I want to Cunt Family Tree seekers.

There I was, sat in the kitchen perusing the Death column in my local paper when my pleasure was rudely interrupted by a hammering on the door.  It was so loud and inistent that I assumed that either the Excise man had made good on his threats following the recent unpleasantness, or ISAC had published my name and address and I was under siege from the very occasional person who may have misconstrued one of my posts. 

However when the dogs and I flung the door open, ready to go down in the style of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, I was faced with an old gent wielding a walking-stick which he must have used to bray at the door.  I could see that the dogs had the beating of the pensioner if he cut up rough, so I demanded to know what the Fuck he wanted.  Obviously not in the least intimidated by 2 snarling dogs and one  snarling cunt, he set to explaining to me that he was researching his family tree and believed he was some kind of distant relative of mine.

I was taken aback by this unwelcome revelation, and before I could gather my wits he asked if he could see the old family bible and any other documents or photos I might have.  Fortunatey, by that point I’d composed myself sufficiently to demand of the coffin-dodging grave-peeker if he thought that I was some kind of Public Records Office.  I was in the middle of telling him I’d never heard of his family surname in connection with mine (I had) and that I had better things to do than stand on my doorstep bandying gossip with a complete stranger, when he said he had documents and old maps in the car which he’d like to show me. 

I let him wobble back down across the stackyard to his car, gather up his papers, and teeter right back to my door.  Just as he reached out to show me some bit of paper I shut the door on him.  These Family Tree searchers are mostly busybodies hoping that they’ll stumble on some misplaced inheritance, although by the look of the old goat that I chased, I was a sight more likely to collect from his will than he was from mine. 

I have no interest in my close family, never mind some grasping old fart who probably hadn’t bought one off those life-assurances policies and was hoping that I’d spare him the shame of a Beggar’s Funeral by contributing to the expense.  He was wrong.

Fuck them.

Nominated by: Dick Fiddler

Everything about this show is a cunt; the producers are cunts, the contestants are cunts and the cunts who watch it are also cunts. Cunts, cunts and more cunts. You must have no shame if you apply to be on the show and you must have no sense if you choose to watch it. Complete and utter, mind-numbing drivel.

A minute and a half I endured of this shite, I will never get back. However, those ninety seconds told me everything I needed to know about how thick, idiotic and vacuous these cunts really are. A bunch of tarted-up slappers and jack the lad fuckboy mincers engaging in meaningless conversations and unnecessary drama for a bit of attention and for the sake of being on telly.

The people that watch it and revel in the unfolding events need to get a life. Shit cunts all round. Also, the coverage it gets in the media and on various tv ads and competitions is absolutely ludicrous. What a load of shallow and superficial old cobblers.

Nominated by Jayniño

Has Love Island been cunted yet? If not then it really should be. Its vapid, heavily engineered tripe for the kinds of thick as pigshit cunts who can’t read anything more complicated and comprehensive than What’s On TV or Biff and Chip books.

Maybe I’m just so cynical by this point that I’m already, at the age of 20, out of touch with the rest of my generation but the mere fact that anyone intelligent can like this Big Brother knockoff tripe absolutely baffles me.

Nominated by Opinionated Cunt