are cunts.

I’m a miserable cunt, bitter about the world and everyone in it. I have to work 7 days of the week to keep a business running, dealing with bullshit from staff and customers on a daily basis. This is while living in a country run by Stalinists who want to fuck me for all the tax they can get (and give to workshy scum of all shades), and who want to tell me I’m an evil capitalist exploiter and I should be allowed to be sued at every opportunity by lazy narcissistic tribunal trigger happy arseholes who are empowered to cause businesses endless stress whilst simultaneously complaining there’s no jobs out there. I am surrounded by lefty cunts who want to hector me about how I need to be kind to trannies, darkies, carpet kissers, immos, neuro diverse skivers, eco grifters and hirsute dungaree wearing lesbian wheelchair users.

The result of this deeply hate filled relationship with life is that, in the tiny moments of privacy I enjoy away from all of this bullshit, I want to do just what the fuck I want and not be beholden to any cunt. I want to choose where I want to be, who I want to be there with, what I want to spend my money on, what conversations I want to have and with whom, AND what crap I want to acquire for my enjoyment.

This is why I not only do not like receiving gifts from people, I positively fucking resent it. I am writing this on a Sunday morning when I have a rare opportunity to have a coffee and have some playtime on isacunt without anyone bothering me. I’m dressed only in my tattered grundies, I’m unwashed, a shocking fucking mess, and I don’t give a fuck. But one of my members of staff messages me and asks if I’m at home. What the fuck. I ask the missus what this is about, she looks guilty. She realises that she was chatting to the employee in question on Friday as he was going to London on the weekend where his brother in law is a chef in an upmarket restaurant, and he produces some top notch cakes which she politely said sounded wonderful. So, at 8.30am on the one day of the week when I might be expected to get some rest and peace and quiet, the demand is being made of me to get up, throw on some clothes, and be all fake happy and grateful. Fuck that, I’m not doing it. I said to him leave it on the doorstep, sorry I’m not in a state to receive you. He quietly drops the parcel off, a Harrods bag with cake and all sorts of goodies in it, and quietly slopes off. The missus goes and retrieves it and shows me what a cunt I am for not even managing to go and say thanks to him.

So I have, without consultation, been put in the invidious position of either doing something I don’t want to do on my morning off, or being a rude and ungrateful cunt. All for some additional shit in my life that I neither asked for nor wanted.

Whenever anyone gives me a gift I don’t fucking want it, and I consider it an arrogant liberty to demand I pretend to be happy and grateful for this gross imposition on my misery. Take your fucking gifts and stick them up your arses, I’m not gonna be happy and grateful for any cunt.

oregon live

Nominated by Balsamic Dave.