"I'm Dido. Sniff my armpit..."

“I’m Dido. Sniff my armpit…”

Where to start…. She epitomizes the worst aspects of smug cuntiferousness, whilst bleating interminably on about God alone knows what, in a soapy, pubefest of scandalous drivel. Bracket the bitch with the previously cunted Blunt-Cunt and you have the win double of fuckers spouting nonsense twatitudes.

Surely a great reason to get up a mob and put them to the fire.

Nominated by: like minded cuntophile

Apparently, she writes songs to express herself not to make money or to bore the arse off of us

Nominated by: Simon Cowell’s cat

29 thoughts on “Dido

    • I’d fuck her until my hip joints turned to a fine talcum powder. Then I’d finger her until arthritis made me vomit with pain.

      A coroner would have to drag me off with the assistance of a team of highly trained surgeons and lots of explosives

      So put me down as a “maybe” on that.

      • That is all very admirable, TheEye, it shows gumption and a level of stick-to-itiveness I find sadly lacking in today’s men. May I suggest mega-doses of glucosamine to further extend the durations of your ravaging proclivities on the fair, fay and fey, Dido?

    • Only if I could stop her talking or singing while I did it! OTOH my wife would say I had appalling taste if I did, so most likely I wouldn’t.

  1. Yes. I’d destroy it like a Downing Street plod destroys a former Chief Whip’s political career…

  2. You all are mean. I like her. Besides, that Eminem cunt, sorry, Establishment Cunt, kills her and dumps her scrawny Caucasoid body in the boot of his car in some shite video.
    That was cool.

  3. I nominate ‘applicants for asylum and refugee status’ cunts

    A lovely Nigerian woman with a cute-as-a-button 4 year old autistic son is on the verge of being deported while a Jamaican woman who has been convicted and sentenced to 10 years for smuggling cocaine is granted refugee status.

    A little tiny old lady from Latvia who has written proof that a gang of surly youths is going to rape and beat her if she returns home is told to go while Josef Mengele is cloned in a laboratory in the allotment shed behind BNP headquarters and told he can live amongst London’s Jewish community.

    An American who owns a house here, pays taxes, works in a real job and votes in elections is refused back into the country and put in Wormwood Scrubs prison for a night before being deported back to the US while a Lithuanian pimp can come and go as he pleases arranging the transport and sale of10 year-old girls to work in his brothels.

    A mentally retarded blind, deaf and dumb paraplegic victim of child sexual abuse in Poland is sent back to Warsaw with a bottle of Jameson’s while Abdul Akbar Mohammed Fuk-Q turns up for his asylum hearing wearing a t-shirt on which is written, ”Infidels are cunts”, carrying a rucksack with a strap that says “Pull here to detonate” and is given $350 a week in benefits, a free car and an all-day travel card for the London Underground.

    Okay, that last one is a joke. Obviously, there’s no way the Pole would be sent home seeing as there are more of them in England than anywhere else.

    We must define a Cunt Level index and find the cunt gene which will enable us to DNA test all applicants for asylum and refugee status by measuring their Cunt Level.

    The Cunt Level would run from 0 to 100; where 0 = Yours Truly and 100 = Damien Rice, Madonna, a cunt I once worked with who made bird whistle noises all the fucking time, Tom Cruise and the cunt from blogger.com who can’t stop their fucking system from eating my posts before I publish them.

    We must decide what will constitute an unacceptable Cunt Level. I suggest anything above 5 is a cunt too far and these people should be denied entry into the country, or if they’re here already, they should be eliminated. The tests should be done in a big DNA ‘scooping’ machine and if the needle (or LED if we’re going really hi-tech) records a reading above 5 then we release some kind of sonic blast which reduces the cunt in question to a whispy electron cloud. Of course some do-gooders like the Residents Against Racism or the England Palestine Solidarity Campaign Cunt’s Convention would probably object, so instead of blasting them we Transportation them, to a more suitable location. Perhaps North Korea or South Africa where they’re surrounded by so many other cunts their own cuntosity is relatively less.

    If we can’t vapourise or Transportation them, we can power the machine by useing the corpses of the cunts whose Cunt Level was deemed too high. I reckon the do-gooders would probably complain about that too.

    If we stuck with the Transportation plan these lentil-eating vegetarians who are so anal about silly things like “human rights” won’t have a leg on which to stand. They can moan and bleat about racism but there is no racism; cuntism has no colour or creed. They can call it exclusivity but that’s not a crime and until the government passes a bill to outlaw Cuntism our work will continue unabated.

