Noisy Nigerians

I want to cunt Noisy Nigerians. Straight off the bat let’s get this clear – I don’t give a continental fuck how this looks.

Why the fuck do these bastards have to talk so fucking LOUD? If it isn’t Nwengweh and his mate doing the “LObba lobba lobBA” at ear-shattering volume on the back of a bus, then it’s another Nigerian housewife endlessly fucking barking into her phone for the entire train journey; often with the thing on loudspeaker.

Worst of all are the ones who sing to themselves – loudly – at the most inappropriate places. Yesterday I was in the queue at Marks, and some old woman – kitted out in the complete curtains and fruit bowl ensemble – stood behind me giving it the full fucking Ladysmith Black Mambazo*. Of course I couldn’t tell the cunt to shut up, or I would have made the national news, for Christ sakes.

Just shut the fuck up for five minutes!!!

*Other African vocal groups providing music for 90s baked bean adverts are available.

Nominated by The Empire Cunts Back

Telesales [3]


I want to give a monumental cunting to cold calling telesales cunts.

At the moment I am being plagued by pakis trying to sell me google space WTF, so my business can be at the top of a google search page. The problem is now my customers can’t even get through on the fucking phone because of fucking fresh pesh from Bangladesh [who says his name is Daniel , yeah right ho] keeping my phone engaged all the time. Surely these cunts must know when they re not going to get a sale, but they keep on plugging until you run out of patience and tell them to fuck off………so cunting for telesales!

Nominated by Fuglyucker

Supermarkets

I would like to nominate for a colossal cunting – that most eminent of cunts; the purpose-built, piss-kettle known as the supermarket.

There are so very many things wrong about this most unpleasant cunt of an experience that it only seems proper to begin where they all begin…….. the car park!

Upon entry into said park of cars, it would seem that most people (mainly in vagina-powered cars I hasten to add) lose any minor semblance of driving aptitude they may have possessed prior to crossing that threshold. White lines painted onto the asphalt to denote who does and doesn’t have right of way at a junction?……….. No it’s okay, you just drive right over them with no glance left or right and give a filthy look to the guy who just had to slam on his brakes, narrowly miss you and honk his fucking horn.

On a particularly busy day, it may be difficult to find a space that isn’t either narrow as fuck on account of the knobhead with the wide-as-balls, 16 plate range rover or the prick who just parks over the line so you can’t quite fit into the space without having to escape through the fucking sunroof (a thing for which my wheelie-shed KIA is sadly deficient).

Then there is the usual time spent waiting for some doddery, old twat to reverse out of a space which would have been safer to reverse INTO! Yes dickhead! It’s quicker and safer to reverse in and drive out you dumb fuck! You have better visibility driving forward out of a space!

Then when you do finally find a space in the MIDDLE of the car park right next to one of those perspex trolley parks (these spaces tend to be a little narrower), upon reversing into the space, what do you see in your rear view mirror but a fucking trolley?!……. you fucking lazy CUNTS! You are right next to the trolley park! And don’t play the disabled card with me – the disabled spaces are up at the front of the shop near the front door…… right next to the main trolley park. You are just a selfish, lazy fuck.

Okay so we finally reach the Mordor…….. I mean……. the front door. This part of the shopping experience is reminiscent of a scene from George.A.Romero’s Dawn of the dead wherein the living dead patrons are so keen to get into the establishment to forage for goodies but aren’t apparently in any great rush to reach said goodies. What you are met with is a slow-moving, ignorant cunt with no self awareness, peripheral vision or consideration for others.

This phenomenon doesn’t stop here however; it continues throughout the store. Need to walk down an aisle merely to reach something at the other end? Well expect the gormless bell-end walking down the middle of the aisle (with no hearing skills, peripheral vision or spacial awareness) to just stop out of the blue and force you to stand there like a cunt while it remembers where it kept it’s brain.

Maybe you want to get something from the small, narrow, reduced-to-clear section in the chilled department? Just wait a while so the selfish, greedy, middle-aged bint stands right in front of, and hogs the entire section so that you can’t even slot into one side to take a close look at what is there.

When you do finally reach the check-outs however, it’s either a long as fuck queue behind some dopey Cyril or Doris chatting with the equally old and slow-at-packing till-mong called Geoffrey or it’s a trip to the “express”, self-service tills – righto……… self-service tills it is then.

Now you have to go through the humiliation of putting your multiple bottles of beer through the scanner, only to be met with the deafeningly loud “APPROVAL NEEDED, APPROVAL NEEDED, APPROVAL NEEDED”…….. for every fucking bottel! ……….. all the while, the same breed of ignorant, old and middle-aged women you just tried to traverse and avoid are staring at you with utter contempt like you are some kind of scumfuck………… Yeah I have a drink problem, go fuck yourself! No-one else will you old hag!.

So when the creature allegedly manning the self-service tills eventually does come and give approval for the booze, they generally don’t even look at you anyway which makes me wonder why I waited in the first place – I’m a grownup, I can approve myself.

Finally there is the usual attempt to get out of the place behind, once again, some dippy old couple or some fat, smelly couple. Either way, I am glad to be out of there without any kind of criminal record. Please fellow cunters, reassure me that I’m not just some cantankerous, curmudgeonly misanthrope and that supermarkets and those who dwell within are actually cunts?!

Nominated by Two In The Stink

Serena Williams

EMERGENCY CUNTING! Serena Williams has got married and proves there’s nothing worse than an uppity coon and that nothing exceeds quite like excess.

An entire block of LA was sealed off for the event which was held at the Contemporary Arts Center.

The wedding cost more than $1m and guests were asked not to bring their mobile phones because of an exclusive deal with Vogue. After all, wouldn’t want to have to pay for it yourself!

Kim Kardashian, Venus Williams, Beyonce, and the members of New Edition, who played a five-song set during the reception, were spotted arriving at the venue’s VIP entrance for the biggest celebrity cuntfest in recent years. Guests were also gifted one of Williams’ unique golden trophy party favors. Each guest table at the event had been named after one of Williams’ 12 grand slam titles, and her favors were recreations of the trophies she received for each corresponding title. Pretenieuse? Moi!?! Not moi! Moi tres important!!!!

99p on eBay. Free postage. Buy one, get one free!

Each room inside has a different type of music, and the bands rotate from room to room. In addition to the music, guests were also treated to doughnuts from local favorite District Donuts Sliders Brew, and were able to take a spin on a carousel that was built just a few days ago especially for the event.

Money certainly can’t buy class it seems

One, of course, has to feel sorry for J-Zee. Poor little lamb could only pop in briefly before he had to rush off in his private jet to his next tour date. Still, let’s hope he didn’t miss out on his tasteful little goldplayed trophy. That would be too much to bear.

Doubt we’ll beat this one for the cuntfest of the decade!

Nominated by Arfur Fucksake

Len McCluskey [3]


Len McCluskey is a brainless fucking rat faced cunt. I’m certain he’ll have had it a few times on here but I just saw the ultra cunt’s face on the television and was immediately overcome with the urge to projectile vomit.

It’s not even the abhorrent, hypocritical bullshit he spouts and believes in. It’s his rodent like features; his unkempt shitty polyester machine washable suit that doesn’t fit the fat cunt; his ability to make me feel like I need to bathe after just hearing the cunt’s name.

I don’t even need to start on the trot or communist nonsense bouncing around his tiny mind. He already looks and smells like he’s spent the last 30 years working a strip farm in Siberia with no sanitation or running water so I can’t see what difference it would make if he and his micro-penis pals got their way.

Nominated by Fuckwit