SUPER LEAGUE Rugby League I would like to give a monumental cunting to Super League What is a predominantly white northern sport mainly played and watched by white northerners, with the resumption of super league a couple of weeks ago i finally watched my first game last weekend Leeds Rhinos v St Helens and low and behold just before kick off i was shocked to see every player on the pitch getting down on their knee to pay tribute to the dead cunt of cunts Chiggun George even though there was only 2 or 3 blue gums on either side, that meant there was about 10 white northerners on each side getting on their knees. What the fuck is happening to our once great country sucking up to the cunting left and snowflake brigade it makes me fucking sick. I immediately switched the game off and will never watch another Super League match ever again i’ve been to numerous Grand Finals and also a World Cup Final but never again, I can’t watch the England Cricket team ever again also because of the same thing, Sadly there aren’t many more sports i can watch although thankfully my home football team is managed by Joey Barton so there is more chance of Global Warming happening than the Fleetwood team getting on their knees as the team is full of white blokes anyway not a single Umbongo in sight. Anyway thats the end of my rantThe world is full of Cuntstain Cunts.

Nominated by Codhead Cunt

THE GUARDIAN

… yet a-fucking-gain!

Here’s a recent shreadline: ‘Looted Landmarks. How Notre-Dame, Big Ben and St Mark’s were stolen from the East.’

Turns out a lot of Western gothic architecture was influenced by what the Crusaders saw on their arabian Club 18-30 holidays (so called because they each clubbed to death eighteen to thirty people.)

Well, no shit! As the blokes selling bargain bling on Oxford Street used to say, ‘it’s all nicked!’ Is the Guardian now going to publish an article on how all those Saudi sky-scrapers are rip-offs of the first building of that kind, the Flat Iron building in New York?

Are they fuck!

Are the Bubbles and the Eye-Ties going to kick up a stink about the American Senate with all its columns being so obviously Greco-Roman?

Are they fuck!

I wonder what would actually satisfy the rabidly right-on writer of this article? Converting all three of the named buildings into mosques? Dismantling them stone by stone and shipping them back to their supposed countries of origin?

If you’re all so damn concerned about correct memorialisation, journalists of the Guardian, you’ll be pleased to learn that I plan on carving each and every one of your deranged faces into my own personal Mount Cuntmore!

Nominated by Chimp Licker

Foremen and Women
An extra special cunting is due for the wife. Not only her, but all the other cunts over the years who act like they think I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing – in this case Decorating the Front Room. Shades of harry Enfield’s character who was an EXPERT in every fucking thing.
While perched perilously up a ladder trying to reach some corner of a very high ceiling, and this corner in between fucking false beams, she says ‘er, you know you’ve missed a bit?’. You think ‘for fucks sake go and do one’, but being a good boy, only reply ‘yes, I know, I’m trying to get to it’.
Or, because you are doing a very high ceiling, with false beams on it, paint ocassionally drips to a floor – which IS covered with all sorts of sheets. ‘You do know you’re dripping paint?’ she says. (Of course I fucking do you stupid bint – can’t you see I’m covered in the Magmolia Vinyl? – well, that’s what I want to say!) I do say, ‘really my sweet, I’ll try to make sure it gets cleaned up’.
Then there is the black paint around doors and stuff. Having done EVERY fucking door, window frame, patio door, bookshelves, she’ll venture in and say ‘Couldn’t we have another colour?’
When this has happened at least a dozen times AND your efforts have all been mentioned to friends and family and presumably total strangers as well on Whats-Up, Face-Ache or some other cunting app, you might suggest; ‘tell you what love-of-my-life, why don’t you make a list of things that you’ve noticed and I’ll attend to them (when I’ve finished performing trapeze acts!) when I’ve finished doing this – let’s call it a snagging list’. (I really wanted to say a fucking ‘nagging’ list!) She says, ‘Oh its OK, it isn’t important, I’m sure you’ll remember!’.
Thank fuck this is THE last time I’m doing this! Father Time is catching up inexorably, and I’m afraid if I do this for much longer I’ll end up killing myself by toppling off something – knowing my luck, it won’t be from 8ft up a wobbly ladder either, it’ll probably be a foot-stool, attending to one of those fucking SNAGS!

