Jesse Darling is the ‘artist’ who has won this years Turner Prize for her exhibition of crowd control barriers, barbed wire and tattered Union Jack flags that apparently reflect her view of the effects of austerity, Brexit, the pandemic, the “hostile environment” of immigration policy and modern British life in general.

“You have to love something to be able to critique it. I was born in this country and I’m looking at what’s going on here. I wanted to make a work that reflected that, and I wanted to make work about Britain and the British public” said Darling.
Judges gushed about her use of common objects like barriers, hazard tape, office files and net curtains “to convey a familiar yet delirious world. Invoking societal breakdown, his presentation unsettles perceived notions of labour, class, Britishness and power”.

Wow! That’s a lot to digest there. Here is me thinking it was a load of old shite that should have been thrown in a skip. I must be missing the nuances of the net curtains and the anti-pigeon spikes. Look, no-one is pretending the country is in a great state because it isn’t but this pile of crap and the waffling of arty farty bellends is both patronizing to people struggling and minimizes the very real problems we face. Maybe a piece on the attack of free speech, radical gender ideology in schools and the denigration of British history would be a more appropriate commentary?

She will now probably be considered the new enfant terrible of the British art world when really its just terrible art. My entry of a rainbow coloured dog shit with an EU flag planted in it was “thought-provoking” but ultimately lacked depth and didn’t speak to the judging panel. Maybe I should have stuck it on top of a traffic cone?

BBC News

*Jesse Darling is transgender and in the write-up I refer to her as a female because biological sex is real and it isn’t my job to validate her mental disorder.

Nominated by: Liberal Liquidator

All Turkish league football is suspended indefinitely. Just because some fat cunt went on the pitch to twat a referee. Even major disasters like Munich 1958 and Hillsborough didn’t stop the game, and that’s when people died.

But a ref gets a clout and everything grinds to a halt? What a load of shit. When Eric Cantona decked that piece of turd at Selhurst, the reaction to that was mass hysteria. But this? It’s totally off the scale. I thought Turks were men’s men. But they seem to be softarsed easily offended mards as much as everyone else.

And that Turkish referee…. What a shithouse.

Laid up in a hospital bed, with a neck brace on. One punch doesn’t cause that. Visits from the President and God knows how many newspaper exclusives and TV appearances.

The cunt is going to get a bonanza.. All that because of a black eye. What a cunt.

Sky Sports News

Nominated By: Norman

She’s a babe no mistake, C.A.

Here is one definitely for the ISAC Horn Section.

Does anyone remember Miss Jones from the old Leonard Rossiter ITV series Rising Damp?. Miss Jones was a frankly plain, middle aged woman, one of life´s failures, who thought that every man who looked at her was a potential rapist or suitor. She really shouldn´t have worried because poor Miss Jones was destined to remain a virgin all her years.

She came to mind when I read this really risible story abut the horse faced Brummie MP:

Before you get to the tits, you see the face, and anyone looking at her big misshapen choppers, even if they hadn´t heard the harsh ungrateful voice or smelt the halitosis, would, I should think/hope have been put off.

What is it with these ageing harridans that gives them the idea they are men magnets?. I bet even ¨Mr. Phillips¨ finds it hard to utter the Mellors words to Connie: ´open up, yeah open the gates, and let the King of glory come in¨. By the look of him, a bit of occasional bum sex is the best she can hope for. As soon as he finds the axle grease for lube.

I wonder if WE paid for her lard reduction on ´expenses´?.

This deluded old cow could become a government minster next year, along with the walking compost heap Anal Ease Dodds and Labour bike Angie Rayner. What a thought.

Daily Fail

Nominated by W. C. Boggs.

A festive ‘is this really the best you can do?’ cunting for the BBC’s Christmas telly schedule.

Here in brief is what you could tune into. Ancient films like ‘The Sound Of Music’. More of the same shows that they put on all year round, like ‘Strictly’ and ‘Call the Midwife’, but call ‘Christmas Specials’. Repeats of the same shows that they used to put on all year round in nineteen canteen, like ‘The Vicar of Dribble’ and ‘Dad’s Army’, and called ‘Christmas Specials’ back then (oh goody, ‘another chance to see’ something I might have missed the first fifty times around).

And stunningly, a murder in ‘Bellenders’. It’s aht uv aw-dur, but Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas wivaht all the usual seasonal misery in Walford. And the King, Gawd bless yer, yer ‘ighness, yer an hexarmple to us all.

And wait for it, wait for it… the Beeb’s jewel in its festive crown, a ‘Crimbo Special’ from that Titan amongst comedies ‘Mrs Brown’s Boys’. Laugh? I promise you, you’ll never start.

What exciting and original programme making. Stunning and brave stuff. What value for the licence payers. They’ll be glued to their screens over the holidays.

Hope all you woke Guardianista cunts at the Beeb reflect on a year that you’ll no doubt consider well spent. Then just fuck off, because we don’t think that it was.

Lad Bible

Nominated by: Ron Knee

About this time last year, I was on here sticking the boot into those ubiquitous Christmas hits that you just can’t escape from, the ones that seem to be playing in every shop, supermarket, restaurant and pub.

You know the cunts I’m talking about; those utterly done-to-death tunes from the likes of the Pogues, Carey, McCartney, Louie and Slade. Having to suffer through them one more time will likely make your ears bleed.

But let’s not forget that other category of atrocities that gets poured into our long-suffering ears at this time of year. I refer of course to those ‘classic’ songs, those knackered old warhorses that get habitually dragged out of the shed come December. Those syrupy festive efforts which have turned up on every crooner’s seasonal album since recording began, from Crosby and Como, to Martin and Williams, by way of Fitzgerald and Cole.

I’m sure that just like me, you simply can’t wait to hear ‘White Christmas’ again. Let’s all be enchanted once more by ‘The Christmas Song’, ‘Winter Wonderland’, ‘It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas’, and seasonal tear-jerker ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’. Gosh, almost forgot ‘Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!’.

Yes, the pile-on of nostalgia and emotionalism can make the stomach churn a little can’t it? However when it comes to sheer, vomit-inducing mawkishness, there’s absolutely nothing to touch maudlin sentimentality of THIS pile of ‘classic’ wank;

YouTube

Truly a song written by cunts, performed by cunts, to be listened to by cunts (and let’s face it, you won’t hear it performed by a bigger cunt than this).

Go on then; from next year let’s all be together, if the fates allow, until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow, hang a shining star upon the highest bough…

*Bloooarrgh!*

Have yourself a merry little Christmas now!

Nominated by: Ron Knee