Griefjacking

Griefjacking
We get used to scenes of flowers and tears whenever (daily, just about) a budding architect is offed by another budding architect.
However, the scenes at Cardiff Football club following the sad and tragic loss of Emiliano Sala take the biscuit.
‘Once a Bluebird always a Bluebird’ flowers and tributes piled high.

You can only imagine the level of grief if this unfortunate young man had ever played or even trained at the club.

I blame the Fiat in the tunnel with the Duke driving. Oh, and a pissed up drug addled chauffeur combined with a lack of seatbelts.

Nominated by Cuntstable Cuntbubble

60 thoughts on “Griefjacking

  1. Sad to see how society has regressed so much that every tragedy is now reduced to a shrine of roadside tat, hijacked by attention seeking ghouls in the vacuous social meeja echo chambers or our tv screens plagued with some cunt in a constant state of emotional diahorrea. David Lammy knew someone in the Tower of Babel but doesn’t like to talk about it.

    • Couldn’t agree more.

      “Because we care!”

      They extol.

      Unfortunately the “…about lining our pockets!” bit is implied.

      If they truly cared then they would respect the public will and fucking well do as we tell the cunts!

      Alas we’re all to thick to know what we want aren’t we.

      As you mention, only one of those “rebels” have any kind of merit pre Cuntminster, the rest are a duplicitous bunch of self-serving cunts!

  2. What is it with these jack-offs who leave flowers, fucking teddy bears, ‘we love you’ notes and other assorted shit lying around all over the place? If you want to pay your respects go to the funeral. Ah! But you weren’t even remotely acquainted with the cunt who is dead were you? So you won’t be invited to the funeral and after corpse piss-up. People die every day you cunts. Are you going to buy flowers and bears for all of them? Fucking snowflakes and their emotional diahorrea. Get a fucking grip you soft dozy cunts. Oh but he/she was a part of me. No he/she wasn’t. They wouldn’t know you from Adam and wouldn’t care less if it was you in the hereafter. They are dead. They aren’t coming back. Now just get on with your life. Cunts.

  3. Very sad for his family but i am totally gob smacked at huge public displays of grief over a footballer that none of us have ever heard of ?

    • There was a load of toss on ITV news tonight; it seems that someone resuscitated a fitba bloke called Glen Hobble (I’m assuming it’s a bloke…); apparently the first aid administered smashed seven of the patient’s ribs.
      I must sign up for evening classes, and make myself more valuable in the communnidee…
      Perhaps when I visit Manchester and Beckunt passes out, I can leap upon his inert form, and go one better – break his neck or spine.

  4. You never hear David Lammy mention his “close, personal friends” (whose names escape him just for the moment) who tragically died in the Grenfell Tower fire.

    Well not for the last 5 minutes at least.

    Mind you he has been asleep.

    Cunt!

  5. It’s not the grieving silly, you must be seen to be grieved and grieving and gather many likes on twatter to show the world your suffering!

  6. Utter Cunts who have such sad,worthless lives that they grab the chance to virtue-signal and feel involved no matter how tenuous or even non-existent the connection to the object of their “grief”.
    Football seems to really go in for this self-indulgent shite. Never a weekend goes by without the Match of the Day cameras panning around a crowd of moon-faced morons and their ratty brats “grieving” over the latest dead ex-player or sickly-child….”Never Forgotten”,yer,right…not until the next seriously ill/ dead cause presents itself.
    I’ve never understood this grief thing. The only things that I’ve ever been bothered about dying were my dogs. Never bothered about people,never mind some football mercenary who wouldn’t have been able to find Cardiff on a map and,quite rightly,wouldn’t have given a Fuck about the place, or the heart-broken crowd who are all so “devastated” at his death.
    Equally as bad are those dreadful “shrines” that spring up….petrol-station flowers,pound-shop teddy-bears and barely literate cards ( I wonder if one of them for Sala had “Flying on the Wings of Angels” printed on it.).
    What’s particularly satisfying in Sala’s case is the fact that that he never even played a second for them. Fuck only knows how his mourners would have reacted had he actually scored a goal or two and then died…presumably an outbreak of mass hysteria followed by his heartbroken fans.devastated by his death,committing a Jim Jones style mass suicide while all decked out in their “footie” shirts with “Tafffy 69” or something printed on the back……although,the more I think about,it really is a shame that he didn’t score a hatful.
    Grieving,if one must,should be a strictly private affair. It is not some kind of competition to see how many “u ok babe” comments that one can garner on Facebook. As for “grieving” for some Cunt that you don’t know…well…just Fuck Off and copy your hero’s actions…it’s what they probably would have wanted,and what I.most certainly,would really enjoy…Go on Cardiff fans,hire that plane,drag your beer-guts and teary faces on board and nosedive straight into the Channel…at least it’s a start.

