I would like to nominate Harvester “Restaurants” for a cunting.

Not only are these places the monosodium glutimate of the cuisine world, and let’s not forget their tasteless and shameless usage of the Isley Brothers’ “Harvest for the World” song to promote their vomit inducing wares (a song about famine nonetheless), no, I would like to nominate Harvester because of their latest “Don’t risk it all for a sneaky Harvester” advert.

Bunch of snowflakes twisting about the bank of Mam & Dad daring to grab a shite 2-for-1 shambles with a couple of finest Chandonrays without being plagued and pillaged by their ungrateful offspring.

Now, as real as the ingrate sentiment may be, most kids – flakes or not – would rather chew their own arms off than a) visit a Harvester and b) go there with their parents.

Utter fucking shite on so many counts that even Audley Harrison hasn’t heard them all!

Nominated by Rebel without a Cunt!

Harvester restaurants are more than just a shite chain of ‘family pubs’. They serve as a stark, bleak reminder of just how catastophic your life choices have been up to this point if you end up eating at these hellholes on the regular.

Always to be found in remote corners of loosely middle-class faceless commuter hellholes like Northolt, Ruislip, Reading etc, everything about these places is fucking vile. In the same way that spaceship from Event Horizon inadvertently travelled to hell and was infested from stem to stern with evil, similarly are Harvesters steeped in the detritis of the scum class.

From the beer-varnished joists to the piss-soaked carpets, these outlets make Wetherspoons look like exclusive franchises. Admittedly inventive in how many different fucking ways they can serve chicken and sweetcorn, the infinite salad bars are a hideously ironic foil for the infinite salad dodging cunts who swill the piss-warm Worthington’s creamflow by the flagon.

The few times I’ve eaten there, all I can remember is feeling like I’m eating at some grey, concrete surrounded grief-hole much akin to an Alan Patridge travel-tavern. It would be a more joyous experience to put a table and fucking chair on the hard shoulder of a motorway near Saffron Walden and eat some waterlogged Buxted and chips as the long hauls whizz past.

And they have put out some real humdingers for shit adverts – check out this fucking abomination!

Take it from someone who has been to these dives – ‘liberate te ex inferis’.

Nominated by The Empire Cunts Back

i would like to cunt Rodrigo Alves. who he ? i hear you ask. well he is the human barbie ‘Ken ‘ . fuck my old boots what a fuckin specimen. what the fuck is that all about? i’d never heard of him until i saw a trailer for Celebrity Big Brother, obviously i don’t watch the shit. google him . what a sad sad individual.

Nominated by richard1

(Excuse the grammar and typing but we couldn’t be arsed to correct it – Admin)

An increasingly common phenomenon I have noticed recently. You are standing behind a bloke in a shop or a supermarket and the cunt pulls out his wallet. Except it’s not a wallet. He opens it up and it’s got little compartments with zips which contain all the different coins and notes.

So the cunt fumbles around unzipping and zipping trying to find the right change. Then he realises that he can’t make it so he whips out a note. Now we have to stand around while he puts the change in the right compartments and zips them all up again. ? For fucks sake! ? It’s like standing behind some fucking old woman!

Listen cunt! You keep your notes in one pocket and your coins in the other pocket…..how hard is that cunt?

Is this part of the increasing gayification of our society? It gets on my tits!………and don’t get me started on man bags !

Nominated by Freddie the Frog

There’s one memorable scene in the otherwise shitely forgettable sequel ‘The Fly 2”. A mutated dog, previously a pet pooch to the Son of Brundle and later a failed genetic experiment, crawls pitifully and genuinely upsettingly out of a hatch towards some food and howls in agony. The same feelings of revulsion and pity are evoked whenever I see the old lush trifecta of Pauline Quirke, Linda Robson and the minger that plays Doreen; year upon year, painfully dragging their grotesquely distended and well-used faffs around behind them, all for cheap laughs in a genuinely atrocious Shitcom.

‘Birds of a Feather’ has always just been there – like that wart or old scar. It has been endlessly pointless and utterly twee bollocks. In one of a handful of good decisions made by the Al-Beeb in my lifetime, they eventually axed/let it go; only for the three cunts to re-unite years later courtesy of certified shitheap celebrity resting place ITV.

Abysmal, and to this day I have no fucking clue what the premise is, other than charting the fortunes of three hideous single mothers going from shit to shite. It’s been on the TV for decades and I can only assume that one of the three matriarchal cunts has incriminating photos of both BBC and ITV chief commissioning editors.

What an absolute fucking shitshow of cunt.

Nominated by The Empire Cunts Back