This whole strip popped into my head within 5 seconds of getting home from work and switching the news on. I love when that happens.
One thing I DON’T love is chavs. Brain-dead, bling-wearing, butchered-English speaking, Vauxhall Nova- or Fiat Punto-driving, cherry bomb-exhausted, pointless and utterly non-contributing shallow vacuous uneducated morons. Mouth-breathers, as Jeremy Clarkson would call them. Every time I come in close proximity to one, my soul tries forcibly to rip itself from my body and escape to a better place. Now, where’s that rusty shotgun..?