Not an obvious candidate for a top league sh*thole, York is nevertheless coming along nicely. Known here as scallies because the word **** to a York ****** is unpronouncable. The epicentre a.k.a breeding colonies for this particular species of ner’do’well are Tang Hall, Bell Farm and Chapelfields just outside the main city in Acomb.
Although a university and tourist city the indigenous population of York is terminally ****** over many generations. Whole extended families have worked in indigenous industries for hundreds of years and the payrolls of companies such as [one we cannot name or they’ll sue us] reflect this where whole workforces have the same surname and a small variant of given names.
The arrival of chavdom in York gelled exceptionally well with this local tradition of parents being brothers/brothers and sisters or just sisters. Webbed feet and six toes abound.
The city centre focal point for the tribal gathering is the fountain in parliament square that has been smashed by ****** ****** skateboarders and had detergent poured into the waterjet on an almost daily basis.
The local scroats aren’t too much of a threat to the visiting public just now because they are too busy trying to **** each other becuase tang hall doesn’t like chapelfields or bell farm and so this particular Bermuda triangle of tribal warfare ensures that the highest number of casualties is amongst the male/female/child populations of these morons.
****** boys in York have a field day with their re-cycled hatch-back shag wagons. York city centre is fully pedestrianised and there is no better amusment for these lads to speed through crowds of shoppers and tourists revving their engines and leaving a trail of smashed up pushchairs, wheelchairs and walking frames wrapped around the mangled bodies of their respective users. Local plod just sits in the street cafes and watches.
Accent
**** vocabulary mixed with a Yorkshire accent is so unintelligible, I can’t even being to describe it. You just have to come here and hear it for yourself.
Transport
Being a cycling and walking city (alledgedly) **** transport in York isnt always the immediately obvious hatch back wally-trolly with blacked out windows. Mountain bikes are well to the fore. For street cred they have to be (a) nicked (b) rusted chains that grind and squeak (c) are never shifted out of the gear that they were in when they were nicked (d) be wildly too small for the teenage *** riding it . **** mountain biking is lethal. Despite the provision of over 200km of cycling lanes and paths ***** love nothing better than to ride their bikes at full pelt on the pavement weaving in and out of crowds of people or the small medieval gates in the city walls hurling abuse at everyone and clipping peoples legs and heels with their wheels and pedals.
I suspect York isn’t the only city where the morning clean up involves more than needles/used johnnies/and discarded take aways. The amount of body parts, blood and mangled carcasses ensures that the local takeways have a ready supply of meat for their burgers and kebabs which of course the ***** readily consume in volume.
Music taste and attire much the same as everywhere else.
This then is Englands second most visited city. Come and see us and all our historic gear and if you get home without the track of a bald mountain bike tyre up your back consider yourself lucky.
