A cunting for miserable, misogynistic cunts like me.
I grew up in the 60s.
The music was great. We all had jobs or did useful courses at uni.
I didn’t know of any fucker who committed suicide or self harmed.
Trannies were female impersonators or weirdos.
We had a laugh at work, sexist cunts that we were.

We never envisaged or prepared for a world of selfies, race and identity politics, dissing on fucking social media (whatever that is), gay and trannie rights overriding common sense, liberals becoming the new Nazis, politicians who have never actually worked, a repressive religion becoming right-on and a myriad of other insults to our intelligence and values. We were never entitled.
I am a cunt adrift in a world of bullshit.

Nominated by Cunstable Cuntbubble

It’s about time anti-smoking Nazis were nominated for a cunting. Jeremy Vine that most left wing of BBC lefties, has been whingeing about “pushed off his table in the in the sun by smoker’s lack of consideration”. He then goes on to ask if smokers should be banned from pub gardens and restaurant tables outside in this weather. Naturally, his slavish followers decided that, yes, they should.

Personally, my answer would be no. Let’s take a moment to consider the reason that smokers now occupy the outside spaces of pubs and restaurants. FUCKING WHINGEING NON-SMOKERS. For years, these miserable bastards complained about not being able to enjoy their monthly pint of Pimms in their local pub/wine bar, because of smokers sparking up a ciggie, pipe or cigar. In comes Blair and promptly bans smoking inside. Result? Thousands of pubs have forced to close through lack of business, because the once a month cunts who complained about smokers, and only went to the pub once a month, stopped going. Pub regulars also stopped going, because they realised it was cheaper and easier to buy a few bevvies from the local off-licence of supermarket, invite your mates round and sit comfortably at home, drinking, talking, watching tv, playing darts and, more importantly, smoking, without having to endure listening to some smug, sanctimonious prick complaining about how evil smoking is.

I do this with my man cave. Every Friday night, my mates and I congregate in the “105” (a reference to the 105mm field gun, beloved of members of HM Royal Regiment of Artillery). We play darts, poker, pool now that I have a table and watch TV. I now have two beer engines, so we can partake of our Thatcher’s or Boddi’s in the manner of a proper pub. Great times are had by all. And at this time of year, a Barbie is laid on. Those who partake of cigarettes may do so without criticism, I myself am partial to the odd Cuban cigar.

Anyway. It is the likes of Vine, joyless, selfish, self-important cunts, who think they have a God given right to tell everyone how they should live their lives, who are responsible for pushing smokers into beer gardens. They no right to whinge, now that the sun has finally come out, that they can’t enjoy sitting outside because of smokers. Vine, you cunt, IT’S YOUR FAULT, NOT THEIRS. You wanted smokers out of pubs, you got it. The beer gardens and outside areas of restaurants belong to smokers now. So shut your fucking mouth and deal with it.

Of course, the simple solution to this, would have been to give brewers, freeholders and other hostelry owners the choice of whether or not they would allow smoking in their premises. It would have been fair and democratic. But no, the likes of Vine and his fellow nicotine Nazis wanted it all. They got it, and now we have far fewer pubs than we should have. It would also have shown up the leftie pricks for what they are, because the pubs, clubs and restaurants that continued to allow smoking would have proven far more popular.

Nominated by Quick Draw McGraw

The wife was out last night, leaving me to my own devices. When home alone, one of my favourite pastimes (after ‘xhamster’) is a leisurely sit in the khazi. In I went, coffee in one hand, my latest library book in the other, and settled down.
To my chagrin however, I realised two pages in that I’d already read the bastard. Looking around desperately for distraction, my eyes settled on a magazine left by the missus, one of those wimminz things you see at the side of the supermarket checkout, full of riveting reads such as ‘our ten best eyelash tips’, ‘I lost twelve stone in a month’, and ‘dealing with hot flushes’.
Needless to say, I ran through this pretty sharpish, and soon got to the back page, and the fucking horoscopes. Now I’ve always regarded astrology as a steaming pile of cack for the feeble minded, but… let’s face it, you can’t resist reading horoscopes anyway.
So I had a look at mine, and I must say that I found it to be incredibly precise and accurate in my case, as I’m sure did many millions of other Sagittarians;

‘an arrangement or association could come full circle with the full moon on the 17th, when nostalgia swells, but practicality rules’.

Well I was proper shaken up by the revelations contained therein I can tell you. Intrigued, I took a look at the wife’s horoscope, only to be even more amazed;

‘you’re concerned that you might be doing something you’d advise others not to do. You’re counting chickens before they hatch. Yet you’re being pragmatic; you’re anticipating metaphorical hens and providing them with a safe space’. Erm, right…

Of course, if you want a REALLY detailed reading, you need to phone in. Weekly readings last 5 min, monthly 8 min, year ahead 13 min, all for a mere 80p a minute. The old saying goes ‘a fool and his money are soon parted’, and the gullible must rush to confirm this as the racket keeps going. The truth lay in the smallest of small print, which read (get your magnifying glass out) ‘readings are for entertainment purposes only’. Oh dear. Could this possibly mean my horoscope wasn’t worth the fucking paper it was printed on? What a swizz.