    Non-cunts of every race, creed and colour will be welcome. It’s progressive, Britain would be freer of cunts (apart from all the native cunts and right now I have to admit there’s fuck all we can do about them) and the age-old problem of how one controls one’s borders in an acceptable fashion is solved.

    Naturally I’m going to invent, manufacture and trademark the Cunt Level machines and even though we probably won’t be allowed to reduce the cunts to dust particles, I’m still going to run 200 volts through the cunts as I send them on their way.

    Dioclese, I found this one way back in The Tutor’s 2005 archives. Feel free to adapt it for “….is a cunt” publication if you like.

    • That sterling nomination brought tears to my eyes, though burning cunts for fuel would doubtless have the eco-warriors up in arms

      • As she so nicely puts it herself – tl;dnr

        I’m always happy to post nominations but not when they flow into several pages! “Brevity is the soul of wit”. Some clever cunt said that but I can’t remember who it was.

      • What else do you lazy cunts have to do? Reading me is like making love – ya gotta take your time and savour the nuance. It’s the journey, not the destination, ya cunts!

        And it was Lord Polonius, the garrulous cunt from Hamlet who said it. And the “tedious old fool” is then summarily dispatched by Prince Hamlet for doing so!

        If y’all can’t be arsed to trundle through my delicious word salads, then don’t, but you’ll be missing a lot. I am clever, very clever, but admittedly, not actually funny. It is an albatross I must bear.
        I am not bitter

  4. I nominate Pub Quiz Masters as cunts.

    I was at a pub quiz the other night. I love pub quizzes – I can drink and smoke like fuck whilst at the same time showing everybody how clever I am.

    One of the questions was ‘What word when placed in advertising attracts the most attention from consumers?’ I confidently wrote down ‘cunt’ as my answer. It seemed perfectly obvious to me, if I saw the word ‘cunt’ in 4 metre high letters on a billboard I would certainly notice it. I even came up with a few slogans: ‘Only cunts drink Pepsi, drink Coke instead’ (that one is for Coke, but by simply exchanging the word ‘Pepsi’ for ‘Coke’ and vice versa it can easily be adapted into an ad for Pepsi).

    Anyway, the quiz master claimed that the correct answer to the question was the word ‘free’. I have never heard a bigger pile of shite in all my life, which would you take more notice of on a billboard?


    Filled with righteous indignation I went up to remonstrate with the quiz master, “CUNT!” I roared, “The answer is cunt!”. He told me that I was making a fool of myself. “NO!” I bellowed, “YOU are making a fool of YOURSELF!” and made a lunge for him over the desk.

    It was at this point I was forcibly removed by the doormen, but I had the last laugh – as they were dragging me out by my hair I managed to swipe several beer mats and an ashtray.

    The next morning I reckoned we were both right – you could sell anything with the slogan:


    Or conversely: “CUNT FREE” in predominantly Gayer or British target markets.

    Another from the archives of Sterculian Rhetoric.

  5. I nominate “Men” as fucking cunts

    I am totally and I am utterly sick to death of men, and no I am not shitting you. When they are hatched, baby men piss in your face at every diaper change. And then when they are older they will sometimes ask after you to pee in their faces. This might very well be entertaining if it were not for the fact that it is utterly fucking odd as shite. In general men continue to piss on we women, with their selfish, self-obsessed, whining, selfish, self-centred, fucking self-regarding, self-absorbed, self-indulgent, self-interested, self-seeking, fucking cuntbutlery.

    Men who at first seem stimulating quickly turn into the most tediously boring slipper-wearing cunts. They yammer, in perpetuum, about all manner of machines and machine like sports things, or spend an inordinate amount of time buying and selling crap for a hideously tiny amount of profit or loss on some shite gayer Internet auction site. Men who at one time admired and lusted after provocative and sensual clothing on the female physique will shortly ‘tent’ their wives or girlfriends in horrifically ghastly fat-arse sport shirts and oh so comfortable jeans in a pitiful attempt to keep other men far afield. My sister Nancy had a boyfriend who was absolutely desperate to have her wear overalls, OVERALLS!!!!!!, the harrowing ‘Ugly Woman’ wardrobe staple, to force her to hide her lovely legs away from any and all other leering males. And I had a boyfriend who constantly tried to shove me into Laura Ashley, and he liked round-toed shoes. ROUND-TOED SHOES!! Fuck me from behind with a rolled up printout of Manolo’s Shoe blog posts. It goes without saying those two men aren’t in the picture any more.

