Brighton

A cunting for Brighton is needed.

My dad used to work there in the 90s and said it was a shithole full of druggies and dossers. It seemed to improve in the noughties, but in recent years become mired in the grip of another strain of eternal fuck-ups; the insufferable bourgeois London wankers. Apologies to any sensible residents wrapped up in this mess but you will probably understand my hatred of this Safari park for SJW freaks, screeching feminazis, deranged vegan ‘mermaids’, vaping top-knotted manginas and male feminists, genderless faerie folk and dragonkin, middle-class students called Arabella and Hermione wearing hijabs because it looks ‘totally ethnic and empowers me against the white western patriarchy yah?’, hipster twats, Greta Thunberg-worshipping green cultists and all of them terminal sufferers of TDS (Trump Derangement Syndrome).
The old queens and twinks that have given Brighton its old reputation are entirely respectable and decent in relative terms. Nowadays this dump with what I’m told is a ‘happening, youthful vibe’ is rammed with cunts who work in London and elected Caroline Lucas of the Watermelon Cult. They’ve erected a phallic monstrosity – the threesixty- as a tourist attraction that is struggling to make money, because the local council overestimate the pull their crap little town has on tourists, and it looks like a concrete cock as well as been broken down half the fucking year.

Those visiting will only be able to bask in the sunshine for about 4 months of the year, but the air is thick with liberal smugness year-round, and local bars serve an unending stream of sour remainer tears.

It’s worth remembering that the more ‘challenged’ residents wanted Brighton to cut itself off from the rest of the UK and remain in the EU. Needing a passport to visit Lewes or Worthing to ask their relatives for another loan to pay rent while pretending to run a microbrewery/vegan cafe or break into the art scene as a filmmaker/singer-songwriter/the new Banksy didn’t seem to phase them.

There may well be cities and towns full of idiotic cunts, but few so afflicted by the Dunning-Kruger effect as Brighton.

Nominated by Cuntamus Prime

69 thoughts on “Brighton

  1. Only experience I have of Brighton is 1983… The cunts getting a 2-2 draw in the final (Gary Bailey sitting on the ball) and then fucking them over 4-0 in the replay… Robson, Muhren, Moran, McQueen, Stapleton, Wilkins, Whiteside… I’d kill for players like those now…

    ‘Shit on the seagulls tonight’….

  2. Spent a bit of time there late 80’s early 90’s and had a great time some cracking pubs and clubs back then, shame really everything i read about how it is now is bad.

  3. I tink the best way to see Brighton would be through the open bomb doors of a B-52, as it banked sharply to avoid the initial shockwave of a 1MT device detonating directly in that fucking degenerate tranny Eddie Izzard’s face.

    I took my kids there a couple of years ago (the wife’s idea, not mine), and was fucking embarrassed.
    “Daddy, why is that bloke wearing a dress?”
    “Because he’s a fucking poof son”.
    “Daddy, why are those two pink-haired, tattooed skinhead women holding hands?”
    “Because they’re fucking minge-eating cunts, son”
    My wife was on permanent alert, expecting me to offend some greenpeace-supporting liberal wankstain at any moment.
    Spent the whole day avoiding eye contact with any of them so as not to catch AIDS.

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