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

A Nagasaki sized cunting for the crony-packed gravy train that is the GAMBLING COMMISSION.
To give you the context. Today 24/6/19 on Teletext:
The NHS is to open its first clinic for young gambling addicts. The National Problem Gambling Clinic will aim to offer support to people aged 13 (yes THIRTEEN) to 25. It is part of an expansion of support for those with an addiction, announced in a long-term plan which will see 14 clinics open around England. “The Gambling Commission which regulates the industry said it was essential people had easy access to support and treatment”

Are they taking the fucking PISS? These are the cunts who are presiding over a culture of gambling, bingo, lotteries, poker, online casino, slots, you can’t get away from the stuff, TV, radio, posters, in the fucking papers, everywhere you look, enticements to gamble, rows of fucking betting shops infesting every sodding High Street, encouraging you to burn your money, even the POPPY APPEAL is running a fucking lottery.

A message to and for the cunts of the crony-packed gravy train Gambling Commission: How about stopping ALL TV and radio gambling adverts. How about closing down the online casinos that pauper gullible cunts. How about stopping the gambling before it starts rather than clearing up the unclearable shit AFTER the damage is done. And another question for you gravy train Gambling CUNTS; how is any of this meaningless shite going to deal with the worst aspect of this plague, THE GAMBLING DEBTS owed by the gullible mongs? Because if you forgive those debts, then as sure as cunt follows fucking, unless the temptation is removed, the whole mess will start again.

Unless that’s the intention: Keep the gambling problems and the misery going and you useless parasitic utter cunts of the first magnitude, are in a job for life and FUCK the victims. USELESS, VESTIGIAL, PARASITIC CUNTS the lot of you.

Nominated by Sheikh Anvakh