Twats in sequined shirts and tackle nipping trousers twirling birds with sprayed on faces around a dancefloor, while a panel of d-listers and a clap at anything audience of sheeples look on. That’s ‘Strictly Cunts Prancing’ for you, and you’ll have seen it at some point. It’s another of those hopeless ‘talent’ fodder shows which infest weekend telly schedules, and I’ll occasionally look in on it as a comparable alternative to my regular Saturday night pastime of self-flagellation.
In all honestly I wouldn’t mind ‘SCP’ if it confined itself to the box. My problem with it is that it’s spread across the meeja like one of those nasty little rashes you’re stuck with but would rather not have. Most of the spiel comes not so much from the programme itself, but from the irritating antics of the wannabe and never-will-be cunts who take part. The meeja and the Twatterati have been in meltdown of late over the antics of 32-year-old Seann and 29-year-old Katya, who *gasp* were photographed snogging outside a pub. Seann’s girlfriend Rebecca publicly elbowed the lad, claiming that he referred to her as ‘psycho’ for suggesting that something untoward was going on. This blockbuster story continued when in a follow-up routine, Seann and Katya danced with a guitar between them, which led to fans claiming that *gulp* show bosses wanted to keep the pair apart during the routine. They subsequently finished in the bottom two, but *gasp* survived the dance-off. This led 29-year-old reject Vicky to *shock* hint at a ‘fix’ to keep the pair in as a ratings and publicity booster. Noooooo… Al-beebra would never indulge in such machinations, surely??
Now some might of course accuse me of hypocritically indulging a pathetic interest in these goings-on myself. In my defence, I’ll state that my fascination stems not so much from the ‘events’ themselves, but from genuine puzzlement as to how the whole vacuous shebang is able to exert such a hold on the interest of so many for so long. It’s not ‘fake news’ as such, more like ‘none news’, yet it’s lapped up. I just don’t get it, but it’ll no doubt run and run, even though it’s a bag o’ shite.

Rebecca Humphries is 32.

Nominated by Ron Knee

Gordon Brown is a cunt. This sweaty sock who flogged off all the UK’s gold at rock bottom prices wants a Royal Commission into Brexit. It’s terms of reference would be “to listen to the voices of the British people”.

Royal Commissions are not noted for the alacrity of their proceedings and the only thing in the world wider than the proposed terms of reference is Eddie Izzard’s butt crack. No need to worry about the findings of such a Commission because the Sun will be extinguished and the Earth a ball of lifeless rock by the time it finishes.

So, Mr G Brown, here is the voice of one British person – fuck off you loser and do the world a favour by expiring.

Nominated by Fimbriations

The Philip Green gagging nonsense and the Establishment reaction to naming the cunt.

They are lining up, cunts one and all:

Overturns rule of law blah blah
Abuse of privilege blah blah
Hain ‘arrogant’ blah blah (compared to Green ?)
Political Witch Hunt blah blah.

What really worries these cunts is the fact that money and privilege can be overturned in parliament from time to time. This wont do don’cha know. If rich people cant use money to fuck over the plebs and enrich the (London) judiciary where will it all end?
Hain has been a cunt for as long as I can remember but just this once he is on the side of us nonentities.

Nominated by Cuntstable Cuntbubble

Oh joy. This morning I received the dreaded ‘invitation’ to accompany the trouble an’ strife to the local shopping mall, to ‘get some ideas for Christmas’.

Now as if this wasn’t bad enough, the whole experience was torture from start to finish as a result of the cunting awfulness that is piped musak.

Now we all know why THEY do it. It’s carefully programmed, designed to affect us subliminally, to make us more docile and sheeplike, and therefore motivated to shop and spend more. Trouble is that it has the opposite effect where I’m concerned. It drives me up the wall, and I just want to get out asap.

My trial began the second we walked through the main entrance. There’s some bird screeching some tripe in a key that she couldn’t handle. Turn into any ‘retail unit’ and you switch from the racket in the mall to their racket. The ‘Condor’ moment occurs when you reach the spot where the blare from inside the store and that from the mall outside blend into one cacophonous snash. Throw in noise from kids’ roundabouts, mall displays and (oh lordy, it’s that time again) carol singers or the Sally Ann band, and it becomes sheer aural torment.

After an hour or so, I did the only thing commensurate with keeping my temper, and fucked off in search of a pint. BUT. Guess what assailed me as I entered the nearest pub… You can’t even get a quiet pint and a read of the paper in peace these days, and it’s a cunt. And that’s the bleeding trouble with this shit. It’s everywhere; restaurants, bars, hotel lobbies, cinemas, lifts, hospitals, aeroplanes, workplaces, even some public gardens I’ve visited.

I don’t know, but I’d guess that the cunts who first came up with this pestilence were Yanks. It’s the kind of cuntery they seem to excel at in these situations. I hope that Old Nick has entombed them fifty miles beneath the Earth’s core in a sealed cave, where they’re forced to submit to their own fiendish construct while their arses are roasted. For ever. And ever. The absolute cunts.

Nominated by Ron Knee

And please forgive the shameless plug, but if you really hate Christmas songs, here’s a link to a whole fetid mess of them mercilessly butchered by my good self!

Give it a click – I need the money!

Nominated by Chas C