Sod those who disparage Country and Western music. “Music for losers, by losers, about losers”, these tossers call it. They associate it with redneck hicks who get pissed on hooch, beat up their wives then fall into an abyss of maudlin self-pity. Of course all C&W fans are Trump supporters, racists, anti-gay, anti-women etc. according to these tone deaf fairies.

Bollocks to them. C&W is real music from the heart sung by real men – like Johnny Cash, Kenny Rogers, Don Williams, Alan Jackson and Waylon Jennings – and real women – like Dolly Parton (and what a woman), Tammy Wynette, Linda Ronstadt, Emmy Lou Harris and Rita Coolidge. No gays or trannies in there, although Willie Nelson´s pigtails had me wondering for a bit.

Songs about real life too like: “Lucille” where the hard working husband is abandoned by his ungrateful wife; “Stand By Your Man” which every bride should be legally obliged to learn before being hitched; “Remember When”, a teary look back on life and raising a family; and “I Recall a Gypsy Woman” about an innocent 17-year-old being seduced by a dark-eyed older temptress with “Silver spangles in her eyes/Ivory skin against the moonlight/And the taste of life’s sweet wine”.

Who can beat that?

Nominated by Mr Polly

I enjoy swimming; it’s good exercise and I find it relaxing. Conversely, I’m not fond of going for a swim at the local public baths.
There are a few things that piss me off about public swimming pools, most of them human. Yummy mummies for instance, ‘oohing’ and pulling silly faces as their progeny flop about in a blow-up ring about the size of a tractor tyre, looking as though they might piss in the water at any second. Yummy mummies fuss and hover like a mother hen, ready to strike out if you go within ten feet of their chick. Best avoided, but easier said than done in a busy pool.
Then there are the fuckwit lumps who hurl themselves into the water with all the flaying grace of a plane plunging tail first into the ocean, in spite of the ‘NO DIVING’ signs. Probably can’t read, the thick twats.
Don’t let me forget the orange-peel skinned old biddies strung out across the shallow end, yacking vacuously about last night’s ‘Corrie’ or the latest royal baby, while kidding themselves that they’re actually taking some exercise. And there’s Billy Big Bollocks, the twat using the changing room hair dryer to dry his cobs.
But the thing I hate most about indoor pools isn’t the cunts in them, or the horrible clammy atmosphere, or the uncomfortably chilly water and showers, or the shit coffee in the café. No, the thing I despise most is the unwanted gift which sometimes comes free with a visit, namely a fucking verruca. I’ve been fighting one of these little shithouses on my left foot for months to no avail, and I’m really becoming irritated with the sensation of walking about with a pound coin soldered to my foot.
Initially I phoned our GP surgery to ask for an appointment at the wart clinic, where they used to blast the bastards with a freezing spray. Sadly the clinic is defunct; a ‘staffing issue’ apparently. At our pharmacy, I was sold something called ‘Bazuka’ (extra strength no less), as in ‘Bazuka That Verruca!’. This, according to the box, is ‘guaranteed’ to sort the fucker.
Trouble is, it hasn’t. I’ve smeared on the gel and filed, and smeared on more gel, and after months of this, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m up against THE WORLD’S HARDEST VERRUCA. This is one tough bastard; harder than a bag of spanners. In fact it’s so hard that I’ve come to have a grudging respect for it, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want rid of it pronto.
If anyone out there in IsACland knows how to shift the cunt, short of taking out a contract on it or having my foot amputated, I’d be delighted to hear from you. It’s time to take off that verruca sock and start to fight dirty.

Nominated by Ron Knee

Mark Carney is a raging cunt.

We all know why he’s been cunted several times before. This time he’s reviving project fear by saying a No-deal Brexit would bring an “instantaneous shock” to the economy. Blah, blah, blah, fucking blah.

His stats are even better: There’s a 1 in 3 chance the UK economy will shrink after Brexit apparently. 33% chance that Mark, that means there’s a 77% chance the economy won’t shrink; I like those odds.

Fucking bell end.

Nominated by elboobio

I’d like to nominate anti-west history bashing for a cunting.

What brings me to this conclusion is the latest Top Gear incarnation (with Freddie Flintoff and Paddy McGuinness in it).

In episode one they each have their first car and are tasked to drive around Ethiopia to – now don’t puke – find the birthplace of humanity.

Gushing about the scenery aside (which does look beautiful, especially the Gondar mountains), set 5 paces outside of Addis Ababa and it’s the fucking stone age!

Birthplace of humanity it could well be but it’s not done much since then has it!?!

O’course us nasty fuckers in the West, with all those technological advances, have done nothing for civilisation have we.

No, we’re just oppressive cunts who were just lucky for a couple of thousands of years that benefited no one else across the entire planet.

At least that’s what knowledgeable folk such as Professor Kehinde Andrews (Professor of Black Studies in Birminghamdrabad University) extols to his progressive audience (isn’t that right Tarquin and Jemima).

I would say that on balance the West has done far more good for the peoples of this world than bad.

The progressive left would like to have this wrong-think eradicated (just like we eradicated small pox, TB and typhus – until we reimported the cunt through uncontrolled 3rd world mass migration), and when their replacement plan is complete, they can sit back and pat themselves on the back for a job well done can’t they.

Will this mean a speedier visit to Mars or cure for cancer?

Or will this mean that we all have to drink from M’Tembe’s bison piss ridden puddle?

Except now it’s in Londonistab. He’s got the machete, and he ain’t sharing!

Nominated by Rebel without a Cunt!