I know he’s been done but every time I get a whiff of that cunt from the Guardian Owen Jones I just have to shout “CUNT!” It’s like a tourettes.

What a fucking petulent, entitled, professional victim fucking, not yet shaving but shouting at the cunting world, basket of freshly picked journalistic gob-shite cunt he is.

I found a fingerless glove on the bus seat last Monday. It was navy blue with sparkly silver threads running through it and a ship’s anchor on the back. I thought, that looks like the kind of fucking thing Owen Jones would wear. And I shouted “cunt!”
8.30 on the bus into town. That’s the kind of cunt he is.

Nominated by Kirklees Cunter

Ageing rockers deserve an axeman of a cunting. And by ‘axeman’ I’m thinking less guitar and more ‘Axeman of New Orleans’.

The age at which rock bands should stop could be argued through the night – some might think 30, some may argue 40 – but to see cunts carrying on beyond middle-age until they always, without exception, become macabre parodies of their former glories, is just fucking shit all round. Shit for the legacy of these greedy fuckers, and shit for the fans who are either too stupid or too blinded by the nostalgia for what the band once were to realise they are being ripped off.

How many fucking re-hashed compilation albums can the skeletal scumcunts otherwise known as Mick ‘n’ Keef possibly release before the heroin holding their bones together finally perishes? Does Gene Simmons realise that he looks like some badly made-up drag queen painted and armored up in his 60s? Does anyone ever say “I think Endless Wire is easily the best Who album”? Who in the name of fuck wants to read about Noel Gallagher moving house to get his sub-human son into a posh school? And how the fuck has Ian Brown been able to sing the lyrics ‘The past was yours but the future’s mine’ post 1994?

And talking of the Stone Roses, I will remain forever fucking bitter that like a cunt, I was caught up in the wave of hysteria for their 2012 reunion. Managing to pay a fucking fortune for Sunday tickets at their Heaton Park shows, I have never been so utterly fucking disappointed by live music in my entire life. At the best of times, Ian Brown has always sounded like a man shouting into a KFC bucket but his turn on Fool’s Gold was so bad that I’ve barely been able to listen to the original since.

Until the day when Jimmy Page strangles Robbie Williams to death with his large intestine over their endless mansion refurbishments feud, ageing rockers can firmly seal themselves into the ISAC Cunt Hall of Fame.

Nominated by The Empire Cunts Back

Now, I’ve never liked dancing, going right back to when I was a youth. It’s not because I’m self-conscious or anything like that and quite likely it’s partly because I’m crap at it. I’d have a go at it but I found I could always rely on my natural good looks and athleticism to attract the ladies. Some men down the years have seen dancing as a way of walking off with a pretty lady and that’s fine. I’ve always found real men can’t dance, don’t need to dance and won’t dance even with a red hot poker up their arse. Anyone who’s ‘good’ at it I’ve usually found to be a rake or a gigolo.

However, there is absolutely no fuckin way I’d even go near one of these barns to join in the phenomenon they call line dancing. What the fuck do these people think they look like? A place for pulling women? Christ, anyone remotely looking like a man would only be on the dance floor for a minute before they’d have a 70 year old granny hanging round their neck proposing to them. It’s a place designed for ugly old hags where they can actually ask a man for a dance. It might be ok for Wayne Rooney but not any self respecting men.

Then turn to the way these people are dressed. The obligatory checked shirt, the cowboy hat and the belt – don’t forget the belt because this is essential to hang your hands on. I’ve come across some cowboys in my time but none to beat these ridiculous looking cunts. And before anyone says ‘it’s great fun’ – fuck off. It’s as much fun as a hog roast in the grounds of the local mosque. It’s amazing how many of these barns due to hold these events mysteriously burn down the night before. Line dancing is for cunts.

Nominated by Bluntspeakingcunt

A concise cunting for the London Borough of Islington (where else?) I needn’t elaborate on the statement below:

The mayor who wears a hijab

Cllr Rakhia Ismail, the UK’s first Somali-born female mayor and is thought to be the first mayor to wear a hijab.

Cllr Ismail was chosen as the new mayor for Islington, north London – a mostly ceremonial role – on 16 May.

Nominated by Cuntstable Cuntbubble

Islington, the home of Corbyn, Flabbott et alia.

Just to prove that the Labour Party can’t sink any lower, Islington, the home of the bearded messiah himself, voted against him.

Maybe the cunts ain’t such cunts after all, but I ain’t putting money on it. They voted for fucking Cable…

Nominated by Dioclese

Id like to nominate 80s-obsessed hipsters.
Most of these cunts werent alive in the eighties and although they claim to love 80s pop culture, they only experience it as re-packaged via modern fare such as Stranger Things, Family Guy, Ready Player One or those tiresome geek-pleasing references in films made by pasticheurs such as J.J. Abrams.

They can be found wearing T-Shirts with ‘geek’ in the typeface ofthe Atari logo or telling everyone how Ferris Bueller is the best teen movie ever made. They’ve never seen it but some mediocre Hollywood TV writer on Twitter said so.

As a child of the eighties, i can say quite objectively that 90% of eighties pop culture was utter crap. All of this stuff that has been fetished by gimp creatives of my generation who never grew up is embarrassing. Also, if they give you a blank stare at the mention of the Mysterious Cities of Gold, you can openly laugh at their pretensions and shit on their vintage Nintendo.

Fuck off and get your own childhood, you daft cunts.

Nominated by Cuntamus Prime