    Fuck them.

    • What tickled me was that Nantes asked for Sala’s fee after he was killed as goods in transit.
      Typical Frogs.

      • Bollocks, everybody know that the seller is responsible for any goods until they received by the buyer.

    • Yes Mr. Fiddler, spot on as usual. I live in Cardiff and the compulsory grief here is ridiculous. Sala didn’t come here because he likes Clark’s Pies or Shirley Bassey, more to do with £60k a week. These dopey cunts who spend their hard-earned cash on flowers/teddies/football shirts to leave outside the ground would probably need to work for 3 years to earn that. Sad for all involved, but some perspective, please. A way to out-cunt the cunts could have been to leave a life jacket in among the tributes…

  7. There was a pilot, where is his shrine?

    The Leicester helicopter crash, what about the others who died and hardly got a mention?

    These people who leave flowers and burn candles probably consider themselves as all round good eggs.

    However, a tea light gives off more harmful stuff than a cigarette and those flowers will have travelled hundreds of miles and have huge carbon footprints.

    Didn’t think of that did you? Pathetic.

    Goodbye for now.

  8. I recently attended a really emotional funeral of a friend who had been a professional referee for many years.
    What a lovely send off….

  9. Anyone here ever do a gin or vodka infusion with fruit or spices? I put some dried mango,teaspoon of sugar and gin in a double shot glass last time I got pissed. I’m tempted to drink it but i got errands to run today and wondering if I let it sit longer the essence and aroma of the mango will seep into it a bit more. It smells really good tho so far

    • A healthy breakfast is important, T.S….mango will count as one of your 5-a-day…get it down yer neck.

      • 5 gin shots a day sounds like a healthy way to start or end the day Dick… Then again I think my alcohol tolerance is getting bigger last time I drank 1 and a half glass of red wine, 1 large full old fashioned whiskey, 2 whiskey shots one bourbon, one rye and a small gimlet gin and all drunk within 45 minutes I was barely drunk seriously don’t know what the fuck happened

  10. Another thing about these wimpering snowflakes is that they don’t clear their toot away after their crappy flowers have died and teddy bears have rotted into a toxic plastic mess.

    Near where I lurk a teenage girl was unfortunately mowed down along an unlit 60mph country road, it was a dark night in December, she was pissed and the inevitable happened. I vaguely knew her, it was sad but shit happens. I reckon that this must have been around 1987. Yet even now her family visit the spot of the accident and hang helium balloons, flowers, ribbons, toys all sorts of bollocks from the hedgerow. I went passed there the other day, 2 months later the remnants of it are still there like a collection of soiled tramps cacks.

    Clear it up after you, utter utter utter cunts!

    • Instead of risking atrial fibrillation, ischemic/hemorrhagic stroke, dementia, and death,Twat S, a suggestion.
      Make a note of the exact date and time of the anniversary. The following year, place on auction (eBay, Gumtree, Shpock… the more the merrier) a “mourner’s joblot” of the divers tat likely to be secreted by the condolers. Ensure that the end time/date of the auction coincides.
      Travel to the shrine, collect, package and despatch the ephemera found, buy yourself a bottle¹ of Aspalls™/Three Barrels™/Bollinger Grande Annee™ and enjoy.
      ¹dependant on the outcome of the auction, obvs.

      • PS
        Do not make this a “collection only” auction, and use a VPN such as TOR to set up the PayPal account (which you then use to purchase your tipple of choice, new cufflinks, fleshlight etc).

      • Goo thinking CS, Alternatively I could just piss all over it, much more fun and less hassle.

      • You could fine-tune the auction, placing it in the “collectibles” category, and having pissed all over it, advertise it as modern art à la Tracy Emin’s unmade bed. Bit passé perhaps.
        Prolly get more as a straight mourner’s kit, but worth experimenting over the years, nevertheless. You can’t lose.

