In the interests of balance, since we cunted those who disliked the hot weather earlier in the year, I’d like to nominate the opposite cunts who do nothing but moan about the cold weather.

This year, we’ve staved off the cold longer than most previous, with only late October truly yielding the fruits of Autumn and Winter. And now finally, we can enjoy the picturesque colours on the changing foliage; the unmistakable, intoxicating smell of evening autumnal bonfires; the brisk mornings; getting in from the cold and into a warm living room to watch your favourite porn. Autumn is truly a glorious time of the year.

Except, of course, for the usual cunts who truly believe that anything lower than 16ºC constitutes Arctic research outpost tier. The fucking shitcunts. This year, Summer was largely unbroken ‘twixt late May and late September. 5 months of high temps and endless fucking sunshine. And that still isn’t enough. Still the cunts like Lucy ‘too cunting annoying to want to root’ Verasamy, and her meteorological cunt brethren, deliver news of Autumnal climates on the weather forecast as a dreadful, doom-laden tiding.

These fucking Summer-obsessed cunts, always hanging on for dear life in March, desperate to the point of fever pitch for the first rays of sun and taking them as the instruction to crack out the fucking flip flops and sombreros. Fuck off and and pack the deckchairs up your well-used arses.

In the same way some of us had to suffer the endless fucking sleepless nights of unforgiving humidity and blinding morning light at 4:30am, so too can you cunts suffer the endless dark of Winter. Just stop moaning about the fucking cold and get the fucking Campbell’s soup on the hob, bastards.

Fuck me, I love this time of year. If I could choose how I died, I’d probably opt for the blissful comfort of hypothermia.

Nominated by The Empire Cunts Back

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