Badly Fitting Bras
I find myself in an unusual situation, inasmuch as I’m making a cunting on behalf of a third party; to wit, the wife.
It goes back to this morning. I’m lying in bed, drinking my coffee. The wife’s just got out of the shower, and is back in the bedroom, muttering and fidgeting as she gets dressed.

Me; ‘what’s wrong, dear?’
Her; ‘this bloody bra’s what’s wrong. In fact, it’s every bloody bra. These days I can’t find one which fits without nipping and pinching’
Me; ‘well you know my absolute stipulation in this regard. Your underwear must be silky and extremely scanty and revealing, my sweet. Beyond that, I’m not sure what practical advice I can offer you’
Her; (fiddling with strap) ‘you’re about as much use as a chocolate fireguard. It’s all right for you taking the micky, you don’t have to wear this stuff’
Me; ‘I will if it would make you happy, my sweet. Anyway, I know just what you’re going through, after wearing that Chippendales’ posing pouch you got me that Christmas’
Her; (pouts) ‘posing pouch? What are you on about? It’s all just a big joke to you, isn’t it?’
Me; ‘on the contrary, my petal, sniffing your skimpies is one of the few things that gives meaning to my otherwise bleakly nihilistic existence, so I take your underwear well-being extremely seriously. By the way, you look amazing in it. For a woman of your age’
Her; (sticks tongue out) ‘you cheeky sod. But I suppose I don’t look too bad at that’ (sways in front of mirror, hands on hips)
Me; ‘you’re every man’s fantasy, my little butterfly; my ultimate milf’
Her; (girlish giggle) ‘you’re a lost cause!’
Me; (ostentatious leer) ‘but you lap it up. Tell you what, dear. Go to Ann Summers. My treat. In fact I’ll come with you and, er, assist in the changing room’
Her; ‘my mother was right about you. I should’ve taken you to the vet and had you seen to. But it’s not funny. I’m fed up with these M and S bras. They’re a pain. For two pins, I’d go on to that “Is A Cunt” and give them a right bollocking’
Me; ‘you’d better go or you’ll be late. I’ll do it for you and it’ll get it off your chest, no pun intended. You can read it when you come back from the hairdressers’

So here it is, a cunting for all ill fitting bras (Marks and Sparks and otherwise) on behalf of the wife, and indeed, on behalf of women everywhere who are beset with the same problem. Ladies, know that your menfolk give you 100% support, even if your bra doesn’t.

Nominated by Ron Knee

An immigrant woman has complained of racism after her son was found dead in a Welsh river:-

The mother of a 13-year-old boy whose body was found in a river has complained about how South Wales Police handled his death.

‘A discrimination complaint against the force has been lodged by anti-racism charity The Monitoring Group on behalf of Christopher Kapessa’s mother, Alina Joseph.

Christopher’s body was found in a river in Fernhill, Mountain Ash, on 1 July.’

What did these racist Welsh bastards do? Well, they issued a statement saying that the death looked like an unfortunate accident. The cunts.
However, I see compensation setting in. The house, benefits , NHS etc provided to this family is obviously insufficient. GoFundMe has only raised a paltry few grand.

The Monitoring Group are a charity that sees racism everywhere, particularly Brexit related. It is of course invariably whitey’s fault as all others are incapable of racism.

Nominated by Cuntstable Cuntbubble

-‘Hi! Not sure I can make it tonight ?! So much work?. Have a good one??!”
-‘Thank you for your feedback!????’
-‘My dad died today?’

What the fuck, cunts?
For some insane reason, the world has become a vast nursery where, instead of using the alphabet, people apply retarded yellow faces to express anything from joy to lust ?. Defined as the ‘new digital form of communication’, apparently we should all now celebrate the 17th of july not as the glorious Battle of Castillon but as the world emoji day (https://worldemojiday.com/). Utterly braindead.
Maybe the usual ISaC reader will not have suffered too much from this growing plague, but for some interacting with ‘millenials’, every day has become a maze of cuntishness splattered with ?, ? and ??. A joke now necessarily needs to be accompanied by five laugh-cry faces and work emails look like a five-year old has been playing with an overpriced phone. How about mustering the energy to write decent sentences, tap into the centuries of literary refinement and let your sense of humour ooze from your dry prose?
Also, apparently John McWhorter, a linguist who teaches at Columbia University, said that some men shy away from emojis because, as he put it, “Women use them more.”

Well let’s keep it that way, because EMOJIS ARE CUNTS ???! !

Nominated by MademoiselleG

I was born in the early 60s – which makes me a Generation X cunt. So my childhood mostly revolved around the 1970s.

Now everyone of a similar age always wax lyrical about the 70s – usually saying it was the best decade ever etc. And will then endorse that with all the usual positives that affirm what a great decade it was (for the record, you could include, heavy metal, punk rock, long hair, flares, Suzi Quatro, Chopper Bikes, TisWas, Old Grey Whistle Test, and other bollocks!)

So when us 70s cunts become old cunts in the here and now, you can bet your bottom dollar we will always bang on about the good old days! “Oh yeah, when I was a lad …. blah blah bleedin’ blah. Kids of today don’t know… blah blah blah….”

But when you look closely those so-called good old days weren’t so fucking good after all, and here’s why:-

militant unions, 3 day week and power cuts
sideburns and perms
platform shoes
pubs shutting at 10:30
shops closing on a Wednesday afternoon, and not at all on a Sunday
Shit TVs with just 3 channels and no remote controls
shocking tastes in fashion and interior design
British Leyland and their godawful rustbuckets and deathmobiles
double digit inflation and interest rates
Glam rock
Vesta ready made meals, that were fucking awful
Unsuspecting perverts and kiddy fiddlers galore
Joining the EEC

In fact the 70s was a pretty shit decade all in all; and yet we look back on it with some fondness. And I would guess older cunts would say similar for the 50s and 60s, and younger cunts for the 80s and 90s

But in truth, the “Good Old Days” never existed – only the best bits, and they were few and far between at that – just like Suzi Quatro’s tits.

Nominated by Technocunt

Mr Crackhead the drugs mule is literally that; a twat caught trying to smuggle coke under an unbelievably ridiculous and dodgy syrup.
The wassock was nabbed as he got off a flight from Columbia (where else?) at the appropriately named El-Prat airport in Barcelona. Security claimed that he ‘looked nervous’ as he got off the flight. Personally I think the fact that he had what resembled a large, dead rat perched suspiciously high on his bonce might have had more to do with it.
Upon detention, it was found that a half kilo of cocaine was stashed under the wig. Now it goes without saying that drug runners are cunts, but it takes a spectacular grade of cunt to try and get away with a wheeze as utterly inept as this.
It is to be assumed that Mr Crackhead will now be detained at the pleasure of the Spanish authorities for some time. Personally I wouldn’t bother with any of that; I’d just make the cunt eat the shit, then see if he thought drug running was such a good idea. That would never do though. After all, there’s the cunt’s ‘human rights’ to consider…

Nominated by Ron Knee