Nominated by Mickey C

Citizen Kane
Down the years, Orson Welles’ 1941 drama “Citizen Kane” has consistently been voted “the greatest film of all time” in polls conducted on the subject. In particular, film-makers, critics and academics deem it “numero uno”. I believe they feel obliged to do so, in order to demonstrate an appreciation of “film as art” on their part which exceeds the capacity of your regular cinema-going punter. It’s a “masterpiece”, they gush; “hugely influential blah…”.
Personally I’ve always considered this saga about the rise of a newspaper tycoon (supposedly based on W.R. Hearst) to be the most overrated film of all time. Okay, I’ll grant that there’s some technical flair and innovation on display, and I’ve honestly tried to appreciate it if I couldn’t enjoy it, but I’ve never been able to watch it through at one go. It simply leaves me cold, and utterly uninvolved emotionally. For the most part, it’s an exercise in nut-numbing tediousness. So it’s right at the top of my “most overrated” list, propped up by the likes of “2001”, “Gone With The Wind” (wonderful Max Steiner score notwithstanding), “Top Gun”, the gruesome “Titanic”, the ludicrously pretentious “Black Swan”, and anything to do with bastard “Star Wars”.
Anyway, a couple of days ago my little treasure was raking through a box of old VHS cassettes. “Oh look”, she says, “here’s ‘Citizen Kane’. I’ve always meant to watch it. We could do that after tea”. “No way Pedro” says I, “it’s a couple of hours I’ll never get back”. “Oh don’t be a grumpie old meanie” says she, “I’ll make a big pot of tea and open a packet of McVitie’s dark chocolate digestives I’ve been hiding from you. Then afterwards *knowing little smile* we could…”.
Well of course she had me at “then afterwards”. No to be honest, she had me at “McVitie’s dark chocolate digestives”, but I think you get the point. So we sat down and watched (or in my case, endured) it, and of course it wasn’t too long before the fidgeting began. By the time that the enigmatic “Rosebud” came to be uttered, it was very clear that she was bored stupid, but bless her little cotton socks, she was never going to admit it.
Nevertheless I’m extremely pleased to record that my patience and fortitude were duly rewarded in full measure by my little minx, and I slept very well that night. Good things do indeed come to those who wait…

…and “Citizen Kane” remains the most overrated film of all time; unless of course, YOU know differently.

Nominated by Ron Knee

Personally Ron I would give that award to the Godfather trilogy – tried to watch it (well, the first two at least) multiple times only to be bored shitless by its tediously slow pace on each occasion.

THE MARKLES; an everyday story of cunty folk.

The story so far; Meghan and the Half-blood Prince have fled smog-bound LA for a
mansion in Santa Barbara, from where the Mistress of Malice continues to plot her remorseless ascent to the Presidency. Now read on.

Meagain gazed rapturously across the immaculately cropped lawn of her new home to the California hills, shimmering in the haze of the afternoon heat. “Ain’t it just all too wunnerful” she gushed greedily, “wine cellar, library, swimmin’ pool, nine bedrooms, sixteen bathrooms… all for a mere fifteen million bucks. This is A+ list territory Harry; we done got Oprah Winfrey an’ Ellen DeGeneres livin’ right next to us in the hood!”.

The Prince of Sighs blinked rapidly and an expression of doubt flickered across his gormless features. “Er, it’s all very well and all that rot, pumpkin” he whimpered, “but a chap’s never had the need to take out a mortgage in a chap’s life before”.

“Now you listen”, hissed the Princess of Perfidy, her tongue flickering across her thin lips. “In this marriage, you leave the thinking to me, okay? ‘Finding Freedom’, the shocking, sensational story of how we were side-lined and betrayed by your family, is all set to fly off the shelves, an’ soon I’ll work out a movie deal for it. Might even play myself. The cash is gonna roll in. It’s all part of The Plan”.

“If you say so, sugar lump”, replied the Duke of Dim vaguely. “I say, hang on. Did you say that we’ve got that DeGenerate woman as a neighbour? Creature’s a damn tuppence licker!”.

“For Gaawd’s sakes Harry” rasped Meghan, “how many more times? Don’t talk like that! We’re playing the Duke and Duchess of Diversity, you idiot!”.

“Oh sorrers again, old thing”, muttered Halfwit remorsefully, “just that a chap’s got to draw a line, and what have you”. His attention wandered once again, but then his face brightened. “I say sweetness”, he burbled, “why don’t we throw a house-warming bash? We could invite the Obumas, and Bill and Hillary Clintstone, and that George Clueless chappie. We could do fancy dress. I’m sure I’ve got my old Nazi costume somewhere…”.

The Duchess of Deceit clamped her eyes together, shook her head, and drew in a deep breath. “Now listen to me”, she snarled, “very carefully. I’ve arranged for you to make another video to keep us high profile with the common people, and show how much we care. There’s a film crew out front, and I’ve written out what you’re gonna say on big white boards. C’mon, let’s go”.

“Right ho, my belovéd”, said the Pussy-whipped Prince, trotting along at the heels of his mistress with puppy-like devotion. “Erm, will you stay and hold my hand?”.

“No Harry”, explained the Mistress of Manipulation patiently, as though speaking to a child. “I’m off to fire the new nanny. Now try to sound concerned and caring”.

The Duke stood in front of the camera and began to murmer woodenly. “Hi, I’m the Duke of Sussex, but you can call me Harry. My wife has told me to tell you all how concerned we are about climate change and all that stuff. In fact, we’re soooooooo
concerned about damage to the environment that we’ve taken extreme measures to limit our carbon whatnot and do our bit to preserve the world’s scarce resources. We’re absolutely determined to lead by example; so much so that our modest little house in Santa Barbara only has sixteen bathrooms, and the pool isn’t even Olympic sized…”.

To be continued.

Nominated by Ron Knee