This is the cheap part of town, where fake DVDs, handbags and perfume can be bought by the fellow charver. It is over-run by this species and permanently stinks of piss which the ***** like to call “Cider”.
Sheffield, The Moor: What more (excuse the pun) can I say? This is THE **** hangout.
The Moor is bursting with *****. Down one end are the ******** crew who specialise in pirate playstation games that don’t work, each sold for ‘only a fiver’. Down the other, is the sacred (oh so sacred) market, where the **** can buy (or nick) his beloved burberry cap.
The ****’s tend to hang out on the Moor on Friday nights and Saturday mornings, usually keeping an eye out of for fellow crew members who bring fresh supplies of their Cider – with EXTRA alchohol. (20 pence of hard earned cash for a litre) But beware, if you want to take out cash from the cash machine, the ******** will approach you, and ask you if you have any spare change in the nicest possible way (Usually Yegorranysparemuneemate). This is quite a hard scenario to get out of so get ready to run. If you say no, the chavsters brow will lower, his severe case of acne will show and he will often pull out a knife asking you for your phone. (Why bother asking for money when you want the phone? The mind boggles over the ******** mind)
However, if you say yes, the **** will pull his grubby little fingers out of his 9 year old puffa jacket waiting for at least a quid. When this is given the **** will not even say thanks and will ask you for your phone anyway. So if a **** approaches you in the moor, you’re pretty much ******. The only answer is to run, which is pretty much hopeless as the ******** will get in contact with his fellow crew member (usually called Tyrone or Chaz) who will hunt you down stealing any valuable possessions that you have that the **** knows he can flog on his stall in the market.
The Moor is full of ****-like-**** most noticably near shops like Woolworths and Poundland – the ***** most favourite shop to do the Christmas shopping where they will buy felt tip pens that run out within first use, and a ‘Game Boi – 3000 games in one!’ costing only £1.
The ******** likes to hang out here- the female version of this disgusting species. Here, you see ‘women’ walking about with **** prams, usually with two babies sat on top of each other because “Our Daz forgot ‘is Jonny twice dinnee”. These ********’s will often be wearing baby-blue shell suits, accompanied with Yellow plastic hooped earings (ala Pat Butcher style), some ‘gold’ sovereign rings (copper sprayed gold) and a *** ******* out the mouth (a roll up as these are much cheaper meaning more can be bought by the ****). Also, watch out for the burberry handbag which will contain the money that the **** scrapes from the council – enough money for a pack of **** and some more Calvin Kleine aftershave for their hardworking boyfriends elsewhere.
At the top of the Moor is the shrine of the ******** – better known as ‘Maccy-D’. Here, you will find ****’s eating their beloved Big Macs and burning the free Happy Meal toys they get with their meals. ***** are somehow always in a queue in Maccy-D and if you somehow manage to push in front of them they will raise their upper lip at you and grunt “Whathefucktheedoing , theewantabang? Fuckingposhfuck”. The only main vocabulary known to the ****- the three F’s – ****,*** and FakeBurberryBag”.
So come to the Moor if you wish to endulge in this strange, ****-of-the-earth species where you will witness terrifying events involving the **** and his fellow ********.
