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

Like a lot of my generation (I’m in *cough* middle life *cough*) I have what could best be described as a love-hate relationship with my computer. When it works it’s brilliant. When it doesn’t work, or to be more precise, when I can’t get the bastard to work, usually I don’t have a scooby how to sort it out. After about ten minutes or so fannying about with it, I’ll be reduced to a quivering, raging wreck, ready to hurl the fucker through the window and send the bill to Toshiba.

This afternoon, I thought I’d have a bit of fun and a few laughs by getting on to my absolutely favourite website, the consistently brilliant ‘…is a cunt’ (note to admin; when it comes to trying to a nomination posted, I can brownnose with the best of them). To my chagrin (I can be a wordy cunt as well), the bastard screen had ‘flipped’, was upside down, and ‘locked’.

Mmmm…. sounds like a job for ‘Manual Access Man’. Now where did I put that bloody wedge of paper masquerading as a doorstop? In the bookcase? Down the side of the chair? Under the bed? ‘No dear’, said the ever helpful Mrs Knee. ‘You don’t get a paper copy now. It’s on the computer nowadays’.

What the fuck?? Let me see if I’ve got this straight. I’ve a problem with the computer and need advice about how to sort it. To do this, I need to access the manual. The manual is on the computer. I can’t access the fucking computer to get at the bastard manual…

As it happened, I was collecting my nine year old granddaughter from school. She took one look, heaved a sigh of ‘oohhhhhh grandad’, went takka takka takka on the keyboard, and problem sorted. The embarrassment of it all. It’s easy when you know what to do to get back on line, but when you don’t, don’t expect any help from the manual. It’s in the last place you’ll be able to reach it, about as remote and out of reach as Alpha Centauri, and as much use as a fucking one legged man in an arse kicking contest.

Nominated by Ron Knee

I want to cunt fucking boogers.

I just want to sit here of an evening after a long week or two of the brats being back in school. I open the bottle of Pinot Gris and go to clear the nostril. Takes four fucking swipes and I’m still not done.

I think I might have a hanger-on. I’ve tried wiping it on bog-roll, the chair, my son’s sweater and the mutt. I tried to hide the booger inside some curry sauce and the savvy mutt still wouldn’t wrap his chompers around it.

At this stage I’m ready to employ a chain-gang of Doozers to clean the inside of my nostril and lick the hanger-on from my finger.

Nominated by CaliAngel