The people of this country are being encouraged to gamble more and more and more by a seemingly endless supply of adverts. Countless numbers of betting companies plastering the promotion of their product at every opportunity, and at any time of day. Many introductory offers for first time gamblers.

Approximately half of the current Premier League teams are sponsored by gambling companies.

Whether it be bookmakers, scratch cards, lottery or online gambling.

The ultra sad betting shops in town frequented by weak willed individuals to the people buying £100 of scratch cards at the supermarket checkout.

Here are the latest UK industry figures.

In 2016 the top salary paid in the UK was to Denise Coates of Bet365. A staggering £199m basic salary plus a dividend. Worth more than Richard Branson by all accounts.

Many people become addicted to gambling and simply cannot help themselves, resorting to desperate measures to get their stake money, usually at a cost to others.

The industry try to defend themselves by saying they do as much as they can, including issuing a warning to anyone gambling, the pathetic “please gamble responsibly” or stop gambling when it stop being fun”.

After all, gambling is a tax on the stupid, the only winners being the betting companies.

Personally would love to see gambling outlawed completely but wishful thinking on my part I suspect.

Nominated by Willie stroker

Any cunter who’s ever sat behind the wheel of a car will be familiar with the twattish young geezer referred to as the ‘boy racer’. For years this excrescence has caused untold annoyance to other drivers on the highways and byways of our great nation, driving high powered cars very fast and very aggressively. Now I’d like to give a bollocking to the female of the species, Chelsea Tractor Girl.

So there I was on this bright Autumn morning in my small but stylish Dacia Sandero, chugging along the road at 29.999 recurring mph in a 30 mph zone, being very law abiding as you can see, and minding my own business. About 100 yards ahead, the green traffic light at the junction changes to amber, and I touch the brake, slip into third, and begin a leisurely glide up to the red.

Suddenly all hell breaks loose behind me. There’s lights flashing, a horn blaring, and I look in the mirror to see a fucking Range Rover apparently in the process of trying to climb into my boot. And there she is at the wheel, nostrils flaring and hands gesticulating wildly; yes, it’s Chelsea Tractor Girl, and she’s not a happy bunny. It seems that I’ve prevented her reaching the red light a couple of seconds sooner, and foiled her plan to sit there revving the engine of her huge Chelsea Tractor wildly but impotently.

There’s obviously some dire emergency here. Could she be a minute late picking up the kids from their private school? Perhaps that meeting can’t start without her indispensable presence, or her nail technician has texted, threatening to close the salon if she’s not there in two minutes.

Anyway, as I trundle up to the light (still on red), CTG swings the Batmobile into the inside lane, designated left turn only except for buses and taxis. Here she sits giving me the Darth Vader death stare while a pulsing little vein in her forehead throbs and threatens to go *pop!*, a prospect which delights me inordinately. Then the light’s on amber and naturally she screeches straight ahead, cutting me up with a vicious outward swerve, then hammering up the road as the ’30 Slow Down’ warning flashes redundantly. I’m left eating dust, and shaking my head at the sheer bad manners and dangerous idiocy of this display.
What is it then about so many women these days that turns them into arrogant bullies the moment they get behind the wheel of some huge, fuck off 4×4? Does a sense of the vehicle’s power generate an impulse to inimidate, or is it some misguided notion of equality that tells them to show that they can be as big a twat as a bloke can be on the road? Perhaps it’s a bad attack of penis envy, with the tractor serving as a substitute dick to wave about, or in some cases maybe it’s just, well, that time of the month… Come to that, why does anybody drive one of these gas guzzling behemoths around in an urban environment anyway?

The great pioneering psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud once wrote ‘the great question that can never be answered is “what does a woman want?” ‘. Well I certainly can’t offer a comprehensive answer to that if Freud couldn’t, but I can tell you what CTG wants, and that’s to get her mini Panzer tank hurled into the nearest crusher asap, and if we’re very lucky, the little shit might even get heaved in with it. There’s always hope, even if there isn’t much in the way of expectation.

Nominated by Ron Knee

No, not the small fringe of retards that like swastikas and so on. ‘The Far Right’ as it is now applied.
Think immigration is a tad excessive. Far Right
Think the Burka is inappropriate, demeans women and looks ridiculous. Far Right and Islamophobic.
Don’t rejoice at the gay/trans bullshit that overwhelms us. Far Right. Unless of course you are a peaceful in which case it is ‘right-on’.
Suspicious of peacefuls and what is preached in their mosques. Far Right and Islamophobic.
I have even seen it to describe Leave voters.

There are many other examples that I am sure cunters can add.

The Far Right is another phrase from the Ministry of Truth.
Please note. This is a succinct cunting so that fellow cunters don’t wear their lips out reading it as I have on some cuntings.

Nominated by Cuntstable Cuntbubble

Nando’s is a cunt, isn’t it?

People love Nando’s. This is evident because what people who love Nando’s love even more than Nando’s is talking about how much they love Nando’s.

Enter the under lit world of this corporate South African restaurant, solely obsessed with their profit margin: The customers are the least discerning morons you’ll meet, a quagmire of cheap trainers, blubbing toddlers and couples eating peri peri sauce on baked cadavers while staring at their mobiles. You have to serve yourself drinks like a fast-food shithole yet you pay full restaurant prices. Chicken’n’chips for 13 Quid. Clever – unlike the corpulent, spotty families stuffing down corpses of fowl caked in sugary abattoir-flavoured sauce.

“Heyy, have you ever been to a Nando’s before, guys?”
“Fortunately, no. Could I order a wretched quality, previously-caged chicken with no value for money.”
“No problem. Pay before you eat so any posthumous complaints are meaningless and fetch your own cutlery and drinks. Enjoy.”

Nando’s is KFC for the lower-middle class. Too snobby to eat at a café but too poor or stingy to eat at a decent establishment.

The choice: Spicy enough that it’ll be the worst episode your anus will have ever experienced; or lemony enough that it tastes like an aeroplane wet wipe serviette.

Then there’s the smell. Even walking past makes you want to pebble-dash the pavement. Inside, the odour of a thousand sour farts hangs pungently whilst ugly hipsters with empty lives Instagram their sorry imitation of food.. Hopefully the awful stench repels any cockroaches/fruit flies/beetles, though not from the rumours I’ve heard.

▪

Let’s go for a Cheeky Nando’s!
No thanks. I’d rather have my fingernails pulled off and eyes gouged out with a rusty spoon than visit that over-priced, over-salted, over-hyped, over-rated purveyor of processed, battery-farm faeces.

Nominated by Captain Magnanimous

I used to happen to like Nandos on occasion. However as my old mate pointed out, they serve halal chicken. I looked into it. In certain restaurants they serve only halal as in Leicester. But they say they can’t guarantee not serving halal in restaurants in non peaceful areas where they have a supply problem. That’s why it’s a cunt. You wouldn’t know if your nosh was halal or not. Halal butchery is enough to make you go veggie. It’s a cunt.

Nominated by Alan Fistula