Nominated by Ron Knee

The Guardian is a cunt of a lefty liberal rag which never sleeps in its mission to rewrite the past, spin the present and dictate the future.

So as the rest of the world takes renewed inspiration from the anniversary of the first moon-landing, The Guardian has decided to lead with a story about a handful of black adults and children who arrived at the Cape Kennedy launch in 1969 to protest about poverty.

The latest nobody to be promoted by The Guardian as an overlooked hero is civil rights leader, Ralph Abernathy, who led a small group with actual mules and carts to the fence surrounding the Apollo 11 launch-pad to protest. Nobody took any notice at the time.

With their usual quest to rewrite history the cunts have dug up this non-story and are peddling the protesters as ‘pioneers’ and ‘reformers’ over the awe-inspiring achievements of NASA and its astronauts.

The comment ‘Whitey’s on the moon’ shows their own baseline of racial prejudice and an unwillingness to acknowledge it is necessary to do well in a technological world because that would be a nod to a world of white achievement. Yes, it was mostly white people who did it. White people landed other white people on the moon. Live with it.

Is The Guardian encouraging others to follow their lead? Nah! That would take ambition and then proper effort, like going to school, university, work, i.e. actually doing shit to achieve something.

So nothing much has changed 50 years on except white liberals are now confusing themselves and our young people by actively rejecting success and embracing a culture of failure, like low-achievement-having-motherfuckers, promoting nobodies and dumbing-down aspirations with visions of carts over spacecraft. Not only is that bad for white people but it also undermines certain ethic minorities’ ability to engage and contribute.

It’s clear those misguided but vile Guardian cunts would rather we all were bumbling along in those same carts down muddy tracks, dying of diphtheria and TB, whilst spending any money we do have on the bottomless pit of state handouts and foreign aid. Certainly not forging forward with new technologies which improve the overall lot of humanity.

Those liberal cunts are without any real aspiration or vision, just a destined-to-fail mania for a never-achievable equality, a race to the bottom to uninvent the wheel and a wish to plunge us into a new dark age just when the world needs advanced technology more than ever to solve its problems.

Fuck off, The Guardian. When you have your way and the electricity stops so will your presses.

Nominated by Zippy

Drag Queen ‘culture’ needs to be brought to fucking heel as a matter of urgency.

As with so many of these kinds of topics, it needs to be said that if a man chooses to dress up as woman, whether through comedy, business, fetish or sexual orientation, then that is up to them. It holds zero appeal for me, but whatever these individuals want to do in their spare time, their choice.

Except, it can never, ever just stop at this, can it? The legal freedom to express their degeneracy in seedy clubs or the privacy of their bedrooms just isn’t enough. No, these exhibitionist deviants need the entire world to see them in all their badly made-up glory – whether it be parades, television, even fucking 15-year old school proms, for cunt’s sake.

And upping the ante as only the depraved liberals can, the concept of ‘drag boys’ has become a real, and very fucking dangerous fad which as the name suggests, involves truly fucking despicable parents allowing their 6, 7 or 8-year old boys to cavort around as women, in totally inappropriate clothing, being cheered and clapped on in clubs. It seems to be something limited to the Americas at the moment, but just give it time and we’ll have it right here in Blighty. Just what kind of utter, utter fucking cunt would expose their children to this heinous world?

Try and wrap your heads around this mind-bender: needy, attention-seeking women – you know, the Instagram-type cunts who are all me, me, me – are wanting in on the massive publicity which is being afforded to the trans/drag ‘movement’. So these women make themselves up badly and dress up to become ‘female drag queens’. That’s women, pretending to be men who pretend to be women, just to be noticed. I shit you not:

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2017/jul/10/workin-it-how-female-drag-queens-are-causing-a-scene

But don’t get me started on the trend for that cunt Ru Paul’s abhorrent reality show, packed to the gills with fucking trannies. Championed by the internet’s finest along with shit like ghettospeak, I find this celebration of drag to be utterly unpalatable. There seems to be great joy from the onlookers in associating with the trashy, down-at-heel lowlife facade these drag cunts have utterly played out – at least when Paul O’Grady was doing this schtick in the 90s, it wasn’t a criminal offence to call him a fucking cunt and change the channel.

Promoting utter degeneracy and now attempting to normalise the sexualisation of children. Who could me more deserving of a solid cunting than these in-your-face, obnoxious drag queens?

Nominated by The Empire Cunts Back