Due to an almost astrological conjunction of fine Easter weather, a flat tyre on my bike¹, and the ongoing embarrassment² that is my ageing Volvo XC90 T6, this week I’ve mostly been walking to the shops. It takes 25 minutes via the most direct route.

Unfortunately, this route is a main road with regularly-spaced street lamps. While toiling back from Asda, in avoidance of a chavvy cunt weaving along the pavement on one of those peculiar little bikes, I nearly poked my eye out on a stout cable-tie protruding from a lamp post.

I at once became aware of a hitherto-unnoticed plague of “street furniture” embellishments of all manner. Carefully-crafted lamentations about lost pets, c/w A4-sized laminated colour inkjet print of the cat/dog prior to its absconding; handwritten and hopelessly homespun divers adverts for old bangers, crèche services, and even weed³; unfunny Red Nose comic-ephemera; even outsized plastic poppies, presumably from last Armistice Day.

This smörgåsbord of shite is affixed by a network of cable ties, usually leaving a long tail, often at eye level. On my next walk to Asda, I decided to go equipped with my trusty pair of Tronex™ tungsten carbide piano wire snips and a carrier bag. This excision of excrement elicited some quizzical glances from other pedestrians, who (like me) had stopped noticing such flyposting.

I was minded to engage in ingeniously cruel (but time-consuming) wind-ups of these cat-mourners, peddlers, and other sad cunts who disseminate in this way, but quickly regained my sanity and got on with some organ practice and gainful employ.

¹Puncture repair kit acquired and applied

²A bit of a turd now, plus it does 16 mpg even when warmed up. A trip to Asda and back would cost more in 2* than the taxi fare. The ideal vehicle, however, for accidentally mowing down Greta Thunberg at a bus stop.

³This Vodafone™ number was regrettably – but unsurprisingly – out of service.

Nominated by caughtspedding

Platinum cunt, David Lammy MP, and Independent journalist, Habiba Katsha, deserve a joint cunting for deriding good, hardworking British people who donate to aid charities in Africa.

Lammy says, ‘The world doesn’t need any more white saviours.’
Really, Lammy? Well thank the fucking heavens, I thought the UK would have to keep paying billions in foreign aid forever to corrupt and useless African regimes. Please let me know as soon as our rebate comes in. Cunt.

Katsha’s article in the Independent supports Lammy’s views in which she says she’s ‘an African from the Democratic Republic of Congo,’ even though she admits she’s never been there (what the fuck is that about?). Like Lammy she also adopts a sarcastic tone about the help Africa receives

Let me put both the cunts straight:
1) White people who give to aid charities do it out of genuine sympathy for the victims.
2) That’s on top of hundreds of millions donated by their own government.
3) Donors give quickly knowing that urgent action is needed to save lives. They don’t head-scratch looking to score white v black points.
4) TV reports by white reporters or ‘celebrities’ which follow up on the work of aid-agencies aim to show the donors positive stories produced by their donations…so they will keep on giving. To save more lives. Black lives, mostly. Geddit, Lammy?

That’s it. Nothing to do with colonialism. Nothing to do with identity politics. It’s about humanity, something bigots like Lammy and Katsha clearly don’t understand. Maybe they might have some praise for those who want to help? Well, no, that’s far beyond them.

So for me at least, the next time I see an African clinging on for dear life in a flood or one of those fucking terrible walking skeletons Africa is so good at producing, I’ll remember what they’ve said, I’ll get out my credit card and I’ll give…but I’ll give to my local hospice instead. Fuck Africa.

Maybe the cunts have helped me see the obvious; charity begins at home.

Nominated by Zippy