A five-alarm, socially conscious cunting please for The (fucking) Turner Prize

Ffffff… fffffff…. ffffff… and breathe… Facking hellski my piss boileth over. Just sat through Beeb4’s coverage of the (fucking) Turner Prize ‘awards’ and what an unalloyed, truly emetic display of virtue signalling jiggery-wokery it was. Normally, despite a passing interest in such things, I’d forgo the pleasure with an accompanying stream of invective hangs its ulcerous arse out the window and invites us to kiss it but this year, given the societal tumult that’s currently gestating, I thought “hmmmm I wonder… they’re gonna pull a stunt this year I’ll bet?” and put down the remote, cracked a tinny and braced m’self. I was not disappointed as The (fucking) Turner Prize (and god I bet old Turner is revolving axially in his grave that his name has been so appropriated) supplied big steaming sacks of cuntery by the hundredweight.

The Turner Prize has always been a vehicle for degeneracy in both the production and public perceptions of ‘art’ and what constitutes art. From its origins when Duchamp waltzing into a gallery with a piss trough to that shaved ape Ofili throwing elephant shit at a canvas it’s whole purpose has been to discount and reposition all prior art as reactionary, jingoistic remnants of dying empires. So what was offered up this year to delight the liberati and simultaneously baffle the rest of us?

Lawrence Abu Hamdan – is an artist and audio investigator, (I’m sorry?? He’s a what?) whose work explores ‘the politics of listening’ – Oh fer fuck’s fucking sake ‘ere we go. His installation entitled “Earwitness Inventory” should more accurately be called “Fuck me some cunt’s robbed the garage!”

http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/turner-contemporary/exhibition/turner-prize-2019/lawrence-abu-hamdan

Helen Cammock – “The Long Note” – Filmic, feminist niggerwhine…enjoy.

http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/turner-contemporary/exhibition/turner-prize-2019/helen-cammock

Oscar Murrilo – Collective Conscience (ffs!)- Oscar Murillo’s multifaceted practice incorporates live events, drawing, sculptural installation, video, painting, bookmaking and collaborative projects with different communities. In his work, Murillo particularly explores materials, process and labour; as well as issues of migration, community, exchange and trade in today’s globalised world. – Yes yes Oscar but that does not excuse the fact that your ACTUAL artistic skill tops out at that of a ten year old stuffing a guy fawkes for the bonfire. You fraud, you chancer, you unmitigated cunt.

http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/turner-contemporary/exhibition/turner-prize-2019/oscar-murillo

Tai Shani – DC Semiramis – Shani “uses the structure of an allegorical city of women to explore ‘feminine’ subjectivity and experience, through a gothic/science-fiction lens…” gotta stop you there luv mainly because I can’t be arsed to fisk the rest of this drivel suffice it to say this animate tableaux of sub Dalian linear and morphic forms prompts the following question – Tai, do you always neck a microdot before you take your kids to Wacky Warehouse?

http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/turner-contemporary/exhibition/turner-prize-2019/tai-shani

So who won then, Cunty? We’re dying to know who’ll be setting the nation’s artistic trajectory over the coming year.

I’ll tell you who won; like a special needs sports day (on reflection a pretty close analogy), they all did… yayyy! They decided that because they all sing from the same hyper-liberal hymn sheet they should form a collective and accept an award only on that basis. They chucked the sheboon front and centre to read their grandstanding, dribbling collective statement, the text of which I’m sure will form the editorial opinion and comment for every fucking newspaper for the next week if they don’t reprint the fucker in full on a giveaway centrefold poster. Expect this to be the Thunbergite groupuscle for the ‘art’ world. Expect a ramping of their commercial exposure. Expect them to last no more than 2 minutes on a gallows rope.

But here’s the kicker: the programme that followed this open mockery of all that we would legitimately recognise as “Art” was an hour long documentary on Rembrandt, the very antidote to this spasticated travesty.

Nominated by Cunty Chops

I nominate Russell ‘The Cunt’ Brand…One of, if not THE biggest cunt on the planet. Check out his YouTube vids, or if you don’t want to vomit, then don’t.

He tries to come across like some western guru with his scrag end beard and his answers to every fucking thing under the sun, but it gets fucked up ‘coz of his high pitched, whiny little girl voice and the fact that he talks utter shit. He gets famous other cunts like Deepak Chopra on his shitty YT blog and cracks on he understands everything Chopra throws up.