    Then there are the calorie counting cunts. These men lack any kind of will-power and obsess about their weight and just can’t bear to see anyone else enjoying an unrestricted diet. I can eat my own weight in fries and pies and chocolate and remain svelte and never, ever whine about being a lard-arse or eating healthily. I have witnessed a calorie counting cunt hovering about frantically, ready to snatch the package of cookies away from his wife and hide it. These pathetic males will eat the cookies later and then pommel themselves to fuck in a frenzy of weak-willed self-accursed execration. I fucking hate these manly men who incessantly whinge about their weight, it is just so beyond gayishness. Be a fat bastard, or not, I couldn’t possibly care less. Just do not punish everyone else by pontificating about what we should and shouldn’t be eating as some of us women want to eat things we like, rather than fucking lettuce or kelp.

    And then again there be those awful feckers who enter into, and then foster, toxic relationships with women, where each of the participants of this fucked relationship negotiates away a right from the other – like an horrid, provisory game of Jenga:
    “I don’t want you tarrying with what’s-his/her-name”.
    “Right, then I don’t want you going to the football/baseball game”.
    “Okay, fine, in that case, I don’t want you to accompany your work friends after work if there are any men about”.
    “Fine, right, as long as you are quite happy at not going on that coveted golf weekend of yours then that’s fine by me”.
    “Okay, but there is no way you’re going to wear those shoes outside of this bedroom”
    And on and fucking on until both parties are deprived and destitute and are as miserable as shite. All that lingers for them now is to stare at one another ’til they succumb to ‘in odio est’. They may, however, occasionally break the monotonous ennui with a trip to the Home Depot to buy a stone ‘Peeing Putto’ sculpture for the garden, or they may even paint the bedroom a imperceptibly different colour.

    Worst of all, and beyond belief, are those fucking pissheads who won’t tell you, when something is definitely wrong, about what is really bothering them. I absolutely loathe those bastards. “What’s wrong?” you would ask them. “Nothing” they invariably answer. If I wanted to have a conversation like that, I’d hang around a girls’ school playground (With BP and his bag of candy). Fucking cunts.

    • I would post ‘men’ but to be honest you need to shorten it. I could prune it down for you but frankly life’s too short and I can’t be arsed.

      I agree with Sir Limply (comments passim) that verbal diarrhoea on ISAC deserves a cunting in itself. What say you, Limply?

      • Thanks, but I can’t be arsed either. Those for whom it was meant have read it, so ‘fait accompli’, as those cheese-eating surrender monkeys t’other side of The Channel would say.

        “……..(comments passim)……..”

        Nice. I like that. I will steal it.


        “I Suck At Cunting”? Like the meaning of the ISAF forces in Afghanistan according to the Yankke?:
        “I Suck At Fighting”?

        Oh wait, “IS A Cunt” right?

      • Arse, arse, big fat arse- I suffer from literary Touretes. Haven’t you heard, less is more? I’d put my cock in your mouth if it would shut you up, but you would probably bite it off..

      • any cunt with enough time on their hands to write a cunting about blokes or a fucking shit blog deserves a cunting and a fucking damn good one at that. For what its worth get a fucking hobby and for all the other feminist cunts out there; if you hate men so fucking much why do most of you look like one? you hypocritical bunch of dr marten wearing rug munching cunts. If you want true equality don’t go running to the old bill when you get a smack in the fucking mush pleading oh but im a woman (who has been bleating on about hating blokes and equality for fuck knows how long. So i therefore nominate feminists as a bunch of oxygen wasting space taking cunts.

  6. Christ! For one moment I thought my wife had been snooping on my browsing history, although she would have added more scathing invective to the list

    • You’re not a calorie counting cunt, are you?
      Surely your browsing history doesn’t include Laura Ashley frocks? If so, talk to Occams Razor below, you need your face adjusted to look like a smacked arse and he knows exactly what that requires.

      Sheesh! You probably wear slippers too, right?

  7. I love the Guess How You’ve Pissed Off Me Today game. Usually involves strenuous denials of any wrong doing on your part with arms folded under their southwards heading bosom and a face like a smacked arse! Better chance of winning the lottery than correctly getting the answer right!

    • Send me 10 bob and I’ll tell you how to successfully answer any question put to you by a smacked arse. I can’t help you with the southwards heading bosoms though, I ain’t there………. yet.

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