Whining minorities are cunts and so is anyone that listens to them.

I got up early this morning, and so for the first time in months I thought I’d put on the news (the TV licence has been reinstated since I moved in with the lass, I’ve refused to pay for it though).

….Big fucking mistake.

Sly news: blacks moaning about da polis and how policing has changed since fentanyl George got what he deserved. Apparently there aren’t enough black police.

So I muttered some racism and turned to the BBC….

BBC news: some Asian (a brown one) moaning about hate crimes against Muslims, then moaning about people saying that covid is Chinese, as it could cause more hate crimes against Asians (the slanty eyed ones).

Well with all this moaning going on I think I’m well and truly guilty of the hate part…. not the crimes though. Yet.

I muttered some more racism, turned off the telly and went back to my book.

That’s the last time I watch the fucking news.

Nominated by: DeploytheSausage

Gender reveal parties

Gender Reveal Parties .. Meaning

Originally from the land of fake celebrations USA (obviously, see: baby showers, Black Friday and proms) they’re a party where you pop a balloon and it reveals the gender of the baby! Wow how pointless just ask the doctor it’s cheaper.

You have to admire the greetings card industry milking these poor sods and inventing more and more fake celebrations though. All fake American culture should fuck off back there.

Nominated by: LazyBiscuits

(Wouldn’t a “reveal” of boy or girl constitute hatred and discrimination towards the other 98 genders? – NA)

(It was a toss up between using this spider for the header pic, or Anneliese Dodds. But I felt the latter would be too much to bear for an early morning nom – DA)

I saw it this morning. A huge Arachnid squatting on my living room wall waiting to jump into my hair or fall into my mouth while I was having a doze.  I immediately ran away, too scared to tackle the ferocious beast.

The living room is now off limits to me until I can be certain my wife has hunted down and killed it. Yes, to my shame, when it comes to spiders my wife is the man of the house.

Not only do spiders invade our homes but they reduce grown men such as myself to jelly so that I have to wait for my wife to save me.

How embarrassing.

Spiders are cunts.

Nominated by: Marvellous Mechanical Cunting Machine 

40 years ago I could go to my local pub, decide whether I wanted to go into the “posh” lounge or the cheap & cheerful bar. There would be no loud blaring music, no pub-grub, no TVs and their satellite TV stations, no kids, no wimminz breastfeeding in front of all and sundry; a friendly staff behind the bar, good choice of traditional beers…. and generally a good, relatively inexpensive night!

These days it will really is a joke – the old traditional pubs are long gone, either closed down due to lack of business, or converted into trendy gastro pubs. You walk into a pub these days and its like been at an amusement arcade combined with a disco – blaring music, shite food, screaming fucking kids running around all over the fucking place; expensive watered-down beer, hipsters fondling their beard and wimminz drinking pints of lager!

There’s no more bar/lounge either; just one big room full of cunts shouting and screaming over the noise of the music from the jukebox, or from the TV commentary of a football game.

And going to the pub with your mates and buying a round often involves taking out a bank loan to pay for it all. (That’s assuming you can attract the attention of the feisty tuppance-licker behind the bar)

I sometimes feel trying to negotiate climbing Mount Everest a far more enjoyable experience than an evening spent in a boozer these days.

Nominated by: Technocunt

I had cause to ring a builder’s merchant today to order a couple of dumpy bags of sub-base.

The lad on the other end of the phone introduced himself as “Kevin”, asked me if I had an account and when I said “No”, he muttered something that I didn’t catch, said that he’d ring me back and put the phone down on me.

I did some more paperwork for an hour or so and gradually built up a head of steam as I waited for him to call back.

Eventually I rang them and got ” Kevin” again…told him that I’d rung earlier and he had said that he’d ring me back…he very curtly said “Sorry about that, what did you want?”…I then ordered all make and manner of goodies and listened as he typed in and gave me the price of my various purchases….

By the time I’d finished I could have built a row of Barratt-boxes with the goods that I apparently wanted. He then asked me for a delivery address….

”Stick the fucking lot up yer arse, ya ill-mannered Cunt” I cheerfully replied as I put the phone down on him…..

Fuck me, I hadn’t been sat more than a minute until the phone rang and it was “Kevin” calling me worse than a Cunt!…must have rung that last number thing.

We then spent 5 minutes exchanging witty banter until he told me that he was going to find out who I was and where I lived from his “pal” who could get an address from a land-line phone number…..told the cheeky Cunt not to bother his pal and gave him my name and directions to my (vast) front-door.

If I stop posting in the next couple of days, Cunters….assume that I’ve been Jimmy Hoffad by an irate bath-sealant warrior.

Nominated by: Dick Foxchaser-Fiddler