Tracy bloody Emin’s manky bed was bad enough but when they awarded it to someone who made a light go off and on in an empty room they reached Lloyd Grossman levels of pretentiousness.
Bunch of arty cunts.
Nominated by: London Cunt
Now it turns out that this gruesome twosome have been knobbing each other, thus compounding their vile cuntitude a hundredfold.
In any other industry, the discovery of a clandestine shagfest between two senior executives would have been pounced on eagerly by these spiteful tabloid cunts, splashed all over the front pages day after day, sanctimoniously banging on about “the public’s right to know” and hounding the individuals concerned (and their families) until one or the other resigned.
But Fleet Street never turns its spotlight on itself and so those who work there need not conform to the exceptionally high standards of conduct that the hypocritical cunting newspapers expect of everyone else, thereby allowing Brooks and Coulson (and all their feral colleagues) to shag, lie, bully and allegedly break laws for many years with apparent impunity.
Originally I’d planned to conclude with the line “Hang The Cunts”, but that seemed a little too forgiving for Brookes and Coulson. And with Bonfire Night approaching, I’ve been inspired to suggest something even better. Let’s go to the Olympic Park and build a massive pyre out of every issue of The Sun and The News Of The World that this pair of cunts ever edited… Then lash Brooks and Coulson to the back doors of tabloid scumbag Paul McMullen’s famous “undercover van” and have The Stig drive it from the News International HQ at Wapping to the Olympic Park. The cunts might be a tad sore when they arrive so probably a good idea to give them a good rub down with salt and lighter fuel before the main event.
Hang signs around their necks proclaiming “I AM CUNT” in letters cut from Sun and NOTW headlines and hoist them to the top of the pyre. Then set the whole fucking monstrosity alight and enjoy the spectacle of a packed stadium cheering as these cunts burn. To be televised on primetime Saturday night television too, just after the Lottery. Now that’s what I call a proper fucking jackpot. CUNTS!
Nominated by: Fred West
Mind you, who wants a tree hugging, womanising old scrote like him in the top job anyway? And Queen Camilla – fuck that! Well, actually I wouldn’t but you know what I mean.
Tonight’s the night. We need a guy for the bonfire.
Nominated by : Dioclese
“Through the scheme I apply a cosmological infrastructure as a means to probe Modern design concepts. The reassigning of time and measurement by means of devising a site specific cartography through local and celestial alignments creates an opportunity to explore paths of design beyond contemporary views of constrained construction, production and measurable interaction. Growth and adaption fluidly supersede weathered inanimate architectural components whilst the experience of occupation shifts from implied and predicated discrete values to a soft, motive equilibrium within the system.”
Pretentious shite from a concrete cunt.
Nominated by: Sir Limply Stoke
Johnny Sausage with the thick pebble glasses. The cunt with the accessory nipple who was always taking his shirt off to show to the girl with the gammy eye. The kid who would always shout out the same word in class and think it was funny and then wank off and wipe is jiz on Johny Sausage’s blazer. The poor kid who would always put his hand up for a second helping of free school dinners.
Where are these cunts now?
Nominated by: Flaxen Saxon