is still a massive cunt.
This time for retweeting a post by Hamas fan-boy Owen Jones.
He kept quiet on the day of the Hamas atrocities and for a long time afterwards, but has now decided to give his expert opinion on the Israel/Hamas war.
Reminds me of when he tweeted ‘how awful’ it was when Israeli soldiers shot dead an ‘aspiring’ Palestinian footballer, failing to mention that at the time, he was firing an automatic rifle at the soldiers.
Nominated by mystic maven.
are fucking cunts.
It has decided that the jail sentences handed out to the cunts who blocked the Dartford Bridge crossing for the best part of two days are ‘overlong’.
The NZ cunt got three years and the German cunt got two years. Both had previous convictions and face deportation upon release.
The U.N. was set up in the post WW2 era and I am certain that the founding fathers of the organisation had no idea that it would turn into the pious, hand wringing lefty shower of shite that it now is.
Never mind the hundreds of thousands of people and businesses which were fucked about by these two arseholes, the
U.N. doesn’t give a fuck about them.
As ever Admin, I wish to thank the cunter who gets the story moved from the BBC News Website to IsAC.
Nominated by Guzziguy link by Dickie Dribbler.
is a cunt
This cunting comes with a caveat; this excuse for ignorance becomes valid in relation to various obscure cultural references , such as underground psychedelic bands of the late sixties or middling footballers of the fifties; they’re generally not known for a reason. It’s quite a narrow subject of interest to the general population.
You hear this phrase quite a lot from millennials, who almost say it with pride, as if knowing about anything before their date of birth, or decade currently made fashionable (such as the eighties because of Stranger Things) is equivalent to being an old codger. You’re now a relic.
The Battle of Britain was fought with tanks, innit?
Nah, don’t matter… before my time!’
I thought this cunting would probably be better if it came from me as I’m one of the younger cunters and in the limbo between Gen X and Millennial.
I find that what near-contemporaries or those just a few years younger really mean is ‘i don’t read books/papers/journals/watch documentaries/ am generally incurious about the world’.
A lot of these people are quite well-travelled, even if they all tend to travel to the same places and far from sober and think that simply by travelling they become better people, but return just as ignorant and conceited as when they left; the delusion is just even more embedded.
May don’t seem to have picked up any more common sense, which I find odd, but then I remember that many are treading a path so well-worn and Anglophone, so cossetted by airports and hotels and top-ups from mummy and daddy, they don’t need to learn life lessons.
Also, they don’t need to know who either Charles Dickens or Darwin were because they’ve been drunk in Phuket, drunk in Bangkok, climbed on the ruins of Angkor Watt and then drunk in Sydney.
The modern quiz show is where these worldly bon vivants proudly display their ignorance;
‘Before my time, bruv!’
‘Before my time, mate!’
‘Before my time, moosh!’
Did you really need to be alive in the middle ages to know which angel led a rebellion against God in the Judeo-Christian bible?
May as well say, ‘naah, don’t believe in God, ha!’
I reiterate the point that certain pop songs, TV programmes etc. do not really merit being known about by the younger generation, and sometimes ‘before my time can be employed diplomatically.
A good example might be Watney’s Party Sevens. I only know about those from working with blokes who talked about them. I certainly wouldn’t say ‘before my time’ with pride.
By the same token, I’m not one to scoff at a late millennial/ gen Z who has never heard of Depeche Mode or The Foo Fighters, although you can bet they know about Nirvana.
I know a few contemporaries who might, but I put that down to insecurity. It isn’t important they know about pop and rock bands from the eighties and nineties, whatever I may think of them. Even within the scope of musical history they are ephemera, as are most pop acts.
Still, the pride of the ‘before my time’ crowd we see in the media and those leaving education reminds me of Orwell’s line from Nineteen Eighty Four,
‘Nothing exists except an endless present. and the party is always right’
Eh? George Orwell? Before my time, bruv.
Nominated by Cuntamus Prime.
(Just a quick note to say there will be an additional Nomination at 11am today and 11am tomorrow. Thanks – Day Admin)
I smell a cunt.
If there are any bored mathematicians out there, then please tell me what is the probability that after Adele’s gushing appreciation of a former teacher on stage at a recent gig, then lo and behold, in a scene reminiscent of ‘this is your life’, and much to the harpie’s surprise, who is in the audience? – fuck me it’s the aforementioned teacher herself who is asked onto the stage.
Prearranged? I think so. What a cynical sanctimonious skriking cunt.
The cunting doesn’t end there.
After leaving the stage to replaster her mascara streaked face, she spots erstwhile cunting candidate chatty-man Alan Carr and gets him up to fill in for her (not like that, obviously)
Nominated by : Lord Cuntington of Kuntston upon Hull
… are smug, self-congratulatory, deluded cunts.
As predictable as bottom wind at 7pm on Christmas evening, I await our ‘friend’ Bunty’s annual 4-page mélange of family achievement – Hugo’s Grade 4 violin, Poppy’s rosettes at the Pony Club Gymkhana, husband Roger’s promotion and the new friends Bunty made at Holistic Pilates, all spiced with a dash of name dropping and faux concern for others less fortunate. Wonderful holidays, wonderful family, wonderful life.
The irony is that had she consulted Debretts, the bible of social mores, Bunty would have found that Christmas Round Robins are a definite no-no:
https://debretts.com/the-christmas-card-conundrum/
So for fellow cunters who are the recipients of these unwanted tomes, I offer the following 10-point Bullshit Translation Plan:
1. ‘Hugo was the star of the Nativity Play’.
– Hugo was fourth shepherd on the left and forgot his one line.
2. ‘Poppy can’t decide between Oxford and Cambridge’.
– Poppy will be lucky to get into Diversity Studies at East London.
3. ‘Roger came into some money and invested it in a Porsche Turbo Cabriolet’.
– Roger’s Aunt Betty croaked and he is using the inheritance to fund his mid-life crisis.
4. ‘Poppy split up with her boyfriend when she decided he wasn’t right for her’.
– He fancied it up the arse and she was having none of it.
5. ‘St Swithin’s have moved Hugo to a class more suited to his needs’.
– The remedial class.
6. ‘Here is a photo of us at our little hideaway on Bali’.
– I’ve photoshopped out Poppy’s tattoos.
7. ‘We had a chat with the Beckhams at Wimbledon this year’.
– I asked David for an autograph and his bag of bones told me to piss off.
8. ‘Roger went to Magaluf in May for a golfing weekend with Brian from Accounts and Justin from Marketing’.
– Roger went to Magaluf in May for a dirty weekend with Lucy, the airheaded little trollop from the typing pool.
9. ‘Mr Snugglekins our cat continues to bring us great joy and pleasure’.
– The fucking thing keeps leaving half-eaten mice on the doorstep.
10. ‘The Christmas illuminations in the village warm the heart at this time of year’.
– The council houses are all lit up with tacky Chinese tat. Yuk!
Merry Christmas Bunty, you stuck up bitch.
(Names have been changed to preserve anonymity. and avoid legal action.)
Nominated by: Geordie Twatt