Farmers [2]


Farmers are a bunch of whinging cunts the lot of them. The endless, “oh but we have fuck all, we sell our milk for a penny a pint” (while I pay Tesco a cunting quid and a bit for four pints! ….. CUNTS)

As for riding around in top of the range land rovers, they’re doing it on fucking excise free red diesel = tax dodging cunts.

“oh the farm has been in the family for 6 generations” = six generations of tax dodging whining cunts.

You may well provide a portion of what we eat and drink but that doesn’t make you immune to a damn good CUNTING you fucking whining shithouses.

Nominated by: Cripplecock

Farmers are the inbred elite 6th generation of Cunts. Farmer Palmer isn’t a piss take, it is a biography of the whining tight fisted inbred fuckwits. They farm because they are no good for anything else, and they have no social skills.

They think feudal times are the best thing that ever happened to this country. And they live in the cuntry, says it all

Nominated by: The Oncoming Fart

15 thoughts on “Farmers [2]

  1. Hey!
    Fuck off haranguing the poor farmers. If it weren’t for them we wouldn’t have those fancy wellies with the built-in socket/straps for the sheep’s hind legs. Where would be then? Fucking limping about with horridly sore shins I reckon. Typical cuntribbits, y’all see the bad but none of the good.

  2. I would like to nominate the great unlettered under-class of Non U cunts who frequent this website; “…is-a-cunt commenters/nominators”. I’ve not seen such a gathering of thalidomide stump sucking morons since I brought-back-from-the-dead the rotting husks of a bevy of comatose hippies when I trod upon them, unintentionally, of course, at Glastonbury last summer.
    Half of the fuckers here make upwards of seven spelling mistakes pixellating the word, ‘cunt’ for the sake of fuck. One arse spelt it, ‘6unt’. A ‘6’! A fucking ‘6’!!!?!!? Lord t’underin’ Jaysus b’y, what a fecking bespittled cuntribbit that fucker was!
    Fuck me from behind with the entire OED, but these arseholes get on my teats!
    I think there is a large amount of hubris on the part of those ‘is-a-cunt commenters/nominators’, and they should be set on fire and be sodomised by dildos containing a varied juxtaposition of rusty nails.
    That is all.

    • To be fair, I do check and redraft before posting. When the venom is flying, the fingers do occasionally hit the wrong key so I’ll let ’em off! We also get the odd bit of litigious stuff that I remove ‘cos we don’t to be sued by these cunts.

      Anyway, I’m not going to allow you to nominate my own readers and contributors, so bollocks!

      • Coward!

        This is your site? Dioclese?
        I love it!
        I reckon y’all here are a tad too sensitive though, you know, ego shite and the like.
        May I recommend severing the Gordion Knot that affixes the jet-engine of your egos to the ox-cart of your intellects and letting it scream off in Leacockian fashion?
        The Tutor; aka: Bilious C. Pudenda; aka: Sterculian Rhetoric, aka me now, suggested that to me a decade or so ago.
        It works a treat – all that was once woe becomes mirth, instantly!

        Seriously though, I mean no harm. If one is insulted or perturbed by my prating palaver, I apologise, there is certainly no intent to belittle my fellow cunts. Just tell me to fuck off, and with the more prolixity, the better.

      • It’s not actually my site. I just help out on it courtesy of the blokes wot own it.

        Since you insist – fuck off! No seriously, if anyone objects to you they can say so. They can always nominate you for a good cunting! And I know all your alter egos because the comments system tells me your IP and e-mail addresses although these can be faked as I have found out to my cost on another site I used to frequent.

        Personally I am about as sensitive as a lump of granite so fret not.

    • Dearest Occams(sic) Razor,

      If that is meant as a derogation of yours truly, thank you very much. If it wasn’t, it should have been, ’cause, like, you know, you’re, like, you know, one of those unlettered cunts.

      It’s Occam’s Razor – with the bent-phallus apostrophe – it’s the genitive case for fuck’s sake! Knowing you though, you probably spell the Joyce novel “Finnegan’s Wake”, as a genitive case, right?

  3. “Half of the fuckers here make upwards of seven spelling mistakes pixellating the word, ‘cunt’ for the sake of fuck…”

    “…sodomised by dildos containing a varied juxtaposition of rusty nails.”

    There speaks a devotee of Michael Gove

    • Who the fuck is Michael Gove?

      Okay, had a gander at the Google thing.

      He’s a cunt and a half! for fuck’s sake. What have I done to warrant such displeasure?
      I tell ya, this cuntbutlering site is nowt but a misbegotten shambles.

  4. What have I done to warrant such displeasure?
    Nothing bonny lad!. I was referring to your zeal in castigating the typo and grammar miscreants in a way that Gove (who actually is a double cunt), would approve of. Not in any way assuming you have a shred of his cuntitude

  5. FYI I am fully aware there should be an apostrophe. When I first started on this site I did indeed include a possessive apostrophe in my user name but the site went a bit mental and put about 5 various punctuation marks instead of the apostrophe. So I removed it.

  6. I say dear hearts, let the English language live. Let us glory in its sound and fury and forget not that we here above all to skewer the mean and the mendacious, the conniver and the cunt. Grammatical perfection is surely sterile fare. I for one never essay me own humble opinions unless well liquered up and care not a fuck for spelling and grammar. So take one up the arse from me you pretentious tossers. I at least know when I have had enough – generally when I’ve pissed me pants to saturation. So sod you one and all.

    • Hear, hear, Sir S. Spoke like a true gent of old. I doff my hat to you Sirrr. May your piles never burst on clean white linen sheets and may your nose lead the way, and provide a rosy glow, on dark, cold nights

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