Bad Dreams

Bad dreams are real cunts, especially those where you wake up shaking in a sweat.
I had such a dream the other night, where a ghostly figure appeared at the foot of my bed. In my dream I could speak to it and so I politely asked “who the fuck are you?” “I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet to come” it replied.

Thinking that this all sounded a bit familiar, I asked the cunt if he’d ended up in the wrong play. “No, Blunt, you old cunt. I bring you a message. Come with me and I will take you forward to the Christmas of 2020.”
Before I could start regretting having my ninth glass of red that evening, I was whisked away up into the skies and found myself flying over the snow covered landscape of the British Isles. It was still night-time and the roads were deserted, apart from the occasional sighting of a police car or ambulance.

Finally, I arrived on the edge of a large city which I guessed from the large number of minarets towering into the skies must be London. Why had the ghost brought me, a simple Northern lad to the large metropolitan city which I had long ago forsaken as MY capital city? Suddenly, below me, out of the mist appeared a giant makeshift hospital. This must be that Nightingale hospital that people keep banging on abahhht! It was a feverish scene with staff rushing about outside and a fleet of ambulances constantly depositing patients at the doors.

It was now daylight as the ghost deposited me on a typical London street. I found it difficult to read any of the signs as most of them were in Arabic. He pointed out one house and told me that was the house that Tiny Tim Cratchit used to live in.
“What do you mean, used to,” I asked? The ghost told me he’d finally succûmbed to the virus. The streets were nearly empty because of self isolation and the very few people that were about were wearing protective face masks. Oh! Wait a minute, fuck, those are yash- masks! “It’s going to be a dreary Christmas this year”, the ghost said. “All the poultry farms have been closed down because of the spread of bird flu. You can’t buy a turkey for love nor money. Eggs are like gold. The only ones in existence are the ones that Moggie’s hoarded!

He finally took me to a graveyard and showed me one particular grave which had the appearance of a pauper’s grave. On it, it said . . . . .
“Here lies Bertie Blunt. Died London 28th December 2020.”
“Hold on a minute,” I said. “I didn’t ask for my funeral to be held in this God forsaken city!
What can I do to change all this?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid. The second spike has started.”
Fortunately, I did awake at this point. However, bad dreams are real cunts and
can leave you shit scared!
?

Nominated by Bertie Blunt Tory Cunt

A Viral Cunting for Doreen Lawrence please

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-52602467

I think a lot of people have been expecting this, but it still takes my breath away when you see it actually happen

Like that other cunt, Obama, the virus, and the response to it, is out to get the black people. I’m sure the next thing will be Stormzy (that well known scientist) saying that the virus was designed to kill blacks.

I don’t know what’s wrong with the world, tanking the economy in response to a bad flu outbreak. Smacks of the Khmer Rouge and Year Zero to me.

Nominated by Lord Cuntingford

Amazon,
Well Amizon is due so many nominations on so many levels.
I understand the concept of second sales and retail, but fuck do they do some strange shit.
As the cunt mobile is up on bricks (Like me) I thought fuck it, a simple service, plugs oils and filters seeing as we are both doing fuck all.
Now Amazon has a “My car” setting where you tell the fucker exactly what your car is, (engine type, model, manufacture) and all well and good an array of service kits should appear, take my pick buy now option and all done.
Does it fuck, it offered me a non existent unpriced service kit, and one for a ford fiesta, lots of bulbs, a few steering wheel covers and some other non related shit.
So why the fuck? I have bothered to give them exacting information as to type of vehicle and it offers me toss, I am fully aware that even engines accross brands can use similar components, but there is no way the filter kit for 1.1 fiesta is going to fit the 2.4l cunt mobile, arse.
Now knowing amazon, it is going to start sending me those shit e-mails.
Dear Cunt, you recently browsed coffins, we were wondering if you would be interested in these?
No fuck off I bought a coffin, what do I want another one for (Coffin was proberly not the best thought of example in these current times)
Why the fuck do they do this? apart from that it is ok.

