Professional Cockney Ray Winstone is a working class boy done good but this gravelly voiced ballbag has always got on me Bristols.

I think its that he plays Ray Winstone in every role from Sweeny Todd to Beowulf. Even in that pile of shit Cats, he was still Ray fucking Winstone. Always with that underlying menace that you will end up in the foundations of a flyover on the North Circular.

The fact that he sounds like a Mitchell brother in every role doesn’t help matters either. His attempts at a Boston accent in Scorsese’s The Departed and the Point Break remake were hilarious and recast King Henry VIII as a part-time South London debt collector. Not content with butchering the English language he’s also had a go at Russian while playing a mob boss in Black Widow.

Would you Adam and Eveski it?

And don’t even mention his Bet365 gambling ads.

“Ray Winstone doing a convincing accent whist not playing Ray Winstone?

50/1

Bet in-play naaa slaaags”

Youtube

Nominated by Liberal Liquidator

 

A cunting for what I can only describe a professional cunt, Riz Possnett (pronoun they/them, so we will call her she, cos that is what she is) tries to look like a tomboy to be a bit edgy.

She is the daughter of an extinction rebellion protester so has a great role model and is a student at Oxford university.

Professional qualifications

Head of the Republicans and likes to protest against the monarchy, great she is entitled to her opinion and makes her case (free speech) but….

When it comes to her trans activism free speech isn’t allowed, well not by anyone who disagrees with her, so onto her second professional qualification.

Trans activists, glued herself to the floor at the Oxford union during a speech by Kathleen Stock, why, well what Kathleen says it’s dangerous, ignoring that she is only stating actual facts

Professional Cunt, but Daddy is so proud.

Daily Fail

Nominated by Sick of it.

 
It was never a real university anyway, but that is besides the point here.

The University of Derby is a cunt, because they want to turn its now-empty halls of residence in Buxton into – drum roll! – an refugee centre for almost 300 boatmen from the subcontinent.

Were they Ukrainian, no bother. The Ukies who’ve come here are ace. They’ve got jobs, they’ve done their utmost to integrate, and they spend money in local businesses. And they like their beer.

The Boat Boys, though?! No chance. We’ve all seen the levels of cultural enrichment they bring to wherever they go. I can’t wait to see some sort of buck-toothed, sister-shagging, sootie having a shite outside Aldi whilst popping in for a carton of milk.

My racism aside, the thing that bothers me the most is the safety aspect of things. Friday and Saturday are Pub Night and Day in Buxton. The town’s pissed as a rat, if I’m honest.

I’m a fruity gentleman, and my other half and I like to go out during the aforementioned. Our friends, too – 99.9% of whom are heterosexual.

We know the Abduls and Abdullahs of this world don’t like The Gays. We also know they don’t like booze or meat or anything that makes the world bearable.

Should the plan to house the fuckers in the ex-uni’s accomodation come to fruition, it’s a matter of time until some innocent – and probably someone I know and get on with – gets attacked by one of them.

A year ago I joked with a mate about “Buxton Mosque” and our fair little town being “the last bastion of nice, white, middle class folk.”

It’s not looking that funny anymore.

Buxton Advertiser

lets talk petition

Nominated by Cuntis_Cuntis.

The Oxford Cheese Company are cunts. These Cathedral City wannabes have gone and erased Cerne Abbas Man’s stonking great 35 foot toxic masculinity from their labels.

Could this be a clever metaphor for the nation’s emasculation by decades of feminism, trannyism, MeTooism etc? No, it’s much more mundane than that. One female customer (yes, one) complained. So instead of telling her go and sit on a Cerne Abbas length of her own, obviously the labels had to be changed.
What a bunch of weak-willed tossers.

The Sun

Nominated by Geordie Twatt.