  11. You sound like Jamie fucking Oliver TS. Get down to Tesco and buy a fresh mango. When home peel and slice the mango and sprinkle with brown sugar. Then fill whisky glass with gin/vodka. Take mango and give to Mrs TS. Drink gin/ vodka.

    • I didn’t use fresh mangoes because they spoil faster then dried, If i do this on a larger scale i’d put it all in a mason jar very tightly for a month or two, this is just a rough draft really, of what to expect.

      I dunno if i’m a big enough cunt to be jamie oliver fim neither do i have his upper class twit mannerisms, this is just a drunk experiment I had, no need to compare me to him. There currently is no Mrs ts fim but what you described sounds like a gin+ mango juice cocktail not a infusion

      • Sorry TS. My comment was trying to take the piss out of the pretentious cunt Oliver who would tart anything up whilst forgetting that, for example, a steak is a steak so just eat the fucking thing. That’s what I was attempting to convey. It was not directed at you in any way. I was trying to be a clever cunt and it didn’t work. Mea culpa as Caughtspedding would no doubt say.

      • I took no offense Fim had a good laugh honestly even though you were criticizing me at my how i drink my gin
        Also is a steak, really just a steak? Bronald Blumpf likes his steak well done with ketchup…

  12. Off topic, but…

    Question Time last night! Labour and newly ex Labour were really going for each other!

  13. I recently attended the funeral of a close personal friend who’s death I feel responsible for, after hitting him right between the eyes with a tennis ball.
    It was a lovely service tho….

  14. Look, however tragic Sala’s death was does not justify this totally over the top reaction by fans for a player who never even wore the shirt. The only person doing well out of this is the cunts selling the flowers.
    I don’t understand why people think buy someone flowers (that have been grown in Chile and flown here on a plane causing loads of environmental damage) is the only way of showing someobe you love or care.
    All these Cardiff fans have probably paid a fortune for a load of plants that will die in a couple of days days and some cunt will get overtime cleaning up the flowers.
    They are causing environmental damage buying these flowers and are selfish cunts.
    I’d understand if he’d played for a season at least but the man never played for them and I’m sure I heard he didn’t want to leave Nantes. Anyways piss off.

  15. With the death of Diana in ’97, we were all led to believe (as did I, and most still do) that the magnitude of the outpouring of public grief, whatever else it may have been, set a precedent. Never before had the world seen its like, the scale and scope of public support was overwhelming. Flower sellers from Amsterdam to Zimbabwe were certainly overjoyed by the revenue generated.
    Except, it didn’t set a precedent: it was a load of old bullshit. About five years later, I was on holiday in Austria, and visited the Hofburg museum in Vienna. Empress Elizabeth of Austria (or: Susi) was a cardboard cutout of Diana in almost every way (or rather vice versa).
    I was surprised by the parallels in every nuance, and nothing new under the sun.
    See: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Empress_Elisabeth_of_Austria
    and further for greater erudition.
    CUNTS

    • I was in a pub the night of Diana’s funeral. In walked Jim Davidson who loudly announced himself by shouting “anyone want to buy some second hand flowers”

      Toodlepip.

  16. Not Susi but Sisi.
    SwiftKey™ is in fir a comprehensive cunting pretty soon. Even now it’s fucking up. Not fir, but for. For fuck’s sake.

  17. I found it fucking weird how every other cunt wanted to have a cry-in after Diana died, and any dark jokes were deemed off-limits by a consensus of wankers.
    I thought ‘fuck that’ at the time and never tired of pointing out to fellow sixth-formers that ‘you didnt fucking know her’.
    Soft cunts.

    • I must be a decade older than you, Cuntamus, and had the good fortune of being out of the cuntry at the time.
      Glad to hear that you were a contrarian, and didn’t buy into it – and I expect you lost a few “mates”. The sad thing is, some of those poor cunts probably still believe in all this utter bilge decades later.
      Sad, thick, sanctimonious cunts.

      • I was out of the country too. Some Afrikaaners in a bar were making sick jokes and were disappointed that I couldn’t give a fuck. I don’t think I could have survived the bullshit storm that the UK endured.

