I would like to nominate the banks. Having returned home from working away, I found a very nice letter telling me that the interest rate on my mortgage is going up in line with the BoE base rate increase. However there was no letter from the cunts informing me that the interest rate on my ISA was increasing likewise.

We bailed these cunts out and oh how short their memories are. As soon as they could they’ve gone to their old ways. Massive bonuses, interest hikes on loans etc. and bare minimum interest on savings for those who want to be sensible with some of their money.

Well fuck them, as soon as I can, my money will be out of there and under the mattress. If we all did that, they soon shit their pants and treat customers properly.

Utter cunts.

Nominated by McCunterson

I well remember when the Doctor first appeared way, way back in 1963. It was a weekend in November, when the world reeled to news of JFK’s assassination, and what a welcome distraction it was from that awfulness. Shortly afterwards the Daleks put in their first appearance, and Doctor Who was on its way towards becoming an institution, dare I say a ‘national treasure’. I was an avid fan for years, even though it eventually went down the pan and was axed by Al-beebra in 1989.
Anyway, it was a case of ‘welcome back’ in 2005, and for the first few series, with Eccleston then Tennant, it really was pretty good. Unfortunately, Russell T Davies then the insufferable Steven Moffat got a grip, and started to use what was basically early evening family viewing to promote an insidious ‘right on’ identity politics agenda. The show’s been going downhill ever since, to the point where I’ve barely watched at all for the last three series.
Now fans will be aware that the Doc’s been a white bloke in every previous incarnation of his thousand year life, but according to Moffat, that’s not ‘progressive’ or ‘inclusive’ enough. The poor old Doc’s had his nuts cut off, and come October, we’ll have Ms Doctor Who, another nail in the coffin.
Okay, it’s just a show. Does it really matter? I think it does. I’ve got absolutely nothing against heroines. I love Wonder Woman and Princess Leia, but they’re, er, women. Of course in the world of Doctor Who, literally anything can happen, it’s fiction. But even a fictional universe must have an internal consistency to avoid absurdity, and a sex change Doctor is just one step too far even for this pc blighted travesty. There’s no going back now, I fear, and the next reincarnation will probably be a black lesbian.
While we’re at it, let’s put in another call for a black James Bond, or make it Jane Bond. What about a female Indiana Jones? I mean, all these icons are just white males, so it doesn’t matter, really. Let’s have a remake of ‘Shaft’ then, Matt Damon would be great in the role. What’s that, did somebody just yell ‘cultural appropriation’?
You mess with icons at your peril, and I hate the cunts who even think about messing with mine in the name of ‘diversity’.

Nominated by Ron Knee

The BBC are now going to make Doctor Who even more ‘diverse’… A reliable source has said that the new right on female Doctor (Jumpable Jodie) will take her two young gifted and black companions back in time to events that are ‘significant’ to their ethnic background’… One such story apparently involving the Doc and her brown buddies meeting Rosa Parks in 1950s Alabama… That’s real swashbuckling sci-fi boys own adventure, eh? The young’ uns are going to love that, aren’t they? That’ll give the Daleks and Sontarans a run for their money… So, it is now officially an ‘educational’ politically correct programme to tell us all how great black people are? Will Missy return as Mammy?! This is pure propaganda that would put Goebells to shame and the BBC are disgusting cunts…

Nominated by Norman

Jodi Whittaker as the new Doctor Who?

Good job Daleks don’t have cocks or she’d be royally fucked…

Nominated by Dioclese

Anyhow, this is more like it :

Lady Cuntly is at it again.

Fuck me she is getting a high opinion of herself isn’t she?. Full of piss and wind, with a face uglier than Keir Starmer’s ringpiece.

If the attention seeking old cunt really believes in the EU so bad, why doesn’t she do a Lady Godiva and ride through the streets stark bollock naked on a horse. I am sure if Blair offered enough cash she would be happy to show tits, fanny and arse so we can all have a good laugh. I am sure she is beach body ready

Nominated by W. C. Boggs

Fuck me. Gina Miller has more front than the National Gallery!

“I have no political ambitions and no wish to lead the Loberal Democrats” which is why I am addressing the Lib Dem conference and they have changed their rules so the leader doesn’t have to be an MP.

“I am only interested in repairing the cracks in democracy” which is why I reject the result of the largest plebiscite in UK history because they don’t agree with me.

Of course she wants to lead the Lib Dems. That’s why she’s denying it. Ironically the second part of the party’s name seems to be the bit she simply can’t understand.

What a fucking two faced idiot…

Nominated by Dioclese

The recent cunting of ‘Americanisms’ seems to have struck a chord, so in similar vein, I reckon that clichés in American cop shows deserve a bumming.

