It takes a special sort of chutzpah to out-cunt a whole gang of cunts of fakes, benders, virtue signallers and sons of toolmakers, but Rachel from Accounts has managed it.

For years the brainless tart has posed as an economist – that is until yesterday morning. The morning after her grand speech at the Lord Mayor’s banquet (I wonder if somebody had a word in her shell-like?) , it turns out this blueprint for a lavatory brush, has changed her status from “economist” to a mere “retail banking” credit.

Not unsurprisingly, the BBC failed to mention this gross deception. How different it would have been if a Conservative had told such a massive lie and kept stoking it up for years:

Guido Fawkes.

Nominated by : W. C. Boggs

Daily Express.

Migrants. No wonder they keep on coming here:

1) Full board in four or five star hotels
2) Free iPhones
3) Free clothing
4) Cash allowances
5) Free transport
6) Lawyers on legal aid
7) Free private health care available on demand

No chance of deportation either. Fucking establishment wankers. There will be riots on the streets again: good.

Nominated by : Heywood Jablowme

El cactus de las pesadillas.

The garden at Casa Cunter is tended to by Mrs Cunter.
Unfortunately, her enthusiasm is not backed up with any skill whatsoever.

A neighbour dropped by and gave us a small cactus in a pot.
The wife put it on a table on the terrace.

It looked like an underdeveloped but nevertheless erect cock.
I suggested that it was Pákí size, but Mrs Cunter corrected me by saying that it was bigger, more like Jap dimensions.
She has obviously been online for advice.

She thought that it looked amusing on the table.

In only a few short weeks the cactus had doubled in size and even grown what could be described as a bell end.

Even more amusement for her.
She took selfies with the rude cactus and sent them to her friends.

About a month later and with more growth she decided to plant the cactus in the ground.
It already had evil spikes so she wrapped it up in wads of newspaper and wore thick gardening gloves.

Now I always thought that cacti were slow growing, but this fucker was the exception to the rule.

She still thought it was funny to have a one and a half meter cock growing in the garden.

Tiny side shoots appeared but these soon developed into what looked like arms.
The ‘bell end’ had swollen into a head shape.

Mrs Cunter started to take a dislike to the plant. Possibly because it no longer resembled a huge cock.

She started to call it “That fucking thing”.

Within a year of getting the cactus and with it now at over 2 meters tall she decided that “The fucking thing” had to go.

Easier said than done.

You can’t just pull it out of the ground and take it round to the bins.
By now the fucking thing had huge spikes.
Of course I could have chopped it down with a machete, but how the fuck do I get the bits in the rubbish?
It’s not like I could pick up the spikey parts and put them in a bin bag.

By now Mrs Cunter was getting scared.
She thought the fucking thing was going to take over the garden and come after her.
It had already grown arms so she reasoned that it would soon grow legs.

A few month’s later and with the fucking thing at about 3 meters tall we booked some building work to be done at Casa Cunter.

Luckily a skip was delivered and I carefully hacked the fucking thing to pieces.

Mrs Cunter encouraged me…..
“Kill the fucking thing!” she was shouting from a distance.

With great care the cactus was consigned to the skip.
The next day I dug what was left of it out of the ground.
It was then that I got stabbed by a tiny spike.

That little puncture wound in my wrist turned into ringworm.

No, I didn’t know that you could get it from cactus plants either, but you can.
It quickly spread and it took a year’s worth of anti fungal pills and special soap to get rid of it.

The revenge of “The Fucking Thing”.

That’s Life style pictures of cacti.

Nominated by : The Artful Cunter

*Knock knock knock*

“Erm, good morning. Mr erm Knee is it? I’m Sgt Crapp and this is PC Bulshyte from the local station. We’d ah, like a word. May we come in?’

“Oh great! You’re here about the vandalism to my car two months ago I presume…”

“Um, no sir. We no longer have the time to investigate actual crime. We’re here about a erm ‘non crime hate incident’ complaint that’s been made against you and stored on our data base for future use against you. Let me see now… ah yes. On a certain date on a certain website, you referred to a certain public personage as a erm certain naughty word…”

“Then no, you can’t come in. Just hold up. What is this ‘hurty word’ nonsense? Who is my accuser, and what am I specifically accused of?”

“We can’t disclose that information at this point sir, as that would allow for the possibility that you could begin to defend yourself against the fact that no crime has been committed. Also, there is no ‘accuser’ in this case. There is a ‘victim’. The ‘victim’s’ feeling’s have been hurt in this non crime crime incident”

“Right so let me get this straight. As I understand it, although some tosser has made a complaint, you’ve just said plainly that no crime has actually been committed by me. Why on earth are you here then, wasting my time, when you could be out looking for burglers, shoplifters and worse?”

” *harumph* Well sir, we’re here to advise you that at some point, according to the course we’ve been on, you may be called in to the nick for interview in relation to this non crime incident. You will then be required to check and regulate your future thinking in order to ensure that you don’t commit further non crime crimes at some point in the future…”

“Tell you what Sgt, why don’t you and PC Kafka here stop trying to infringe my right to free speech and just fuck off?”

“Did you hear that PC Bulshyte? Did you hear him just tell us to ‘eff off’ or what? Right sunshine, you’re under arrest under Section 5 of the Public Order Act 1986…”

The Standard.

Nominated by : Ron Knee