Meanwhile, Down The Job Centre

A vacancy has been announced.

Wanted: Pig Ugly Chavette.

Job Description: Reality TV Star and Celebrity Racist

Qualifications:
Essential: Big Gob, Huge Trout Pout Lips, Thick Skin, Broken Home. No Educational qualifications are permitted.
Desirable: Big Tits, although they can be surgically enhanced later. Two or more bastards, preferably of mixed race. Chain Smoker preferred. Poor personal hygiene an advantage. Body piercings and tattoos welcomed.

Job Location: Essex based but world wide travel will be required.

Pay: unbelievable package is on offer to right Chavette. Also an ex-convict partner is available, slightly soiled.

Apply: Max Clifford

The Penguin

UPDATE: As instructed, the Song For The People's Chav

Goodbye England's Jade
Now you'll never have to grow old.
You were the lump that placed yourself
Where ever cameras rolled.
You called out to our country,
And you whispered to those in pain.
Now you belong to Hello and Heat,
And the stars spell out your name.

And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a cancer in the wind:
Never fading with the sunset
When the rain set in.
And your footsteps will always fall here,
Along England's greenest hills;
Your cancer's burned out long before
Your legend ever will.

The ugliness we've lost;
These empty days without your smile.
This torch we'll always carry
For our nation's ghastly child.
And even though we try,
The truth brings us to tears;
All our words cannot express
The dosh you made Max Clifford through the years.

And it seems to me you've lived your life
Like a cancer in the wind:
Never fading with the sunset
When the rain set in.
And your footsteps will always fall here,
Along England's greenest hills;
Your cancer's burned out long before
Your legend ever will.

Goodbye England's Jade
Now you'll never have to grow old.
You were the lump that placed yourself
Where ever cameras rolled.
Goodbye England's Jade,
From a country lost without your gob,
Who'll miss the rantings and racism
And you'll miss Jack Tweedy's knob.

And it seems to me you've lived your life
Like a cancer in the wind:
Never fading with the sunset
When the rain set in.
And your footsteps will always fall here,
Along England's greenest hills;
Your cancer's burned out long before
Your legend ever will.