It’s like “Russ Russ.. who let the Guru out?”…FUCKIN’ CUNT!

Nominated by Glen

Last Christmas…

Being in the mood for something light and Christmassy I went to see this film the other week. Now before I’m told “serves you right” or “why are you seeing a bird’s film then eh?”, I don’t mind romantic comedies if they’re done well. And don’t feature Bill “versatile” Nighy. But this one was most definitely not done well.

It was co-written by Emma “do as I say, not as I do proles” Thompson, a woman who I used to consider irritating, but now consider an irritating cunt. The lead character is a Yugoslav immigrant who we are told likes Wham!/George Michael, although this is never elaborated upon, being simply an excuse to string various hits through the soundtrack.

Every featured character is foreign, coloured, gay, disabled etc. The only straight, white, able-bodied, English male is a racist on the bus (“speak English in MY COUNTRY”). No, not making this up.

Add to this an anti-Brexit message to make Jo Swinson froth at the gash – it’s equated to Serbian genocide (really, I’m not making this up,) an Asian/West Indian couple (two groups who famously intermingle), lovable tramps taking part in a talent show (again, not making this up) and Dame Emma herself playing the mother, all malapropisms and funny singing, delivering the Serbian equivalent of an Uncle Tom performance (Uncle Tomek?)

The plot is also identical to the play, “I and You”. Not just similar, fucking identical. The bloke she starts dating is actually dead, she received his heart as a transplant. Which I’m not sure is the correct interpretation of the title song lyrics. And it wasn’t an original idea when “I and You” used it either. Oh, spoilers.

The critics seem unanimous in their disdain as well, even the fucking Guardian, whose wet dream this pile of shit is. Utter cunt of a film.

Nominated by Guardian Hater

Directors of large companies are the scum of the earth.

We regularly see companies go down, costing jobs while the directors have been pocketing huge sums as they run the business into the ground. BHS, Carillon etc.

And now Thomas Cook.

I have just returned from Fuerteventura and have been reading the local press. The UK losses were the tip of a large iceberg. Spain stands to lose 500 hotels with the jobs and support businesses that entails. The Canaries alone have lost 30% of their UK air passenger capacity, and we are by far their best customers. Across Europe, the job and livelihood losses probably amount to millions. This is capacity that cant be quickly replaced.

The directors are apparently responsible for fuck all. Mostly working in the cess pit surrounded by the M25, they take their huge salaries and bonuses and have no culpability. The cunts should have their assets seized and do jail time, but we know that wont happen.

It is time that justice was made commensurate with the damage caused by these incompetent, greedy, callous cunts.

(As an aside, the Spanish Tourism minister is holding meetings to minimise the effect of Brexit and ensure UK tourists are welcome. Shame our own politicians are such cunts)

Nominated by Acting Chief Cuntstable Cuntbubble

I would like nominate the annual intrusion of Foot and Mouth artist Christmas Cards as a barefaced, cheeky cunt.

I never ask for these fucking dowdy looking things, nor would I purchase them from a shop, even if they were priced £1 for 30 as they look complete shite as Christmas cards (sorry all you foot and mouth artists out there). Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t wish to demean the skill of painting without using ones hands and such art has its place, preferably at the local community centre or art gallery, where they can be offered for sale to interested viewers, but what pisses me off every year when I open that
familiar thick, overstuffed, white envelope is the enclosed letter that tells me that I can keep them thank you very fucking much or send them £8.95 with no obligation to pay any money. And before anyone thinks I’m an uncharitable cunt, this ain’t no charity folks, it’s a COMMERCIAL VENTURE that an online investigation eventually revealed to my disgust.

No real surprise there then, eh? Cool. So I get an unsolicited ‘gift’ through my door that I’m put under emotional pressure to pay for, that I didn’t ask for in the first place. Pure heartstring-pulling cuntitude and if I could be bothered to ring the fuckheads to tell them that their business model stinks like a Turkish wrestlers jockstrap, I would most likely be met with a prescripted, sanctimonious reply of some kind and then would really lose my rag, which is something I try to avoid these days at my age. Nope, I will do what I normally do with these cardboard rags and chuck them in the crapster. They make the ideal seasonal accompaniment to my empty chocolate boxes and beer cans.

Emotional guilt trip-mongering CUNTS.

Nominated by Family Farter