Wow, another category of uranium enriched cunts that we appear to have missed on the award winning ISAC. Architects.

Architects are cunts. Simple as that. Time was that they were happy to design buildings but that’s no longer enough. Architects are society’s new visionaries with opinions on everything. Rooms are no longer just rooms; they are now spaces. Lines are always clean and buildings must make a statement, whilst remaining minimalist.

‘Brutalist’ concrete monstrosities from the 60’s are now considered design classics that must be preserved, regardless of the fact they were shit even when they were built. Communities are ‘organic constructs’ and wood-burning stoves give them full-blooded erections.
They worship at the alter of a host of Dead Pool architectural Grand Masters like Zaha ‘Organic Forms’ Hadid; Arne ‘Danish Cunt’ Jacobsen; Mies van der Twat Rohe; Frank Lloyd Fucking Wright, and a complete cunt by the moniker of Le Corbusier.

Having recently spent time in McCuntface land in the company of several of these yah yah’s I have reached the following conclusions; architects line up as strong advocates of independence, in spite of the fact that their services would be first to go when the shit inevitably hits the fan. This is because they see themselves as anti-establishment, Progressive Radicals when, in actual fact, they are just cunts. The Edinburgh Architects Association’s annual award is a Silver Medal rather than Gold. Across the entire world, a Gold Medal is awarded to champions and winners, but not for Edinburgh Architects; those cunts choose Silver. How fucking Architecty is that?

Architects: fuck off and take your thick- framed specs, black shirts and Audi Quattro Allroaders with you. And whilst you’re at it, shove the fucking ski roof racks right up your miserable, scrawny arse cracks.

Wait till the next recession: you’ll all be back to designing cheap fucking kitchen extensions with flat roofs, lots of clean lines and squares await you.
Cunts.

Nominated by CuntyMcCuntface

I was out recently with a few friends, and happened to remark, somewhat despondently, that Dark Nights would soon be upon us. Winter draws on indeed.

“Ooooh” said Lynda (not her real name) “I love the dark nights. I like to get in, draw the curtains, have my tea, put the fire on and snuggle in to watch ‘Corrie’ “. Now I love the girl, but at times she’s a proper dopey cow.

Yes, just think of the joys that the onset of winter brings us. Everyone forced to dress up like Eskimos. A procession of grey, dank, dreary days. Driving rain, freezing fog, sleet, and winds that cut to the bone. Beasts from the East. Floods, snow on the line, frozen pipes, planes that can’t fly, cars that won’t start and treacherous black ice on roads and pavements. Coughs, colds, flu and bronchitis, and an NHS struggling to cope. And of course those dark, dark nights. It’s a veritable cornucophia of delights to look forward to.
“Settle in to watch ‘Corrie’ ” my arse. At this time of year I often wish that I was a hedgehog, so that I could roll into a ball and hibernate for six months.

Dark nights are a total cunt, and I reckon that anybody who thinks otherwise needs their fucking head tested.

Nominated by Ron Knee

A cunting for Sixt please. This is the car hire firm that encourages people to ‘drive smug ‘ ( I don’t fucking well believe it ! ! the fucking adverts just come on !! The bastards are watching me ).

All the actors are cunts portraying cunts, the worst one is the woman who is ‘ off to Margate ‘ with the soppy looking twat sat next to her. When you get there, keep your foot hard on the accelerator until you’re fully immersed, you annoying fucking harpy.

As for the voiceover cunt, he should be in the fucking boot.

That should sort the smug cunt out.

Nominated by Jack The Cunter

Self serving celebrities are cunts…

Whenever some piece of celebrity shite acts the cunt, gets criticism, or caught out they always engineer some sickening stunt to divert attention away from their immense cuntish behaviour….

That lobotomised cunt John Terry: Calls Anton Ferdinand a ‘Clack Bunt’ and is caught doing so… He then conveniently bumps into a ‘lost’ and ‘crying’ brown baby in a toy shop (with photographers at the ready)… Suddenly ‘JT’ is redeemed in the eyes of the tabloid scum and snowflake fannies…

Madogga: This noxious old slag shamelessly condones and incites terrorism, by saying the White House should be bombed… Next thing we know old Sladge is buying more Brown Babbies from some African shitheap… The media lick her crabby cunt and forget that she wanted to assassinate the US President…

Skanklett Johansscunt: Gets questioned about her ‘association’ with Woody Allen, Roman Polanski, and Uncle Harvey… So Skank-Jo gets a dyke haircut and milks the ‘Me Too’ and ‘Powerless Woman’ bollocks… She also deliberately slurs James Franco… The press go for Jimmy and forget the slag had her tongue in Polanski’s lughole at an awards ceremony….

Serena Williams: Acts like Mandrill with tourettes while abusing a match official… Also allegations of illegal coaching from the stands… Pulling the ‘Racist’ and ‘Sexist’ cards doesn’t quite work this time… So she decides to strip naked (For the love of God, NO!) and all for ‘charidee’… Of course the diversity loving snowflakes wet themselves and conveniently forget what a cunt she is…

One of these days one of these celebricunts will grow a pair and say, ‘Look, I admit it… I’ve been a cunt/slag/thug/knobhead and you’ve caught me!’ Fat chance though, eh? And I have no doubt that Beckham cunt already has a stunt lined up so people will forget his despicable and cuntish fine dodging antics… 99% of celebrities are self serving vermin and total cunts….

Nominated by Norman

I write from the grand auld toon of Edinburgh, a place richly steeped in culture, history and legend. It boasts superb vistas, charming streets and gardens, fascinating sights, and pubs brimming with character in which to enjoy a refreshment, all offered in a genial atmosphere of hospitality.

It’s also a great place to sample traditional Scottish dishes, such as stovies, Arbroath smokies (delicious!), cullen skink, charachan, and Scotland’s greatest contribution to the culinary arts, the, er, deep fried Mars Bar.

Now the very notion of a deep fried Mars Bar has always struck me as dubious, but when in Rome… Anyway, while out and about, I chanced upon a chip shop advertising this strange yet exotic delicacy, and curiosity drew me in to make a purchase. It turns out that they can be bought on their own or as a ‘supper’; that’s with chips, add salt, vinegar or sauce to taste. Cleanse the palate afterwards with a can of Irn Bru, ‘your other national drink’.
What’s it actually like then? Well, it resembles a crispy turd. It has the consistency of chewing gum left on the bedpost overnight, and each bite settles on the stomach like a golf ball. The matter of how it tastes is something I’d prefer not to go in to; let’s just term it ‘rich’ and leave it at that.

All in all, I’d say that the deep fried Mars Bar is an acquired taste. Given that most of mine ended up in the nearest bin, it’s a taste that I for one am unlikely to acquire any time soon.
Scots have long been admired for their powers of invention, but let’s face it, it takes a mad as a box of frogs type of genius to come up with the idea of taking a confection made of chocolate, toffee and nougat, dipping it in batter, and tossing it into a deep fat fryer.
‘Here’s tae us. Wha’s like us? Few, an’ they’re a’ deid’. Yes, a good few of them after consuming this wannabe shit sandwich, I’d imagine. Land of the high endeavour all right, just not where deep fried Mars Bars are concerned, you barmy cunts.

Nominated by Ron Knee