A timely cunning please for the “high street” (though most branches are closed) banks and their hideous and insipid TV adverts.

You know who I mean: Barclays, Lloyds, Nat West, Halifax, Nationwide, Co-op.

All their dim and dozy looking staff are sitting at home with their pets and imploring us to use their online services (as if we don’t already and haven’t done for years) but also assuring us that these smashing guys’n’dolls are ready to step in and help us out at any time. By doing what exactly?

What heroes they are these cupid stunts.

Meanwhile their bosses are busy NOT lending money to struggling small businesses which the government pledged to help just as they did for these toss-pot banks who would otherwise have gone bust in 2008. Cunts.

Nominated by Lord Helpuss

Selective millennial griefjackers are cunts.
OK, all griefjackers are cunts, but this particular breed are the creme de la crap.
It’s quite obvious now that any ‘tributes’ or ‘eulogies’ a deceased celebrity gets all depends on how much social media coverage can be gained from it and how much notice and ‘likes the ‘grieving’ cunts get. A perfect example is the relatively recent deaths of Caroline Flack and Scott Walker. Flack was a typical talent-free famous for being famous modern celebrity and reality TV show ‘star’. Walker was a genius and one of the greatest artists of his time. But apart from one or two mentions from real musicians, Scott barely got a word, either on shitty social media or the national media. But she goes from in trouble with the law tabloid fodder to Saint Caroline Of The Blessed Flack Of Arc is suddenly elevated to Lady Di (which was bad enough) status and a nation ‘grieves’. The current passing of the likes of Norman Hunter, Eddie Large, Honor Blackman and Tim Brooke Taylor have gone by without hardly a word. I mean, why are the social media mongs going to bother about the likes of them when they will get more ‘followers’ and ‘points’ by clapping the NHS? It has nothing to do with paying tributes or grief. It is all about what’s trendy and what these attention seeking cunts can get out of it. And although the likes of Bites Yer Legs , the gorgeous (as was) Avenger and the late Goodie are virtually ignored, just wait and see what happens when the next Z-Lister or Love Island cunt pops their clogs. Jesse ‘by name and by nature’ Lingard will be ‘paying tribute’ for a start. Lingard shamelessly and publicly wet himself over Flack (a person he had never met), but I bet he doesn’t even know who Norman Hunter was. Cunt.

Nominated by Norman

A phoenix-from-the-ashes, Rocky-level comeback cunting from me please for Julie Hesmondhalgh. This is the “actress” who, as well as looking like a 70-year-old bag lady even though she’s in her forties, played tranny gender-bender Hayley Crapper on Coronation Street for decades, earning herself awards galore and luvvie tongues inserted in every orifice for being “brave, pioneering” etc. etc., i.e. all the usual left-wing hand-wringing toss.

She’s now come out and said, in true lefty fashion, that of course she would refuse the role if offered it today as it’s offensive to tranny freaks. Funny that – much like the #MeToo set she knew perfectly well what the score was at the time, and was more than happy to reap the vast sums of cash and plaudits going – much like Rose and co, not so principled as to offer to pay it all back though now are we Julie?

What a prize virtue-signalling cunt. And lest we forget she’s also a card-carrying member of the we-love-Greta set as evidenced by this hilarious cringefest:

Compelling short film “Help”, made for #GlobalClimateStrike – plus interview with director and producer.

That’s some grade-A gayness right there. Cunt.

Nominated by Cuntan the Cuntarian

I’d like to nominate Sir Ed Davey for an arse licking of the arse lifters cunting.
Sir Ed Davey is typically a Lib Dem MP and has decided to fast for ramalamadingdong in sympathy with British Korandathals during this holier than thou month during lockdown.
As far as I’m aware, the cunts spend all day between sun rise and sunset abstaining from bacon and sausages, then, as soon as the sun disappears over the horizon, fill their beardy mouths full of sheep guts and the like , to the point of near Mr Creosote proportions.
This cunt Davey had the options of fasting for Lent, or the Hindu Navratri, but no, he typically navigates to virtue signalling by pandering to the peacefuls in the hope of votes down the line.
What an utter cunt this useful idiot is.

Nominated by Cuntington Smythe

A Schadenfreude-laden nom for the Lib dems.

Not content with humiliating themselves during the general election, or taking funds from manufacturers of hormone blockers to support the trans agenda, the virtue signalling geniuses have taken to social media to show solidarity with the muslims during Ramadan by fasting or, as they would put it, ‘OMG i’m like giving up western stodge for like, Islahhhm, or whatever. Islaaahhm is just… am-aaaazxing’

One of the more gifted councillors, Cambridgeshire’s Ian Manning, signalled his virtue by posting his last pre-Ramadan meal of… eggs and bacon.

I’d like to think they arent all this thick, but i personally know of several Lib dem councillors and supporters on the South coast who have the collective IQ of a tin of beans and barely a part-time job between them. They are utter cunts and thicker than pig shit.

I knew another activist when i was at university who was incapable of finding her way around campus, yet always had an inane grin and was full of idealistic liberal crap.

One of my lecturers (old labour who hated Blairites and had conservative mates) referred to her as one of the many ‘fuckwits’ on our course.

These people are just gigantic shits wearing human skin.

Nominated by Cuntamus Prime

A cunting for that comic ”struggling for relevance’, Stewart Lee.

In a rather febrile article/rant in his beloved Guardian on three of his betes noir, poor Stewart decides to project his own diminishing comedic currency on the world-famous cultural institution Jeremy Clarkson, ‘a car man in idiot’s trousers’ (me neither) who has apparently been knocked into irrelevance by fast-moving online ‘incels’ (a popular but revealing insult of the lonely left) in a metaphorical Swastika-emblazoned Bugatti Chiron on the highway to the far-right.

Bogeyman of chattering liberals Boris Johnson gets dragged in because he’s a populist, but also a toff who once used the term piccaninnies, and populism means the awful proles have something they can get behind.
Hold the pomander to your nose, Dalston trendies.
Mr Lee then revisits his seething hatred/resentment for the son of a labourer from Reading, a man who has raked in vastly more cash and fame than Lee doing the same job as him, and in half the time, Ricky Gervais.
Gervais is described in the form of a joke, alluding to him walking into a bar with a pile of dogshit (gasp!) on his shoulder (his comedy set), as he monetises the outrage of ‘furious moronic c**ts’.
The irony here is unintended..

To top off his petulance is his long-standing unfamiliarity with historical fact, The former entertainer Mr Lee decided that Aborigines had lived in Australia at least 3 times longer than the archaelogical record shows, but then he’s not too sharp on who lived where and when. He has form in making false comparisons of the immigration of ‘beaker people’, Romans, Saxons and Hugenots to the immigration policy of Blair, and forgets to give the actual figures, the recent influxes being orders of magnitude greater than the historical examples he gives to his tittering hipster thralls.

If only more than a few dozen people read his column, and more than seven attended his symposia… comedy performances, there’d be more enlightened souls to share his profound insights and utterances with, but then space is limited in his Shoreditch haunts, being laughed at by peope who almost certainly delighted in Boris Johnson being hospitalised.

From the hatred exhibited by Mr Lee, it’s not hard to see the appeal he might have for these types.

From’ East London bars I stab at thee, Mr Johnson. From a feminist poetry reading I spit at thee, Mr Gervais.

Gimp.

Nominated by Cuntamus Prime