      • All the interminable footage of the black transit wagon going up the M1 (or whatever) was tedious to say the least. Bloody bunches of daffs chucked off footbridges, reminded me of the Steptoe funeral episode, about going down the Goldhawk Road covered with a bleedin heap of old stalks.

    • “Fucking good riddance.”

      (Creampuff senior’s response on hearing of Lady Died’s death)

      • Fuck me caughtspedding, first you think I’m Swedish, now Dutch, whatever next – Croatian?

      • My sincerest apologies, RTCP, but I could swear on oath you declaimed your father to be of Dutch extractuon: and recently. No? Let’s check….

      • Happily, the surfeit of alcoholic refreshments, empathogens, hallucinogens and other drugs of abuse have not yet wholly addled my mind. You claimed Dutch pedigree as recently as the previous nomination, Danny Dire [sic.].
        Perhaps I’m a little slow off the blocks, and it was in fact a cryptic declamation in re The Low Cuntries in a wider sense?

      • Indeed, krav. Fond memories of time spent in bars in Magaliesburg 30-odd years ago. Lucky for me, my Dutch was pretty fluent then, so the natives didn’t think I was a Brit– it got me out of a lot of trouble.

      • Are you insane caughtspedding? The closest I came to mentioning anybody’s father was in relation to Begam’s father, where I wrote:

        “The father is Dutch… I’m surprised Holland haven’t offered her asylum… they could lease her out to Denmark to star in one of their charming bestiality videos.”

        Appears the surfeit of alcoholic refreshments, empathogens, hallucinogens and other drugs of abuse have indeed partially addled your mind…

      • Apologies Mr Puff, and yes you are right. I mentally (fig/lit) substituted “the” for “my”. Understandable mistake, perhaps, but no mitigation expected deserved, or sought. Recreational drugs have self-evidently taken their toll, and “Brain Damage” (1973) may appropriately feature at my memorial service.
        Seem to have it in for you, old man, but entirely coincidentally.
        I fancy, however, that you might have been “at home” in Tuđman’s Croatia.
        Apologies again, my squire, and “my bad”, as the BoE governer might say.
        Apologies again, c l a n g

      • Think nothing of it Mr caughtspedding.

        I too am no stranger to the excesses and consequential effects of practically every substance under the sun… apart from big H that is.

        For the record, I am a White Anglo Saxon Sceptic from Portmeirion Village.

      • Your most gracious pardon is humbly received, RTCP; you are too kind. I fear I elided your “the” with “my” as in such constructions as: “the wife”, “the missus”, “the other half”, “the kids”, “the old man” wherein “the” means “my”.
        Understandable therefore, and excuses there ate none. Perhaps for me the time has now come for some euphoriants, and a “change of gear”.
        A most generous, and undeserved absolution, Sir, and I grovel in further contrition.

  18. Interestingly the death of this Argie footballer has, behind the wailing and the tears, thrown up some right dirty goings on.
    Apparently Neil Warnock’s son is employed by the very dodgy agent involved. Meanwhile the agent’s 21 year old twin sons were signed by Cardiff despite the fact they are barely non-league standard. There is also speculation about possible 3rd party ownership of the player’s registration which is strictly illegal.
    Naturally the insurance company are reluctant to pay up because they want to know who is getting a cut of this 15 million and suspect it’s a highly inflated price. That’s why the French club want their money PDQ……they fear they might end up with a lot less than they expected.
    So behind Warnock’s tears and emotion the bloke is shitting his pants. Total cunt.

  19. Yeah, loads of money floating about and loads of cunts helping themselves. Who would have thought it?
    Perhaps Saint Gary could investigate on behalf of the squeaky clean BBC?

  20. I was gonna go a cunting on this myself but couldn’t work out how to without sounding rude and disrespectful to those affected. Well cunted Cunstable.

  21. You heartless cunts. I am still mourning Princess Diana (and Dodi, and Frances Shand-Kydd, also Uncle Tom Cobley etc) and regret that I am too overwhelmed with grief to pay due tribute to a foreign footballer who didn’t make it to Cardiff on account of being the sort of cunt who prefers a dodgy private charter to a scheduled flight, let alone play football for a UK team.
    Must conclude. My tears are shorting out my keybwhdnm,c.

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