Disclaimer: I did not watch this cuntfest through choice, unfortunately I was round a mate’s house who insisted on making me suffer it.

What a fucking pile of steaming dog shit. The Black Bullshitting Cunts have now hit rock bottom and I’m so pleased I cancelled the TV tax. It’s not even live for fucks sake, but pre-recorded.

In a case of ‘spot the white cunt’, they had some fucking slave dodger wearing some cunt of balaclava helmet left over from the Crimean War, a spaccy speccy Bleck bitch murdering Auld Lang Syne (if that was possible) and a various assortment of other sooties I never heard of.

On top of that, we had Vic Reeves (who used to be funny) “performing” ‘Dizzy’, and some fat cunt riddled with tattoos including his face the stupid cunt. At least he was white – I think.

The pièce de résistance was screechy fake jock Lulu wearing an enormous pair of sunglasses which at least covered most of her fucking ugly fizzog. I thought I hope to fuck she’s not going to trot out ‘Shout’ – which she did.

We also had that cunt Ed Sheeran (who’s not even a proper whitey) to ensure my piss remained at boiling point.

Interspersed with these ‘live’ acts, they decided to show us cunts from past shows which included Madness doing an embarrassingly shitty version of ‘House of Fun’ and the sweetheart of Isac, Lily Fucking Allen.

Oh, and just to keep the diversity level dangerously high, Craig Cunt David. Luckily my mate fell asleep which meant I could go to bed and have a crafty wank. However, I couldn’t get the thought of Lulu and her the stench of her rotten pilchard addled crusty custard cunt flaps out of my mind. Happy Fucking New Year.

Express News Link

Nominated by: Cupid Stunt The First

This is a bit if an odd cunting, as I am not cunting all of it, but just specific elements.
Before I go into my explanation, I am cunting the state of modern chart music.
Now to bore you with the details.

As a child and teenager, like most, I would sometimes sit poised, with my finger on the record button of the tape deck, whilst listening to the charts from 4, on a Sunday afternoon.

Over time and as I got older, I took less interest in the charts and found my own taste in music.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago, and a random thought that popped into my head.
“I wonder who the Christmas number one is this year?”

I started my journey of research on Google. I was not only pleasantly surprised, but also shocked, as well as being educated.

The Official UK Top 40, is on Radio 1.
It is no longer on a Sunday, but on a Friday, from 4 until 5.45.
Apparently this is in line with the music industry, who release all singles on a Friday.
Also, it is in line with all the various platforms they are released on such as streaming, digital download, smoke signal, carrier pigeon, etc. (As a young man, the highlight of a drab Monday working, was popping into John Menzies on my dinner hour, to have a look at what albums and singles had been released).

Other radio stations still have the chart countdown playing in the traditional Sunday slot, but these are not classed as official now.

After discovering all this information during my search, I then went back to my original query, from which I had been side tracked.
Who is the Christmas number one?
I was met with a mix of emotions as I looked at the official top ten.
Number one is some sack if wailing shit.
But wait, the top ten consists of a majority of Christmas songs that gave been around for years.
There is a couple of shite modern songs in there, but the majority are not.
Wham, Shakin Stevens, and others are present.
Even the original rockin around the Christmas tree!

In conclusion, I thought to myself, the state of the music industry is akin to the amount of animal shit cleared out of zoo’s on a daily basis.

It was nice to see old songs in there that I personally like, but shows that modern chart music is clearly not good enough to keep the classics out of the Christmas top ten.

Modern chart music and modern pop artists – a nice big slap in the face for you, you cunts. You clearly aren’t good enough.

The public has voted with their ears!

Nominated by: Andy

Wales OnLine News Link

Squatters are cunts, see above these dirty, tranny, rug munching, vegan, wankers who quote the law at people trying to get rid of the cunts so they can sell the property.

Going down the court rout takes forever, baseball bats or sending the lads round are always an option and would be my preferred method of removal, but these cunts probably have one of those vulture shit solicitors who will take you to the cleaners .

So i think as its the owners property you would be quite within to move in with the cunts and then i would take great delight in making these cunts lives a living fucking hell, fire work displays in the front room, load music, Ducati revved a hard in the bedroom at midnight, paint ball competitions, BBQ,s opening tins of CYCLON B, you get the gist,

they where going to wreck the place anyway so at least have some fun at their expense, i think i would enjoy that and especially i was really upsetting the cunts, that would almost make it worthwhile…..scummy cunts, fuck em, its devolution at its finest, they should develop gills and walk backwards into the sea….

Nominated by: Fuglyucker

Please bear with me for a personal cunting – Subtitles on TV.

I rarely watch live TV, preferring to record and watch at my leisure and spinning through the Nigerian adverts.

Due to years of furious wanking my hearing is not what it was so I often put the subtitles on. Also there is huge variation in volume of programmes and often appalling music drowning out dialogue as well.

Half the time the subtitles are in and out of sync, usually ahead of the action. They may come right, then drift again. Fuck knows why. Is it because I record and watch playback? Fuck knows.

Subtitles are a cunt.

Nominated by: Cuntstable Cuntbubble

There are so many fascinating facets it is difficult to do the subject justice but I feel I must try. I have met a beaut. An absolute stonker.

There are rigid painful smiles from everybody who encounters him for any length of time. He’s rather jolly. His eyes are wide when talking his bollocks.

We all know that The Bore has absolutely no interest in telling a story that you could possibly be interested in. They achieve this as you know by talking about people THEY knew in the past in places you’re not familiar with. That is standard practice of the persistent Bore. But what this fella has added to the repertoire (as it were) is he doesn’t have the story straight. He keeps forgetting the times and places. So the story itself (of infinite tedium) is peppered by a sort of back- tracking just to make it more unendurably interminably excruciating.

So for example ‘We were in Donnington no we were back back in Hove, it was in ’86 no it was in 84 and we were somewhere in Suffolk I cant remember..’.The ‘topic’ of his discourse was generated by my saying to him that I was going to have my haircut that day. That set him off. He had been a barber. Corrected himself and said he owned a barbers. Corrected him self again and said it was a salon and his ex owned it but he had put money into it. ‘about £60, 000 no I put £100, 000 or was it £80,000 cant remember anyway…’

I am trying to think of the point to the story. The point he was trying to make I mean .It just fizzled out.

No, own up I just couldn’t take anymore and just made my excuses and abruptly left. That is the truth of it.

Got to say he doesn’t physically stop you from leaving like some aggressive Bores do. In fact you’ve just got say ‘I’m sorry but I’ve got to go’ and he steps ouf of the way.
What else about him? He tells me what bargains he has got from the shops. He even fetches me his junk mail where he gets these bargains. And exhorts me to do the same. Now that is innovative for me regarding the practice of being a bore. Someone getting their junk mail for you to read.

Really I am in Awe of this Bore.

Nominated by: Miles Plastic