Hugh Grant is a cunt, isn’t he?

Every once in a while this aloof cunt sticks his head out of his Kensington mansion to poke his nose into politics and wag a priggish finger at the Hoi Polloi. It’s all a pretence however, as in reality he’s advertising a new dreary film about an upper class berk mumbling and bumbling like it’s 1927.

Aside from making anachronistically clichéd films, there’s nothing Grant enjoys more than being all righteous about some superior crap. Well, that and being sucked off by cheap whores in Hollywood.

This time he’s been mouthing off about Brexit, despite it being over three years since the biggest electoral victory in British history. He’s been promoting tactical voting to prevent leaving the Fourth Reich. Standing next to Labour’s/Change UK’s/Liberal Undemocrats’ (delete as appropriate) Chukka umWobbler, he said, “I have never been involved in a general election campaign before. I don’t want to sound dramatic, but you could argue that it is my job, but I really do think we are facing a national emergency.”

No Grant, your job is to be a third-rate character actor, perpetually flogging a dead stereotype as you did in the sentimental vomit that was “Four Weddings and a Funeral”.

Grant, who was in the intensely-political Paddington 2 (cunted by yours truly), has mouthed off about Brexit before, bizarrely throwing his support behind the old spinster, Dominic Grieve (!?).

Perhaps Grant sees himself as a late-blooming political man of the people. He has, after all, made such deeply poignant films as “Love, Actually”, “Notting fucking Hill”, “Bridget Jones 1”, “Bridget Jones 2”, and “Red fucking Nose Day”.

Hugh Grant: Cunt, Actually.

Nominated by Captain Magnanimous

Unappealing French film actress Juliette Binoche is so much of a politically correct shithead that she wants to apologise to Brazilians who may have been descended from (wait for it) her great, great, great grandfather. Apparently, her ancestor had a relationship with a black slave in Brazil in 1820 from which children were born. M. Binoche then returned to France and took his family with him.

Now Binoche, in an interview with a Sao Paulo newspaper, jumps to the conclusion that dear old great, great, great grandfather raped the girl, although she has no evidence whatsoever to justify this. It never occurs to her that bringing the family back home shows that her ancestor may have had a stable relationship. Otherwise, he would just have dumped them.

So big hearted Binoche wants to find out if there are any Brazilian Binoches around so she can say she´s sorry for what great, great, great grandfather did nearly 200 years ago. Even if she finds these people, has it not occurred to her that her apology will not only be patronising but imply that these people should not even exist? Quelle chatte!

BTW, if you want to see how bad an actress she is check out the laughable film “Damage” with Jeremy Irons and a ludicrous sex scene in which they wrestle on the floor to the creaking of her skeleton-like body.

Nominated by Mr Polly

A five-alarm, socially conscious cunting please for The (fucking) Turner Prize

Ffffff… fffffff…. ffffff… and breathe… Facking hellski my piss boileth over. Just sat through Beeb4’s coverage of the (fucking) Turner Prize ‘awards’ and what an unalloyed, truly emetic display of virtue signalling jiggery-wokery it was. Normally, despite a passing interest in such things, I’d forgo the pleasure with an accompanying stream of invective hangs its ulcerous arse out the window and invites us to kiss it but this year, given the societal tumult that’s currently gestating, I thought “hmmmm I wonder… they’re gonna pull a stunt this year I’ll bet?” and put down the remote, cracked a tinny and braced m’self. I was not disappointed as The (fucking) Turner Prize (and god I bet old Turner is revolving axially in his grave that his name has been so appropriated) supplied big steaming sacks of cuntery by the hundredweight.

The Turner Prize has always been a vehicle for degeneracy in both the production and public perceptions of ‘art’ and what constitutes art. From its origins when Duchamp waltzing into a gallery with a piss trough to that shaved ape Ofili throwing elephant shit at a canvas it’s whole purpose has been to discount and reposition all prior art as reactionary, jingoistic remnants of dying empires. So what was offered up this year to delight the liberati and simultaneously baffle the rest of us?

