I would like to nominate cunt customers.

There’s about 101 shit TV programmes about bad builders, usually fronted by that cunt Nick fucking Knowles. What there is a massive lack of is fucking terrible customers tv progs.

I’ve been in construction for thirty years and learned a lot from the older blokes who passed more than knowledge of laying a brick, in regards to fucking bad payers. I’ve watched a few of these fucking dire productions, and the majority of the clients are transparent as fuck.

They had an idea (because some cunt at work had it done and it looks lovely) so they want it done. They couldn’t afford it in the first place, but still want someone to turn up, give them a reasonable quote, start on Monday and expect the contractor to pay for all the materials. Then when the contractor asks for the agreed interim payment, they act like they’ve been asked a question in fucking Russian. Why these people on this shit TV are left in the shit is because they didn’t pay the bill. And Nick Knowles should be hung for his part in this farce.

Sometimes customers can be utter fucking….CUNTS.

Nominated by Candygram for mongo

Patrick Harvie is complete cunt!

This cunting has been coming for a while now. He’s the co-leader of the Scottish Greens in Holyrood and trust me, the Scottish Parliament is full of shitting arses, but he’s almost the biggest cunt of all. Always banging on about conservation and saving the environment. Well maybe he should start by recycling the shite he speaks before he starts vomiting even more socialist crap.

I listened to the ginger goblin the other night saying, “There’s three years worth of young people that didn’t get a chance to vote in the EU referendum last time round, because they were too young”. Well fuck me, it doesn’t take a genius to work out whenever there’s a vote/referendum there’ll always be people that are too young to vote.

Yet another cunt that’s hell bent on frustrating the Brexit process.

Nominated by EVILSCOTSMAN

Turkey is a cunt.

Ten seconds after the US announced it was to withdraw troops from Northern Syria, they began a military incursion into Syria, in order to create a safe zone between the two countries. ‘Operation Exterminate the Kurds’ has already made significant progress, with land and air bombardment of Kurdish held territory. President Erdogan, religious megalomaniac and cunt extraordinaire, has rebuffed international condemnation of his actions, singling out Europe with a particular threat. In a deranged rant, he warned the EU not to refer to his actions as an invasion again, or he will unleash 3.5 million refugees onto the continent.

To be honest, I don’t give much of a fuck about the Kurds, they are universally hated by other Arabs, and appear to be like Middle Eastern pie keys. However, the prospect of that many migrants swamping Europe, and us by hook or by dinghy, is not something we can contemplate.

So, fuck Turkey, a once westernised land of promise, now looking backwards, on a course to emulate Iran as a once alright, now shite land of cunts. No more cheap package holidays with ropy grub and food poisoning guaranteed, no more cheap plastic surgery, or teeth, or hair transplants. Fuck them.

Nominated by Gutstick Japseye

I’m finally not working a Saturday and so why not capitalise on this welcome surplus of free time cunting, ‘People Who Stink of Weed On The Bus’?

As if smoking weed regularly isn’t already the habitual equivalent of destroying your ambition, drive, basic logical reasoning, working memory and ability to look someone clearly in the eye and have a half-way decent conversation without shiftily drooling out inane, rambling bullshit, it also stinks of a badger’s arse after it’s been busy renting it out all weekend at a local homeless shelter. It’s fucking disgusting.

So, when a local autistic DJ gets on my bus home on a Friday night in his canvas khakis, anxiously gripping a record bag, sporting the oily, pallid complexion of Gollum and the kind of open-mouthed expression that completely repels lucrative job offers, the last thing I want to smell is the unmistakable foul stench of condensed, freeze-dried, weapon-grade ganja polluting my fucking air space (and every other poor sod on the bus with me).

Luckily, gone are the days when snotty herbert young kids thought it ‘cool’ to play shite repetitive music from their phones at the back of the bus. I mean, it’s hard enough containing my rage on a tightly wound, panic chamber of a busy local bus at the best of times, without the added misery of the Bluetooth amplified din of syncopated hi-hats and mumbled ‘social commentary’ to go with it. In these moments, preventative and punitive sentencing for murdering children is the only bulwark between me and a hard stretch. And don’t they fucking know it?

But, I digress. The thing to replace that previous public nuisance is these dopey, fucking carbuncles. Advice for weed smokers who might be leaving the house and catching a bus to your mate’s basement for another life-stalling smoke-up sesh:

1) Change your clothes. The chronic-encrusted wax jacket you’ve been replacing your actual skin with for two years is now past its sell-by-date. Even snakes shed their skin. And they don’t smell like a giant’s arse has just exploded all over them. Heard of a launderette? Save a few quid on not buying that 8th of Acapulco Gold today, splash out on some basic grooming and wash your civvies, you grim cunt.

2) Get a fucking job and stop wasting all your ‘downtime’ dulling your God-given faculties with a ‘natural herb’ you BELIEVE is giving you a shamanic window onto another plane of thinking, when actually it’s making you painfully embarrassing to listen to, MORE
depressed, totally unemployable, inarticulate, locked into a self-perpetuating, vicious cycle of poverty, and WORST OF ALL, robbing anyone of any way to discern any actual signs of life within that petrified husk of a corporeal vessel you call ‘you’. You smell like gum disease, you fetid, fucking cunt.

3) Or, just don’t get on the 9:59 pm Loop bus from Broadstairs to Ramsgate Mon-Fri. Cheers mate.

Nominated by Jimmy-Block-Bottom

Dateline 5th October: Edinburgh

“Good morning. This is IsAC’s political correspondent Ron Knee speaking to you. I’m standing in front of the Scottish parliament, where a motley crew of demonstrators is preparing to set off on a march through the city. With me is Mr Angus McCoathupp, one of the organisers. Tell me, Mr McCoathupp; what exactly is going on here?”.
‘Aye. Wuz marchin’ cos th’ people aw Scortlund wunt hendependence. Th’ people aw Scortlund wunt ah referendum ken’.
“Erm, actually the name’s Ron. But tell me, wasn’t there a referendum on this matter quite recently? Didn’t ‘the people of Scotland’ as you call them, vote to stay in the Union? Wasn’t the referendum termed ‘a once in a lifetime event’ by the SNP?”.
‘See youse Jimmy, that wus then, this is noo, ken’.
“Ron. But Mr McCoathupp, all the polls suggest that the majority of Scots don’t want another referendum, and that if there was one, you’d lose again. Then what would happen?”.
‘Aye. Wull. Then we’d stamp wa little feet an’ shout an’ scweam and scweam, cos aw them Unionists is traitorous Tory scum, an’ they’re auld, an’ theck as mince, and didna ken wut they wus votin’ aboot… o’ flewer o’ Scortlund…’.
“Yes, well, thank you Mr McCoathupp (and might I suggest that you seek medical advice about that swivelling eye?). This is Ron Knee, for IsAC, returning you to the studio”.

Nominated by Ron Knee