Killing A Chav By Gary Rostock Published by Gary Rostock at Smashwords Copyright 2013 Gary Rostock

It was nothing particularly odd that triggered my first kill, just another London day of avoiding eye contact, not speaking to anyone and essentially keeping myself to myself. Id been getting on like this for over five years without much of a problem. Id avoided having my head kicked in but had seen many others have their heads kicked in. Id often been aware that this wasnt really the best way to behave socially in a modern cosmopolitan society but felt that rather than ending up in Emergency I thought it was the only way. However, we all have a breaking point and on that day in June 2000 that point was well and truly reached. It hadnt been a bad day I wasnt in a London fucked up haze of madness and mutual contempt for my fellow citizens, not at all, I was in fact happy; well as happy as I can normally be. I was on my way to visit Mike, my best friend. We usually met every weekend for a booze and a bit of a woman hunt. He was, and still is, what I consider a true optimist concerning the prospects for Humankind, I on the other hand have the theory that fifty per cent of all people are cunts, twenty five per cent sheep and the other twenty five are the decent types who will help others and genuinely have a good heart. Strangely enough Id always thought of myself as one of the good ones but with a tendency to sheepishness but after the events of that sunny late afternoon I truly became one of the good guys; but I'm not sure most piss liberals reading this will agree. Chavmong was spotted by me immediately, I'd know this half wit fucker anywhere and Id avoid him anywhere. Contact with mongs always results in something negative, they are so full of nastiness it just seeps out of them and into everything around them. Now this one was a particularly leery type, he had that gaunt, gormless fuckwit look that so many of the mong family have but strangely for a beast of social grouping and defined hierarchies of nastiness he was alone; this doesnt mean he wasn't dangerous but in the back of my head was if there is any trouble I would stand a good chance of knocking the bastard out, within his social mong centre this would not be possible. Id just emerged from Lidl who had a nice offer on Prosecco , for a Manc like myself Lidl offered the opportunity to drink well in London for the fraction of the cost in a pub; the bottle of bubbly I had in my brightly coloured lumpen proletariat carrier bag would have got me a pint of piss lager in my local. So in honour of Mikes birthday Id also treated myself to a bottle of Valdenpenas which I was hoping to keep close by at Mikes so I could binge it rather than one of his tight arsed middle class mates who for sure would bring four cans of warm piss as their party piece. Strange how I the good working class boy have a reasonable nose for a nice wine but most of the teacher type twats dont give a toss and just bang in for whatever the local offy has: twats. Now as Ive said before chavmong was not the most handsome cunt in the world and out of the corner of my eye I weighed him up. He was about twenty five, skinny and around five nine, the head had the traditional mong wear of a snide (but perhaps not)

Burberry baseball and draped on his non Grecian torso was the de rigueur top of the range Adidas tracky and, hate to admit it, a nice pair of retro Nikes on his feet. Mong was engaged in the usual activity of a mong which was fucking something or someone up. In this instance getting the fucking up was the bus stop where we both stood, chav had decided to take some of his angst at being a bollockbrain out on the glasswork of the bus stop. He had a chisel in his hand; a fucking chisel, his dad was probably an artisan of the old school, but probably not, hed probably robbed it. Now mong was doing a pretty good job of imprinting his semi literate view of the world into the glass of the bus shelter and I was doing a pretty good job of ignoring his anti social attempts at recognition of his poxy name and desire for immortality. However, that day something clicked inside me and Ill never know why, it just did and you are reading this because of that click. Do you have to do that? I said in my least nicest voice. Mong clocked me and gave me the instant weigh up; he made a major mistake at this point because he chose to go in for the jugular from point one. Fuck off arse bandit came his, I have to say, not unsurprising response. Now London being what it is and I being clean cut, head shaven and reasonably unchavvily kitted out, I suppose it was a fair assumption to think I was gay, but the message here was because I was gay I wouldnt toast this little twat. Why are you cunts always the same? This time my voice was very even and a touch of Manc had slipped in to confuse the tosspot. Wot? came the question, his voice was actually incredulous but at that moment I could feel him scanning the area to bingo a friend of his, ah, but today wasnt his day. You heard me you fucking prick, I said why are all you cunts the same? always fucking someone or something up. I wasnt quite sure where this was coming from but the words were definitely coming from my mouth and without fear and I remember I was buzzing with excitement. I knew that this would now end in violence as mong had to try. What the fucks it got to do with you? you fucking wanker. But I could see and hear he was unsure, hed lost his footing, he looked down at his chisel and then his sureness of mong character came back. Fuck off cabbage or Ill do you. I was pretty sure at that point I could have sauntered away and hed have shouted a few anti gay slogans and Id have never seen him again, but as I said before today was not that type of day. Its odd to think that this type of incident had happened many times before, a few weeks previously Id even once seen a young guy get his head beaten in right in front of me and I hadnt even phoned the cops. Dont get involved, head down and walk on; which is exactly what I did. But today all that had changed; perhaps it was cumulative, five years of aggy bastards spoiling my world view, five years of bus drivers being spat at, of dickbrains shouting at all and sundry to in incite violence. You see most people just never get it but there are many out there who love to hurt others and when you come across them it will be you who gets hurt so avoidance is the eighty per cent answer. The bag felt heavy in my hand and I reached instinctively for the Prosecco and not for the red, I knew if I broke the Italian bubbly around this fuckwits head there wouldnt be such a mess, I sort of got that part a little wrong. I let the bag drop and heard the lighter bottle smash inside the bag as it hit the concrete. Fuck! I thought four quid

