Could all sports commentators please please stop using the word ’historic’.

The only way in which the vast majority of statements they lazily throw at us can be deemed historic is that they have already happened and that essentially applies to everything, including me composing this.

Also, not everything that happens in sport is either amazing or sensational, I’ve just watched motd and, as good as Danny ings’ goal was it didn’t warrant several pundits jizzing their underwear throughout the course of final score and motd – they’ve basically awarded him the goal of the season two weeks into the new season. Calm down you over excitable cunts.

Sorry, I forgot to add, events such as Tom Daley and another boy winning gold medals does not ‘ unite the nation’, the vast majority of folks are indifferent to the achievements of the two of them jumping into the water and to that cunt who I heard on the radio suggesting that Simone biles ‘inspires every generation’, no she doesn’t.

Can I also mention the relentless promotion of women’s sport. If the England and Wales cricket board wish to recreate the current events taking place at Kabul airport all it would take would be to schedule the women’s hundred before the proper, albeit unnecessary, men’s event.

Nominated by: Keith Hall

IRS is a bit of a cunt because usually the recommendations are way off beam.

For instance, Facebook uses some type of image recognition software on its site. It recognises faces on videos that users are watching and somehow makes recommendations for other videos based on what the software thinks they are watching. Unfortunately it spectacularly backfired on Facebook when users who watched a video featuring black men were shown an auto-generated prompt asking if they would like to “keep seeing videos about primates”.

In 2015, Google’s image recognition software also classified photos of Black people as “gorillas.”

Oh dear !

The problem with this type of artificial intelligence software is that it’s not very intelligent. Unless it knows something we don’t ?

News Link

Nominated by: MMCM

A pair of blue and gold starred bloomers, made out of a moth-eaten EU flag, please (assuming she can wear them, rather than granny heavy duty Tenaladies) for this elderly old tart, who has a face as contorted as Lord Adonis’s overused ringpiece.

The old hag 69 (she says) is delving into her ancestors background to become an Irish citizen, so she can “become a European again” Who gives a fuck:

News Link

The BBC on their Wireless 4 news at lunchtime were obviously deeply pleased and moved with the old hags declaration.

An old woman, whose one “skill” is to write crap and get it published reminds me of the Nancy boy MPs, who want to be European, because they seem to think, it gives them some sort of “cool” cachet – puts them one up on us commoners.

I hope the old cunt does go and live in Southern Ireland and we never have to hear her drawl again.

Nominated by: W.C. Boggs

And seconded by: MMCM

I would like to second this nom as Hillary Mantel makes my blood boil.

Just a few of her gripes about Britain

– Brexit.
– It’s a monarchy and she will “breathe more easily” in a republic.
– Brexit.
– The English abuse “exhausted refugees” as they scramble up the beach at Dover.
– Brexit.
– The UK is an “artificial” construct (unlike the EU).
-Brexit.
– Her fantasy of killing Margaret Thatcher never came true.
– Brexit.

I genuinely think this woman is as mad as a box of frogs.

Good riddance you goofy looking old sow. And don’t forget to hand your dame-hood back at passport control.

Yet more by – Captain Magnanimous

When this rancorous horrorshow isn’t attacking royals, she’s calling anybody who criticises parasite Markles a raaaycist. Now, five years after we escaped the Reich, this rancid scary Mary is attacking Brexiteers. Christ’s coddled codpiece, the old witch must have a new shite novel to plug.

Apparently this stewed prune is a “Dame” and is thinking of moving to the Republik of Ireland as she’s so “ashamed of Brexit Britain”. Who in their right mind would want to live in Oireland? Even the Dinghy Illegals give it a miss.

I’ll chip in to her fucking off if she promises not to write any more dross that’s subsequently made into dreary TV starring pompous fops.

As Henry VIII might have said to Mantel in one of her tedious books, “Thou art the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended my nostril and thy face could sour ripe grapes. Get thee gone thy rotund, venomous toad.”

Mantel, thou art a cunt.

