We’ve all been there, haven’t we?

You get up feeling about as good as you can before three or four cups of coffee and a bacon roll set you up for the day. By lunchtime you feel a bit, well, fatigued for some reason, and by the afternoon you’ve got an irritating, scratchy tickle in your throat. By teatime you’re sneezing for England and your nose is in the first stages of feeling and looking like a blowtorched strawberry. You go to bed feeling like shite, but as soon as you lie flat, you start coughing like a shunting engine and your breathing sounds like a set of asthmatic bagpipes.

You’ve now got no alternative, my friends; you’ve got to resign yourselves to your fate, as I am having to do at this very moment. This is a bullet you can’t dodge, and it’s known as ‘the common cold’. The good news is that you aren’t going to die. The bad news is that for a week or so, it’ll feel as though you are.

Don’t bother going to the quack, he won’t want to know. He’ll send you to the local pharmacy, where they’ll flog you a bottle of some ‘Night Nurse’ type shit, which contrary to what you’ve seen in the adverts, will prove to be as much use as a chocolate poker. You can try those old remedies that your granny always inflicted on you, like gargling with salt water, or (retch) boling an onion and drinking the water, all of which will prove to be equally u/s.

Worst of all, you’ll have to endure being patronised by ‘er indoors; ‘honestly men, get a little cold and you collapse, whereas we women just get on with it’. Yeah, just like you did last time when you spent three fucking days on the sofa. Oh, that was FLU, was it?

No, there’s only one sure way to ease your pain when you’re struck down. Get a large glass of brandy, add a little hot water and sugar, and throw in a large slice of lemon, then get outside of this as quickly as possible, repeating as often as deemed necessary. It won’t actually speed up your recovery, but it’ll make you feel a lot more comfortable in the process.

Modern science has worked many miracles. We’ve created satellites, computers and space stations, we’ve split the atom, discovered antibiotics, put a man on the moon, and goodness knows what else. Why oh why then can we not find a cure for the common fucking cold?

Nominated by Ron Knee

Leaner Drivers

No, that’s not a typo or misprint. Drivers who lean into a corner…
I’ve been aware of the prevalence of this unfathomable behaviour for many years now and can only thank the inestimable IsAC site for the opportunity (possibly) to draw attention to it.

I see Leaner Drivers at the traffic lights just down the road, virtually every day. People who, when behind the wheel of a vehicle, seem to be trying to entice the car around a corner by leaning over to the desired side, tilting their bonce to such a ludicrous degree that barely an earhole is left visible above the dashboard, instead of turning the fucking steering wheel* – thus ensuring their vehicle describes the widest possible arc around the corner, missing the apex of the bend by, on average, 7 light years and scrawping merrily down the door handles of any poor cunts waiting in the adjacent lane.

*Ah yes – the steering wheel – that big circular effort right in front of you (assuming your IQ allows you to be sitting in the correct seat to be driving). Go on, give it a try – turn the fucking thing – that’s what it’s there for – it makes the car go from side to side. Keeping your hands in the same position, leaning over as far as you can and “willing” the car to go around the corner doesn’t achieve the same effect, you gormless cunt.

Fuck me – how did these cretins ever get a driving licence ?

Nominated by Cunt Reviled

All I ask and expect from Royal Mail is that they deliver my post with due dispatch.

As is the way of things, some days I receive mail, sometimes not. Invariably however, what Postman Prat does deliver through my letterbox is a pile of unwanted crud from advertisers trying to peddle their products.

Of course, there is one reason, and one only, why the Mail persists with this environmentally unfriendly practice on an industrial scale. This now privatised cuntpany sees the dollar signs rotating; advertising means more income, more income means bigger profits, bigger profits mean bigger dividends for shareholders and bigger bonuses for the greedy, overpaid fat cat cunts at the top.

To add insult to injury, the fuckers then expect the recipients of this unasked for cack to dispose of it for them. If you are similarly pissed, I recommend this simple solution which works on the principle that the polluter is responsible for clearing up his own mess. Just collect all this bumwad up until you have a stack about a foot thick, and stick it in your nearest post box. See how they like it up ’em, the cunts.

Nominated by Ron Knee

Have navigated me old arse orn countless occasions acrorss the world and have heard tell orf the phenomena from time to time. Moonshine you may say. Fakery and fuckery say others. Stop smoking in bed say the quacks. Well all I have to say is every so orten it appears that some cunt bursts into flames for reasons unknown. A random old mare (happens more often to mares apparently) is sitting orn the crapper and next second she is pile of blackened crisps and a pair orf surprisingly untouched comfy slippers. Unlikely to be a jihadi but these days you never know.

Was all the rage in the ‘60s and ‘70s, standard media story then and Arthur Brown nearly achieved it a few times but not by intention (Google the cunt). Amazing the crazy cunt is still alive (have got the cunt in The Pool cunts). Now that brings YT to me intention orf me little homily, a certain Fuck Puppet that steals me noms using a collection orf snide accounts to do so. Making me complaint the army way, no names but cunt, you know who you are.

A chap’s noms are special to him and represent to us senior cunters many years orf selection and nurturing waiting to come up orn the Cunt Grand National. Many fallers but only one who makes it over the final fence. Thus Yours Truly is outraged, enraged and incandescent with rage over this cunt with no name. Spontaneous Human Combustion? Is that me old arse smoking?

Nominated by Sir limply Stoke