down the tube, which made me even more pissed off. There I stood with the champers in my right hand and there he stood with his chisel in his hand and his eyes drawn to the bottle; he was just beginning a smirk of what the fuck is that? type recognition when I brought the bottle up and swung it round at the side of his head. The crack I heard from his skull as I shattered the bone encasing his primitive fucked up, hardly used grey matter should have made passers by cry out; but there werent any passers by and nobody had seen anything. Well come back to this later but essentially on kill one I was lucky, I was taken by the moment and the moment was protected. In future, as youll see I was to be much more careful. Fuckinnng caant came mongs eloquent riposte to having the side of head caved in. His legs were well shaky and Im sure hed have fallen over of his own accord but I helped him along with a full blast across his nose. I think at this point he realized I was going to kill him, I hadnt realized it but he had. Pleassssse he spluttered through a face that was quickly beginning to resemble a red blancmange with a couple of half dead, very unintelligent eyes peering out. You know what I said to him? I will always remember the words I spoke that day because Id say them another eleven times and hopefully Ill say them another eleven more. I said die cunt and I meant it, it wasnt like when you have a fight in your teens and you say Ill kill you, you cunt, no, I really meant it and he knew I meant it because I saw the real fear in his eyes of oncoming darkness. No more young offenders units, no more shit liberals throwing him back to be amongst us, not this time for Kazzo, for that was seemed to be the name of mong, but it could have been Kazzonite as Im not sure if hed finished or not when I put out the not so bright lights in his head. At this point hed fallen to the ground and I just stamped on his head as hed probably stamped on others but this time I stamped and stamped until I could hear nothing coming from his lips; he was pretty much fucked up and dead. It was then that I became aware of the old man. I dont know how the fuck I hadnt seen him but I hadnt and Im pretty sure hed seen everything. He came walking over, not in a panic at all. Better throw the cunt behind the stop he said as he drew close to me. He bent down and grabbed his legs, come on boy he said in his real old Londonboy accent, grab the cunts arms. We lifted chavmong and binned him into his last resting place which was a piss stinking piece of dead grassland. You did a good turn there boy and with that he turned around and walked away. Now I know hed helped me as to assure me that he was on my side but I still had the briefest of moments when I thought kill, but it left me really quickly. The old man crossed the road and started for Lidl, probably not to buy Prosecco but just something to get by on. He turned to me and gave me two thumbs up and then disappeared into prole paradise. And this was the way it would always be from now on, if I was caught and shopped by an honest John then Id have to take it. I decided on a very loose moral structure which was only to take true vengeance on those who I felt deserved it. Now you may not agree with my sentiments but most of you out there will always be safe when you meet me; but for others Im the person you really dont want to meet as I will really enjoy fucking you up and watching you die, because every one less of you makes this world a healthier and wealthier place

The number 15 pulled up and I hopped on with the Prosecco dangling from my arm; some young chavalier (sic) shouted from the back of the bus oi mincer and he and all his cohorts and merry court began to laugh. I felt like saying read my soon to be written diary cunt but there was time and he might just meet me again. rostockgary@gmail.com