Previously on ‘NY Blue Homicide Squad’…

Detective McLain (or McLone, or McLeod) is having a tough time. His wife’s left him and he only sees his kids every other Saturday. He’s been hitting the bottle pretty hard lately. To make matters worse, he’s old school, and doesn’t mind bending the rules to make a collar, but he’s just been partnered with Det. McGarrett, a sexy, supersmart 17-year-old blonde with a Ph.D in Criminology. She’s ambitious, but strictly ‘by the book’. Sparks are gonna fly for the first few episodes, after which they’ll go through the fire or take a bullet for each other.
McLain’s under pressure. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and the heat is on. ‘There’s no leads’, says McLain to the Loo-tenant (a black guy or a hard looking bird in a sharp suit). ‘Then get me some’, says the Loo, ‘or ya off the case’. ‘Just gimme 48 hours’, says McLain. ‘Ya got 24’, says the Loo, ‘now get outta my office’.

McLain’s desperate. We know this because in the ‘washroom’, he splashes one handful of water on his face, then grimaces at the haggard features reflected back in the mirror.

Enter officer McLatino. You’ve never heard of him before, but McLain knows him well. They were at the academy together, and rookies on the street. McLatino promptly gets axed by our killer, leaving McLain to console the grieving family. After a brief ‘do you remember that time when…’, McLain leaves, pledging to get the son of a bitch, because now it’s personal.

Suddenly there’s a break. Using her incredible computer skills, McGarrett has cross-matched a part print from a crime scene. ‘Bring the perp in’, says the Loo. ‘Lets end this now’.

Cut to an interview room, where a sneering eye-roller, who’s ‘lawyered up’ with a stone faced bird, confronts our heroes. After 30 seconds of sparring (have to keep things moving along to accommodate the adverts) the perp says ‘they got nothin’ on me, let’s get outta here’, at which point the mouthpiece slams a folder shut with a snarling ‘we’re done here’. ‘It’s over’, says the Loo. ‘The Chief’s bringing in the Feds’.

‘We can still do this’, says McLain to McGarrett, as they begin the process of bonding. ‘Look how the previous 47 axe murders all took place within a half block radius of this mechanic’s shop on 23rd. Records show our suspect did a mechanic’s course while on rehab. It’s a long shot, but I got a hunch about this; let’s stake the place out’.

Several hours later, and it’s dark. Our duo is sitting in a car parked in front of a shabby building, reminiscing about how each other’s dad was a cop, and how they always wanted to be a cop, secure in the knowledge that they can’t be spotted from just across the road.

Suddenly a hooded figure enters the garage, carrying a violin case shaped like an axe. There’s a muffled scream. ‘Call for backup!’ yells McGarrett. ‘No time,’ says McLain, ‘ He’s got somebody in there. We gotta go in!’. With a shout of ‘armed police, freeze!’, they kick the door in, whereupon the suspect promptly legs it up the nearest fire escape and on to the roof. ‘Get round back’ yells McLain, and heads up onto the pitch black roof. He edges from shadow to shadow, before leaping out in an armed stance. Suddenly the killer’s in the open, swinging wildly. ‘Drop your weapon!’ yells McLain, but the killer keeps coming and then trips, pitching over the railing to land on the sidewalk with a satisfying *splat*. Cue sirens in the distance…

Back at the precinct office. ‘Ya done good’, says the Loo. ‘You two are gonna make a fine team. Let’s get a drink’. ‘Yeah, and you’re buying!’ says McLain. Cheesy grins and high fives all around, as the leads weave their way between the ethnically balanced, no dialogue extras on the way to the door. Fade to credits. Wash, rinse and repeat for the next 500 episodes.

Welcome to the world of American cop show clichés, cunters. You know you love it. Way to go.

Nominated by Ron Knee

I love Crunchies and Cadbury’s Flakes me, but I just won’t pony up the readies for them anymore, they’ve become such a rip-off. Anyone recall the time when a flake was worth eating? They used to resemble a baseball bat. Now they’re about three inches long, and look like an anorexic pencil. Two bites and it’s gone.
Remember the Toblerone debacle? The arseholes who make them tried to change the legendary ‘chunky’ shape by widening the gaps between the triangles. It ended up looking like a miniature bike rack. As if this wasn’t bad enough, the fucking chisellers then tried to rob the hapless consumer twice by going for a price increase to boot.

Ok, so it’s chocolate, a ‘luxury’ item I suppose, and nobody forces me to buy. But what about when the ‘principle’ (and I use the word ironically here) extends not just to ‘luxury’ foodstuffs but necessities? The portions continue to dwindle, prices continue to rise, while wages stagnate.

The bastard faceless, multinational corpocunts responsible think we’ve all got ‘Idiot’ tattooed across our foreheads, and they can really see us coming. Somebody somewhere is doing alright out of this, but it ain’t the longsuffering consumer, that’s for sure. Is it too much to hope that one day soon these fuckers will get theirs? Burn baby burn.

Nominated by Ron Knee