The Stress Crutch

I would like to cunt the “modern stress crutch”

Most of you are pretty much non aware of my back ground, not that it matters because I am not writing mine kampf. cut to the chase a long time ago a lot of diazepam and a military shrink, then a total breakdown in civy street and a 3 month wait to see anyone because I refused medication.

Well fast forward to today (last year, and the year before) as a “stable” tax paying member of society who has dragged themselves up by their boot strings, I find myself running a small part of a retail organisation, I have an assistant (dogs body) young chap mental age of 9 physically 28 years old, he lives with mummy and daddy who supplement his poor wage due to lack of attendance.

Well to cut to the chase, sado was jilted by his girlfriend last year and this had a profound effect on him, making him not turn up for work, come in late ect and just when I was about to fire his little arse, he pulled the “mental health ticket”, he had “stress” no medication required, just a good rest and talking therapy. so I sat and watched his social media profile as he went fishing and went to festivals in holland, but could do nothing as it was “stress relief” and pretty much what the doctor ordered.

I find myself thinking of the time it took me to see a mental health consultant when I was doing my damndest not to kill myself or anyone else going through a system choked with wasters like him.

However the sun shines upon me, because although we must respect other peoples mental health issues, They in turn must respect the terms of their contract, on this occasion shit for brains has left the nest to cavort with a single mother again publicised on their social media, yet has failed to report in sick, a letter is winging its way to his parents house now asking him to attend work, it is so sad that I have to use a contract technicality to fire a piss taking little shit who has been absent from work for almost a quarter of the working year under the guise of stress!

So on that I would like to cunt the fuckers who sign people off from work for stress! and not tell them to grow up.

Nominated by Lord Benny

Michael McIntyre [2]

Perhaps it is an age thing. I find Michael McIntyre deeply unfunny, his humor being banal and childish. Staggering to think he was the highest earning comedian in the world in 2012, his tour grossing £21m!!

He describes himself as being a bit like Marmite. Brown (or more orange really) and a bit like shit? Of the Seasoned campaigners Lee Mack always good for a giggle, as is Sean Lock and Mickey Flanagan (in my humble opinion) however the up and coming comics of today (such as Jack Whithall have nothing new to say, it is too safe, and leaves me completely cold.

Nominated by Willie Stroker

jobsworth security guards

I’d like to cunt jobsworth security guards, now being a lorry driver who has spent the last month working nights, I’ve started coming across these wastes of skin more often recently. Think they can treat you like a cunt because they have the power to open the gate, even though you have to go in because well it’s the job, I can’t deliver if he doesn’t let me in, wanker!

Security guards and traffic wardens have a chip on their shoulder because they were too stupid to join the police

Nominated by Mr Cuntypants

Newcastle Grooming Gang

Emergency cunting for the Newcastle Grooming Gang, convicted of the trafficking and sexual exploitation of schoolgirls between the ages of 13 and 16, in a reign of terror that lasted for an astonishing seven years.

Oh – and what a fucking surprise: they just happen to be Kurdish immigrants exclusively preying on white British girls. Yet another case of “misogyny” then since we’re repeatedly told by the PC brigade that despicable crimes like this are definitely nothing to do with race.

These nonce cunts need dousing in petrol and setting alight – four real live Guys on  Bonfire Night: Palla Pour, Ribas Asad, Soran Azizi and Saman Obaid. In fact one of their defence counsels should be cunted as well for offering in mitigation the fact that the defendants had problems with alcohol on account of being so worried about the fate of their relatives in Iraq. Very plausible indeed – . I’m sure we all know people who deal with stress and anxiety by getting drunk and raping a fourteen year old…

Nominated by Fred West.

Modern policing

The (Sweeney) Stasi,
The Stasi!
Dah, Dah dah-dah daaaaa, dah du dah dah!

——

“‘Ere you, scroat!?!” (BOP!)

2hrs later in Flying Squad HQ…

“Waaaa, waaht happened?”

“You’re nicked sanshoine! We was towld you ‘eld a door open forra bird and she’s grassed you ap as pervert sex offendah!”

“But, but, but…”

“Worra you? A fackin’ Indian! We got you banged to rights and you’re goin’ darn and forra lorng toime moy san!”

4hrs later in a Brixton surveillance unit…

“Ere gav! Wots this?”

“Wot!?!”

“Two blokes wiv’s shootahs.”

“Naaah, Carter you plam! That’s jast Mr Khan and Mr Mohamed. Are you radio-facking-rental!?! You won’t find two more stand-ap geezers than those two!”

“Bat gav, the shootahs?”

“Jast toys.”

“But the van full of fosgene gas?”

“Well maybes they’re doing sam paint work or sammink!”

“Rental van?”

“So!”

“And the twelve year old girl who looks stoned?”

“…a niece…”

“…in ‘ahhhnd-caffs?”

“Jast fan and games Carter you nonce!”

“Sorry gav.”

“It’s alright Carter, it’s good to be keen. No need forra report.”

—-

“OY! Wot’s this!”

“What!?!”

“This fence YOU CANT!”

“Er, well, it’s a picket fence…?”

“Yes, bat, worts wrong wiv’ it?”

“Er, is it too high?”

“Naw! Troy again.”

“Er, the chevrons too pointy??”

“Naw, naw, naw! You mast troy ‘arder san! Wort calah is it!”

“Er…white…?”

“Ahhhnd wot ovah calah?”

“Well, er, it’s all white, it’s a picket fence you see and…”

“Shat it! You’re nicked! Carter send this one darn for a long time on the race relations act 1984!”

—-

“Gav? Reports of a sex offender in Dulwich!”

“A nonce! Right let’s gaw!”

“OY YOU! NONCE CANT!”

“Are you speaking to moi?”

“Yes oy am! So wots your story feeling up the women in these swimming baths changing rooms then?”

“I beg your pardon!?! I am a woman today! And therefore when I say it, it’s true!”

“Well, er, I don’t know if that’s right but I…”

“Oh you DON’T do you! Well why don’t you ask your boss Cresida?”

“Cresida Dick?”

“She prefers ‘Cresida Strapon’ darling. Not too worry. She was just in earlier in the sauna having her bean flicked by that naughty young Polish pool attendent filly.”

“Er, she was was she?”

“Yes she was Inspector Reagan.”

(GULP!)”You know who oy am?”

“Of course dear. Cresida has a soft spot for you as you’re so right-on!”

“Aw…well in that case. Sorry to ‘ave disturbed you mam.”

“Not to worry inspector. Now can I have my camera back as there’s a woman just gone into cubicle 2 who’s got the most delightful fanny just like a boxer’s nose, and I’d like a few snaps for when I decide I’m a man again.”

“Er, yes, of course mam. Carter! Give the – er – lady her camera back with the telephoto lens.”

—-

Next week: Reagan and Carter help a traveller community ransack a small village in the Cotswolds for quite clearly being racist…

Nominated by Rebel Without a Cunt