Whilst deaths caused by food allergies are tragic, they deserve some scrutiny and thereby I will prove that the victims deserve a cunting.

It seems these days that you cannot board a plane without a warning coming over the Tannoy announcing that “a passenger is allergic to peanuts” and for whom the merest whiff of a peanut will kill them. In such circumstances, we tend to roll our eyes and think “whatever”. Such thoughts are caused by snowflakes crying wolf over allergies; your average millennial now being burdened with lactose intolerance, gluten intolerance and so forth.

Returning to genuine sufferers, some responsibility must lie with them to be cautious. Peanuts are ubiquitous, so it must be a trial to avoid these foodstuffs and their toxic vapours. If I feared for my life in such a manner, I would go and live on a remote Scottish Island, but, no, they have to go jetting around the world spoiling my inflight meals.

The deaths associated with Pret a Manger are tragic. However, it should be noted that Pret was operating within the law – the company having no requirement to list ingredients on its in-house products. If I were a sufferer, and merely eating a sandwich required me to inject adrenalin in order to avoid death, I would be somewhat circumspect about which fast food outlet I bought from. Certainly, I would be armed with a knowledge of the law on ingredients listing. I definitely would not board an aircraft with a mystery sandwich knowing that I would be 5 hours away from medical care. I might even make some butties at home. You see, I have an aversion to my own death.

The victims that come to the attention of the media are pretty, middle class, millennial females. I’m not going to directly cunt these victims because I don’t want to be thought of as heartless. But we all know that millennial is a synonym for CUNT.

If you think I’m being harsh, I rest my case with this story.

What kind of allergy sufferer would go to a Northern, side-street Indian takeaway in the hope that the proprietor would give a fuck about her allergies?

Nominated by Sgt Maj Cunt

Emergency cunting for Cambridge economist slaaaag Victoria Bateman (some sort of escapee from a Jane Austen am-dram), who has a massive problem keeping her clothes on when discussing the economy.

This vile behaviour must be stopped for the good of the nation; otherwise, where will it end ? Flabbott, Thornpiggery, Phillips, Cuntbyn, Carney, Caffy Nooman, Jon Snot, Iain Blackhole, Owen Jones… all naked. Even the luscious sea-midget Thunderbox.

However, if chubby Charlotte wants to protest in Queen St. in Cardiff naked as the day she was born, I’ll get my mac and video cam.

Nominated by HBelindaHubbard

This should be a cunting for me, but I’m not sure if a cunter can cunt himself so I suppose the nominee has to be the BBC again. Like a cunt, I erroneously believed that a program on Radio 4 this evening called “Living with the Empire” (Monday 8th October 2000 hrs) might give a balanced, objective narrative on what made the UK one of the richest countries on Earth. My first mistake was to disregard the fact that the presenter was called Kwasi. Regardless, I listened on until, five minutes later, I had to switch the crap off because my piss was steaming through the escape valve. It took that long before the grief mongering about the slave trade began to emanate from the wireless.

Why can’t they just give it a rest? We get on with Japanese or Germans because we are able to forgive and move on. Likewise, we no longer need Hadrian’s Wall because the English disagreement with the Scots was settled on Culloden moor in 1746. Only the SNP loonies remind us of this. Nobody else gives a SHITE! But, no, blambos need to go on about slavery and oppression ad infinitum, overlooking, of course, that African chiefs were more than willing to help slave traders “decrease the surplus population”. Give it a rest, you cunts. Put down the knives, stop the “hood” bullshit and people might start to like you instead of crossing the street.

Nominated by Sgt Maj Cunt