Nominated by lord benny

A beef-curtain cunting for that detestable lezzer, Miriam Margolyes, who recently blurted out on ‘The Last Leg’ (whatever the fuck that is) that she wished death upon Boris when he contracted Coronavirus – but then had the cheek to back-track her statement so doesn’t look like “the sort of person that wants people to die”. Not that this matters, particularly – liberals have a long and colourful history of wanting those to do not conform to their deranged way of thinking to perish, or to suffer in some unimaginable way.

This rug-munching, spherical rent-a-gob is renowned for her deranged, left-leaning stance and is no stranger to sticking her nose into other peoples’ political beliefs – like the time she had the audacity to ask countless Americans who they were going to vote for during the run-up to the last election, and if they said Trump, she would pounce and berate them instantly.

This comment has undoubtably won her an army of new fans, probably consisting of the usual suspects, Labour mouthpieces, fellow dykes, “empowered” wimmin, unwashed students and middle class wankstains.

If she isn’t in favour of our PM and his party, she can pack her shit and fuck off to Australia (as she holds duel citizenship), so she can be right where she wants to be – deep in the bush.

Nominated by Lord Cuntony

Miriam Margoyles is a cunt isn’t it?, this hook nosed harpy has said that she wished that Boris had died of Coronavirus, I’m not a particular a fan of the duplicitous cretin that is Boris but I wouldn’t wish death upon him either, it seems to me this rug munching creature is so blinded by her hatred of anyone who is not okay or supportive of her views and deviences, deserves an excruciating death, also she’s made a career of being a ‘professional Joo’ such as on Stanley Baxters Christmas box, to name just one of many, also playing a fucking sheep on the film Babe, so all I can say to Miriam is “Baa fuck you”!!!

Nominated by Captain Quimson

Miriam Margolyes
A ‘learn when to keep your trap shut’ cunting for fat twat Remoaner and Labour luvvy Miriam Gargoyle.
Over the years Gargoyle has been at pains to establish herself as a character; an English eccentric and a bit of a raconteur. Viewers of the Graham o’ Norton chat show circuit will be familiar with her twinkly-eyed, ‘ooh aren’t I awful’ line of artful, knowing patter. Though obviously contrived, it was a mildly amusing routine once upon a time, but repetition quickly reduced it to being merely tiresome.
Of late the not-so-lovely Miriam has also established herself as an equally unamusing, tubby little hypocrite. She’s announced to (you’ve guessed it) ‘The Groaniad’ that she’s ‘not happy in England. There’s so much hatred, and that’s because of Brexit’. So much hatred? And this from the gobshite who recently said that she ‘wanted him to die’ while Boris Johnson was in intensive care fighting to stay alive. Irony is obviously not Gargoyle’s strong suit.
Well I can see a couple of options for you then, you charmless wally. Firstly, you could fuck off to Australia, where you hold citizenship, hopefully never to darken our doorstep again. Or you can stay on in your swanky London (of course) home, living your champagne socialist lifestyle, and setting yourself up as a target for the rest of us to rip the piss out of. Either way, you’re a first class cunt.

Nominated by Ron Knee

SIMON CALDER:

An Around-The-World-In-80-Days, No-spitting-on-the-upper-deck,leave-the-lavatory-as-you-would-wish-to-find-it-lift-the-seat and don’t-use-it-when-standing-at-the-station cunting please, for The “Independent” (sic) Newspaper’s Travel correpondent, and one of Wireless 4’s most favoured sons, teh prissy, purse-lipped-four eyedold woman. There is old Auntie Calder on the midday news, there he is again on You & Yours, yet again on Money Box and any time day or night when the talk turns, however vaguely, to travel (and who is travelling at the moment, apart from rubber boat fetishists?), on news programmes – you name it, there is the fey Mr C. holding forth.

Surely it is time that Calder, or the BBC itself, started training up an apprentice for when dear old Simon trades in his travel pass for his golden slippers.

Why does the BBC think only Calder is qualified to comment on travel matters and more importantly, why is Calder so vainglorious or greedy enough, to think he can take all the gigs?.

Nominated by W. C. Boggs