Lawrence Abu Hamdan – is an artist and audio investigator, (I’m sorry?? He’s a what?) whose work explores ‘the politics of listening’ – Oh fer fuck’s fucking sake ‘ere we go. His installation entitled “Earwitness Inventory” should more accurately be called “Fuck me some cunt’s robbed the garage!”

http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/turner-contemporary/exhibition/turner-prize-2019/lawrence-abu-hamdan

Helen Cammock – “The Long Note” – Filmic, feminist niggerwhine…enjoy.

http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/turner-contemporary/exhibition/turner-prize-2019/helen-cammock

Oscar Murrilo – Collective Conscience (ffs!)- Oscar Murillo’s multifaceted practice incorporates live events, drawing, sculptural installation, video, painting, bookmaking and collaborative projects with different communities. In his work, Murillo particularly explores materials, process and labour; as well as issues of migration, community, exchange and trade in today’s globalised world. – Yes yes Oscar but that does not excuse the fact that your ACTUAL artistic skill tops out at that of a ten year old stuffing a guy fawkes for the bonfire. You fraud, you chancer, you unmitigated cunt.

http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/turner-contemporary/exhibition/turner-prize-2019/oscar-murillo

Tai Shani – DC Semiramis – Shani “uses the structure of an allegorical city of women to explore ‘feminine’ subjectivity and experience, through a gothic/science-fiction lens…” gotta stop you there luv mainly because I can’t be arsed to fisk the rest of this drivel suffice it to say this animate tableaux of sub Dalian linear and morphic forms prompts the following question – Tai, do you always neck a microdot before you take your kids to Wacky Warehouse?

http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/turner-contemporary/exhibition/turner-prize-2019/tai-shani

So who won then, Cunty? We’re dying to know who’ll be setting the nation’s artistic trajectory over the coming year.

I’ll tell you who won; like a special needs sports day (on reflection a pretty close analogy), they all did… yayyy! They decided that because they all sing from the same hyper-liberal hymn sheet they should form a collective and accept an award only on that basis. They chucked the sheboon front and centre to read their grandstanding, dribbling collective statement, the text of which I’m sure will form the editorial opinion and comment for every fucking newspaper for the next week if they don’t reprint the fucker in full on a giveaway centrefold poster. Expect this to be the Thunbergite groupuscle for the ‘art’ world. Expect a ramping of their commercial exposure. Expect them to last no more than 2 minutes on a gallows rope.

But here’s the kicker: the programme that followed this open mockery of all that we would legitimately recognise as “Art” was an hour long documentary on Rembrandt, the very antidote to this spasticated travesty.

Nominated by Cunty Chops

I nominate Russell ‘The Cunt’ Brand…One of, if not THE biggest cunt on the planet. Check out his YouTube vids, or if you don’t want to vomit, then don’t.

He tries to come across like some western guru with his scrag end beard and his answers to every fucking thing under the sun, but it gets fucked up ‘coz of his high pitched, whiny little girl voice and the fact that he talks utter shit. He gets famous other cunts like Deepak Chopra on his shitty YT blog and cracks on he understands everything Chopra throws up.

It’s like “Russ Russ.. who let the Guru out?”…FUCKIN’ CUNT!

Nominated by Glen

Last Christmas…

Being in the mood for something light and Christmassy I went to see this film the other week. Now before I’m told “serves you right” or “why are you seeing a bird’s film then eh?”, I don’t mind romantic comedies if they’re done well. And don’t feature Bill “versatile” Nighy. But this one was most definitely not done well.

It was co-written by Emma “do as I say, not as I do proles” Thompson, a woman who I used to consider irritating, but now consider an irritating cunt. The lead character is a Yugoslav immigrant who we are told likes Wham!/George Michael, although this is never elaborated upon, being simply an excuse to string various hits through the soundtrack.

Every featured character is foreign, coloured, gay, disabled etc. The only straight, white, able-bodied, English male is a racist on the bus (“speak English in MY COUNTRY”). No, not making this up.

Add to this an anti-Brexit message to make Jo Swinson froth at the gash – it’s equated to Serbian genocide (really, I’m not making this up,) an Asian/West Indian couple (two groups who famously intermingle), lovable tramps taking part in a talent show (again, not making this up) and Dame Emma herself playing the mother, all malapropisms and funny singing, delivering the Serbian equivalent of an Uncle Tom performance (Uncle Tomek?)

The plot is also identical to the play, “I and You”. Not just similar, fucking identical. The bloke she starts dating is actually dead, she received his heart as a transplant. Which I’m not sure is the correct interpretation of the title song lyrics. And it wasn’t an original idea when “I and You” used it either. Oh, spoilers.

The critics seem unanimous in their disdain as well, even the fucking Guardian, whose wet dream this pile of shit is. Utter cunt of a film.

Nominated by Guardian Hater