Wireless Four ran an item on the type of city-dwelling, middle class cunt who, during lock down, discovered that legs are for walking, found that air doesn’t need to taste of diesel and (although they won’t admit it) there are fewer aspirant architects. So, the item went, these cunts are now searching for properties in the countryside where they will combine home working with long country walks and bike rides.

These cunts, mostly “professional” millennials, are deluded. If your company has informed you that you can work from home in perpetuity, it’s probably an indication that your P45 is imminent.

Unless you can genuinely work remotely (our Techno springs to mind), home working doesn’t work. The stilted, b-r-ok-en video conferencing of Zoom or Teams cannot replace face-to-face interaction and the intrusion of poorly disciplined pets/children isn’t funny – it’s unprofessional. Documents need printing and filing SECURELY. We need that office interaction that makes the world go round – the banter, the innovating, the bitching n gossiping and the laughter that makes a job worthwhile. So, I say again, your P45 is probably imminent.

If the P45 doesn’t arrive in time, you cunts will stop the church bells ringing, prevent the Morris Dancers blacking up, ban the local hunt/shoot, change the pub menu to vegan, push up house prices and ruin the Parish Council before finely fleeing back to the city muttering about “poor broadband” or “backward yokels”.

Heed my warning, middle class cunts. Better buy a VW camper van and experience the countryside in small doses. For rural dwellers like myself, we’ll be glad to see ye back, but please read the Countryside Code first. Or, better still, don’t fucking bother.

Nominated by: Sgt Maj Cunt 

That’s right summer the cunt…

My least favourite season due to all the cunts (of all shades) appearing and hanging abaaaaht making nuisances of themselves.

In parks, on the roads (caravan cunts), aaaaht side pubs, in their garden stinking the street out with their shitty BBQ…yeah they all appear and are in general annoying cunts, more so now with all the furlough cunts swelling the numbers.

Then you have the flies and other insects who like the above mentioned cunts decide to make an appearance and generally piss everyone off.

Used to have loads of nice birds abaaaaht the place in skimpy wears..but nowadays most women are fat, miserable looking cunts who should hide their flab.

Then when you’ve got work to on a hot day like today it’s a drain and a chore. Although I like a nice hot holiday when I have nothing to do but get pissed etc, I hate summer in the UK…it can go fuck itself.

Roll on winter…I hope it’s -3 most days and pissed down that’ll get the annoying cunts back indoors.

Go fuck yourselves.

Nominated by: Black and White Cunt

How the Fuck does this piece of shit not deserve a prison sentence ? He’s lucky he didn’t write something nasty on Facebook about a tranny or muzza…his feet wouldn’t have touched the fucking ground.

I’m aware the Police aren’t universally popular (still no excuse to physically attack them) but why would anyone want to attack a medic or firefighter? I’ll bet the same Cunts would be screaming for help if they had an overdose or their doss-house caught fire….personally I’d put any Cunt convicted of such a charge on a “Do Not Respond” list… if they rang 999 they should just be told to ” Fuck Off”.

https://www.chroniclelive.co.uk/news/north-east-news/seaton-delaval-thug-who-attacked-18744775

Nominated by: Dick Foxchaser-Fiddler 

THE MARKLES; an everyday story of cunty folk.

The story so far; Meghan and the Half-blood Prince have fled smog-bound LA for a
mansion in Santa Barbara, from where the Mistress of Malice continues to plot her remorseless ascent to the Presidency. Now read on.

Meagain gazed rapturously across the immaculately cropped lawn of her new home to the California hills, shimmering in the haze of the afternoon heat. “Ain’t it just all too wunnerful” she gushed greedily, “wine cellar, library, swimmin’ pool, nine bedrooms, sixteen bathrooms… all for a mere fifteen million bucks. This is A+ list territory Harry; we done got Oprah Winfrey an’ Ellen DeGeneres livin’ right next to us in the hood!”.

The Prince of Sighs blinked rapidly and an expression of doubt flickered across his gormless features. “Er, it’s all very well and all that rot, pumpkin” he whimpered, “but a chap’s never had the need to take out a mortgage in a chap’s life before”.

“Now you listen”, hissed the Princess of Perfidy, her tongue flickering across her thin lips. “In this marriage, you leave the thinking to me, okay? ‘Finding Freedom’, the shocking, sensational story of how we were side-lined and betrayed by your family, is all set to fly off the shelves, an’ soon I’ll work out a movie deal for it. Might even play myself. The cash is gonna roll in. It’s all part of The Plan”.

“If you say so, sugar lump”, replied the Duke of Dim vaguely. “I say, hang on. Did you say that we’ve got that DeGenerate woman as a neighbour? Creature’s a damn tuppence licker!”.

“For Gaawd’s sakes Harry” rasped Meghan, “how many more times? Don’t talk like that! We’re playing the Duke and Duchess of Diversity, you idiot!”.

“Oh sorrers again, old thing”, muttered Halfwit remorsefully, “just that a chap’s got to draw a line, and what have you”. His attention wandered once again, but then his face brightened. “I say sweetness”, he burbled, “why don’t we throw a house-warming bash? We could invite the Obumas, and Bill and Hillary Clintstone, and that George Clueless chappie. We could do fancy dress. I’m sure I’ve got my old Nazi costume somewhere…”.

The Duchess of Deceit clamped her eyes together, shook her head, and drew in a deep breath. “Now listen to me”, she snarled, “very carefully. I’ve arranged for you to make another video to keep us high profile with the common people, and show how much we care. There’s a film crew out front, and I’ve written out what you’re gonna say on big white boards. C’mon, let’s go”.

“Right ho, my belovéd”, said the Pussy-whipped Prince, trotting along at the heels of his mistress with puppy-like devotion. “Erm, will you stay and hold my hand?”.

“No Harry”, explained the Mistress of Manipulation patiently, as though speaking to a child. “I’m off to fire the new nanny. Now try to sound concerned and caring”.

The Duke stood in front of the camera and began to murmer woodenly. “Hi, I’m the Duke of Sussex, but you can call me Harry. My wife has told me to tell you all how concerned we are about climate change and all that stuff. In fact, we’re soooooooo
concerned about damage to the environment that we’ve taken extreme measures to limit our carbon whatnot and do our bit to preserve the world’s scarce resources. We’re absolutely determined to lead by example; so much so that our modest little house in Santa Barbara only has sixteen bathrooms, and the pool isn’t even Olympic sized…”.

To be continued.

Nominated by Ron Knee