifed 'er maths teecha just coz she gave 'er a bad mark.
Sharon (impressed): Did ya? Did ya really? Yer...well. Just don't start wiv me okay?
Karen: (putting the knife away) Okay, fine. Go on then—try the skirts on.
Sharon: An' ya can leave ‘im alone an' all, he’s wiv me, ain't ya Darren?
(Sharon picks up her bag and the skirts and swaggers off, muttering under her breath)

Karen: I know you. You’re Darren aren’t you?
Darren: Y'wot?
Karen: My brother used to be in your class at school.
Darren: Y'wot?
Karen: Wayne Richards, you know him don't you?
Darren: Yeah, he was well ‘ard. Where's ‘e now?
Karen: He joined the Army. He's in Iraq.
Darren: Safe.
Karen: Are you her boyfriend?
Darren: Sort of, like y'know...er, no...
Karen: Oh? Wait, she’s coming back. Is everything to your satisfaction, madam?
Sharon (Dumping the skirts on the floor): Where’s ya bog?
Karen: We only have a staff toilet, madam. It is not for the use of customers.
Sharon: Look, I need a piss, now. Where's ya lav? I need to go, now!
Darren: You never said nuffink before.
Sharon: I ditn’t wanna go 'til I tried to do up that size 10 skirt, did I? You know wot I’m like.
Karen: I’m sorry but you will have to go to the ladies down the street, madam. It’s only just around the corner, by Mothercare.
Sharon: Oh, for fucks sake, you stuck up tart. I need to try these on, I can’t wait that long.
Karen: Just leave the clothes with your boyfriend and when you come back you can carry on.
Sharon: Fuck it. I can’t wait. Here, Darren take these and stay ‘ere. Geddit?

Darren: Yeah. See ya, babe.
Karen: I saw you checking me earlier. Fancy me, do you?
Darren: Yeah...
Karen: Wayne told me you were a well fit bloke.
Darren: Y'wot? Well, yeah...thanks.
Karen: I like fit buffs. You want that other skirt?
Darren: Nah. She won’t try it. Says it’s too tarty. It looks great to me.
Karen: Really? It looks really nice to me as well, and it’s a 14. I might try it on myself sometime. Are you and her really engaged?
Darren: Nah. She’s a lying bitch. We never done nuffin’. I only gave 'er 'ead on her Mum's sofa.
Karen: Is that right? A fit bloke like you. I bet you’d want more than that, especially from her in that sexy skirt.
Darren: Yeah...well...she's not like Stace, innit.
Karen: Stace?
Darren (blushing): Anuvver girl I know.
Karen: Give me that skirt for a second.
Darren: Y'wot?
Karen: Just give me the skirt—thanks. Do you think it suits me?
Darren: Quali'ee. Yeah...well safe innit.
Karen: I think I’ll try it on now, just so you can see what it would look like on me. Don't move.
Darren: Y'wot?

(The footage pauses at this point on the tape)

Darren: Fuckin' 'ell.
Karen: (giggling) Sexy isn’t it?
Darren: Fuckin' 'ell, babe.
Karen: I can see you like it. Those tracky bottoms you're wearing are not providing a lot of restraint, are they? Here—let me help you...
Darren: (rolling his eyes) Fuckin' 'ell...
Karen: Don’t worry. It's a compliment to have that effect on really fit bloke like you. Would you like a twirl?
Darren: Jesus!
Karen: How about if I pull the skirt down a bit so you can see my thong?
Darren: Oh fuck...
Karen (Pulling Darren into a changing cubicle): Gosh, you do like this skirt, don't you? Let's get those tracksuit bottoms off you and see how fit you really are.
Darren: (groaning): "Fuckin 'ell, babe. Not 'ere.
Karen: Why not? Sharon won't be back for ages.
Darren: Y'wot?
Karen (tugging off his tracksuit bottoms): The public toilets are closed for renovation. She'll have to go to Debenhams.
Darren: Okay...Ohhh God....
Karen (pulling the curtain shut and kneeling down): I don't swallow though, okay?
Darren: Fuck...yeah...yeah..

(There was a break in the CCTV footage at this point)

Karen (tucking her blouse into her skirt): Feel better now?
Darren: Yeah...
Karen: Want to go out with me?
Darren: When?
Karen: Tonight.
Darren: Tonight?
Karen: That’s what I said. Tonight.
Darren: Yeah.
Karen: Okay. How about seven?
Darren: Yeah, safe.
Karen: What about Sharon?
Darren: Who?
Karen: (giggling) Alright, I'll see you outside Walkabout at seven, then. Buy me a few vodkas and you may get inside my thong this time...
Darren: Fuckin' 'ell... yeah. Watch it, she's comin' back.
(Karen hastily removes her arm from his waist and steps back)

Sharon: Dat's better. Fuckin' bogs was closed an' there was a queue a mile long outside Debenhams, I only just made it. Did ya know they was closed?
Karen (innocently): No.
Sharon: You look flushed Darren, are you okay?
Darren: Yeah—it’s hot in ‘ere innit.
Sharon: Has that stuck up lezza bitch been in yer face?
Karen: Not yet.
Sharon: Y'wot? Wot ya sayin’? Wot you been up to? You been messin' wiv dat lezza slag?
Darren: Nah. I never touched 'er.
Sharon (rounding on Karen): Why you wearing dat skirt anyhow? That's the 14 ya fat slag. Gimme me stuff. I’m gonna try the one you don't like. Stay 'ere.
(Sharon scuttles off clutching her bag and the skirts)

Karen: Right. Seven it is, and you’d better not stand me up, as my brother is on leave in a few weeks and he knows where you live.
Darren: Don't worry, I'll be there. Just make sure ya wearing that skirt an' that thong.
Sharon: (returning) Whaddya fink? Eh Darren. Darren?
Darren: It's wicked, babe.
Sharon: Yeah? Ya like it? Ya ‘ated it before. Ya not just saying that to get outta dis shop?
Darren: Nah. But I am gonna havta work this evenin’ babe. The pub is short-staffed an' they want me in by seven.
Sharon: Y'wot? You never told me dat. Why didn’t you tell me dat? We woz gonna have a night in at me Mum’s and I woz gonna cook yer favourite, egg ‘n’ chips, innit?
Darren: Yeah...well...they rang me on me mobile while you woz ‘avin’ a slash. They need extra staff tonight.
Sharon: Why did ya tell ‘em yes then?
Darren: Coz we need money to buy those skirts, innit.
Sharon: Wot both of 'em? Even the ninety quid Rock 'n' Republic mini?
Darren: Yeah, buy 'em both, babe.
Sharon (kissing him): Oh Darren. That’s really nice. You really do love me dontcha?
Darren: Yeah...I'm mad about ya Shaz.

(Unfortunately, at this point the tape came to an abrupt end)

Comment on this Satire story? Hit the button to have your say Get it off your chest!

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Story © 2005 Robin Scunthorpe. Picture and construction © utterpants.co.uk /071205

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