(According to her Wiki page, she has a CBE and DBE. One assumes, therefore, when she fucks off to Ireland (a republic) she’ll give up her “evil” gongs and become an ordinary pleb!? – Day Admin)

Apparently there are rumours that, after 4 fucking years, this burnt out shell of a building will be pulled down. Oh dear, you can’t do that…has no cunt heard of Stephen Lawrence? We need this to stand as a monument to the racism of this disgusting country that every foreign fucker is desperate to get to.

I heard some communidee leader (self appointed obviously) on the radio crying about how he wants a museum on the site to tell everyone about the great people who lived there…blah blah, woof woof.

Do what? We don’t know half the cunts who died there because they were illegal immos, drug dealers and prozzies. The fucking council didn’t have a clue who was living there because they didn’t give a fuck.

So what kind of museum will that be? The kind where the usual slebs turn up on the opening day to get their boats in the media and no cunt ever goes there again.

This communidee leader might try asking who the rich fuckers are who have got clean away with stealing taxpayers money to build this tower of shit in the first place. But, of course, he is just another cunt on the racist bandwagon looking to advance himself.

Pull it down and put up a statue of Chicken George Floyd I say! No point in fucking about.

Nominated by: Freddie the Frog

Supported by Komodo along with useful link

The surviving ex-residents think they should decide when the structurally unsafe shell is demolished in the public interest. And that will only be after a lachrymose and probably hideous memorial is erected. Knocking it down would be diswespeckfuw innit.

Would it be racist to suggest that leaving this charred ruin to cast its sinister shadow over Kensington might also be disrespectful to the poor cunts whose expensively purchased view it is?

Link – covers nom and this addendum:

News Link

The Banjo String

The old chestnut has it that there’s a first time for everything. Last night I learned the truth of this axiom to my cost. I only effing well went and snapped my banjo string.
The first hint of trouble came in the form of a searing, burning sensation, which soon settled down to a throbbing ache. Then there was the bleeding, which went on for hours.

My cursing and carrying on led the wife to get on Ol’ Doc Internet pronto. “Mmm”, says she *tap tap* “…yes, it’s called the frenulum” (like I really needed to know that). “It says that it’s common for it to tear, that it’s usually not serious, and that it will heal by itself. Bind to contain the bleeding. Consult your general practitioner if you’re concerned “.

“Flaming arseholes” I curse, limping off in search of lint and surgical tape. “Concerned? Fucking twats. It feels like I’m ruined for life”.

“Can I do anything?” asks she, trying not to get the giggles at my hopelessly inept attempts to bandage my tadger. “Should I try to fashion a sling…?”.

“Piss off” says I testily. “Go and fetch me a Glenfiddich large enough to stun a gorilla. I’m off to lie on the bed”.

Fast forward to the morning. Following a night’s sleep broken by discomfort and worry, I decide that it is indeed proper to consult our GP, who duly phones me back. “What’s the problem?” she asks, in her usual, cheery way.

“Well *ahem* says I. “I’ve got one of those ‘down there’ problems”, and proceed, somewhat haltingly, to describe my dilemma.

“It’s a common occurrence” she confirms, “and it’ll heal itself, but I can tell that you’re anxious, so pop round at half ten and I’ll have a look to be on the safe side and set your mind at rest”.

So off I go, and duly suffer the indignity of having the family jewels examined for the purposes of medical investigation. “No, it’s nothing to worry about” says she. “It’s one of those things which causes distress out of all proportion to the actual injury. I’ll give you some antibiotic cream, and you should refrain from ‘risky’ activity for twelve days or so. I’ll diary you for a follow up call a week today”.

So now here I am some twenty four hours later, mincing about like Elton John’s houseboy, and with a face which looks (according to the wife) “like Wee Jimmy Krankie’s slapped arse”.

On the debit side, I’ve learned that the banjo string can be a cunt. On the credit side, I live in hope that the wife will be stricken by remorse for her giggling, and kiss it better at the earliest opportunity. Every cloud, it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry etc.

Nominated by: Ron Knee