Chavs - The Solution

We could entice them to a venue by holding a burbury only evening ("if it's not burbury, you ain't comin in son") and put a radiation machine behind the desk where they pay and give them a dose before they go in. They then proceed to spend the evening being common, vulgar, obstreperous, badly dressed (they all seem to have bad skin too don't they? Must be diet related - too many Findus Crispy Pancakes and too much Alphabetti Spaghetti I feel), anyway, do whatever it is chavs do, completely ignorant of the fact that they are no longer able to reproduce. OK, so we'd have to hire a townie for the evening to man the desk, which would mean talking to one of them (are they're interpreters available? I certainly can't understand the garbage that dribbles out of their grubby little mouths). Cull the scum I say. God, you can even spot them from a distance, purely by how they walk. Maybe it's some kind of limp as a result of in-breeding, I just don't know. Oh well, as I recently said to a charming petrol station attendant "I fucking hate scum. 10 Marlborough Lights and a packet of blue king size rizzlas please. Thanks. Bye".