Back in maaaah day (colliery band plays the theme from the old ‘Hovis’ ad), when men were men an’t lassies were pleased ’bout it, people had PROPER names, like Mary and Jane, Tom or Bill.
But as time went imperceptibly by, an air of affectation crept in. James was no longer ‘Jim’ but ‘Jamie’, Robert was no longer ‘Bob’ but ‘Robbie’. Then it seemed that every chav was naming their female progeny ‘Kylie-Anne’ or ‘Chardonnay’.
Fast forward to the present, and utter naffness is often the rule. I offer two recent examples from my own experience by way of illustration. I was eating out in Edinburgh, and at the next table were a couple of pushy ‘yahoo’ types ( a great show was made over the wine selection) and their precocious brood, who rejoiced in the names of ‘Cosmo’ and (wait for it) ‘Cascade’. On the second occasion, I was in a playpark with my granddaughter when a fat scratter bawled out to her snot-nosed brat ‘c’mere NOW, Cheyenne!’.
Naturally in such matters, you can always depend upon the world of celebrity when it comes to making a tit of yourself. Who would think to call their kid ‘Bay Atlas’? step forward Kirstie Allsopp. How about ‘Rocket Zot’ (Sam Worthington),
‘Kal-El’ (Nick Cage), ‘Pilot Inspektor’ (Jason Lee), and ‘Daisy Boo’, ‘Buddy Bear’ and ‘Petal Blossom Rainbow’ (Jamie Oliver)? Bless.
There’s a lot of this nuttiness about. In dear old Blighty, there are hapless sods condemned to go through life burdened with the names ‘Superman’, ‘Gandalf’, ‘Pochohontas’, ‘z13’ (??) and even ‘Chlomidiya’, would you believe.
Some countries have even taken to banning certain monikers. The US has banned ‘Fish’ and ‘Chips’ (for twins, natch) and ‘Sex Fruit’. New Zealand has forbidden ‘Lucifer’, ‘V8′, ’89’, and ‘Talulah Does The Hula From Hawaii’, while inexplicably allowing ‘Number 16 Bus Shelter’. Some cunts in Denmark even wanted to call their kid ‘Anus’. It takes all sorts.
Is this wankery catching? Go on you tossers, cunt your own sprog by giving it a ludicrous handle so everyone can take the piss, and show the whole world that you’re a cunt yourself while you’re at it.

Must say that ‘Muhammed’ is a pretty cool name though… Most popular boy’s name in Britain in 2017 I gather…

Nominated by Ron Knee

Wikipedia are censorious cunts. They have made the decision, in partnership with Goolag (surprise fucking surprise) to ban Breitbart from being used as a source, except in ‘factual and uncontroversial articles specifically about Breitbart.’

So basically, ‘we will control the narrative and define what classes as correct thought by banning what sources are allowed to be used aside from when we’re talking about them as an example of what wrongthink is.’ Hell, I don’t even use or particularly like Breitbart but I find such blatant censorship incredibly unsettling. Fuck you, Wikipedia, fuck you – I’m now switching to Everipedia as an alternative.

Nominated by OpinionatedCunt

In the interests of balance, since we cunted those who disliked the hot weather earlier in the year, I’d like to nominate the opposite cunts who do nothing but moan about the cold weather.

This year, we’ve staved off the cold longer than most previous, with only late October truly yielding the fruits of Autumn and Winter. And now finally, we can enjoy the picturesque colours on the changing foliage; the unmistakable, intoxicating smell of evening autumnal bonfires; the brisk mornings; getting in from the cold and into a warm living room to watch your favourite porn. Autumn is truly a glorious time of the year.

Except, of course, for the usual cunts who truly believe that anything lower than 16ºC constitutes Arctic research outpost tier. The fucking shitcunts. This year, Summer was largely unbroken ‘twixt late May and late September. 5 months of high temps and endless fucking sunshine. And that still isn’t enough. Still the cunts like Lucy ‘too cunting annoying to want to root’ Verasamy, and her meteorological cunt brethren, deliver news of Autumnal climates on the weather forecast as a dreadful, doom-laden tiding.

These fucking Summer-obsessed cunts, always hanging on for dear life in March, desperate to the point of fever pitch for the first rays of sun and taking them as the instruction to crack out the fucking flip flops and sombreros. Fuck off and and pack the deckchairs up your well-used arses.

In the same way some of us had to suffer the endless fucking sleepless nights of unforgiving humidity and blinding morning light at 4:30am, so too can you cunts suffer the endless dark of Winter. Just stop moaning about the fucking cold and get the fucking Campbell’s soup on the hob, bastards.

Fuck me, I love this time of year. If I could choose how I died, I’d probably opt for the blissful comfort of hypothermia.

Nominated by The Empire Cunts Back