Tag Archives: cunt of the week

Cunt of the Week (27th April 2013) by Will Richards

Posted on by
Will Richards: massive potential for cuntishness

Will Richards: massive potential for cuntishness

My first idea for cunt of the week was myself, Will Richards. I truly am a cunt. I cancel gigs at the last minute, I neglect my wife, I’m greedy and dishonest, I ignore friends until I need something from them. I let people down, I’m slothful, bad with money… I’m a horrible person.

Yet I decided against making myself cunt of the week, mainly because it would essentially be 1,000 words of self-pity and self-indulgence and whilst that would be a good way of demonstrating what a cunt I am, you would probably have stopped reading by now.

Goodwin: a good egg.

Goodwin: a good egg.

Which made it surprisingly difficult to find an appropriately cuntish cunt of the week (incidentally, my spell checker just changed that to “…an appropriately cuntish Cynthia of the week” for some reason – I don’t know anybody called Cynthia). Perhaps because I’m such a cunt myself, I find that the world is largely populated by kind, tolerant, helpful people. Even bankers, politicians and tabloid journalists are largely just products of their environment, trying to do difficult jobs under great pressure from a demanding public. Furthermore, these are not people of whom I have any personal experience and by slagging them off I’d just be regurgitating hearsay and popular opinion. How do I know that Fred Goodwin is actually a cunt, for example ? (My spellchecker changed “cunt” to “count ” in that last sentence and I know he’s not one of those; the cunt’s not even a knight anymore.) I don’t. I’ve never met him.

But then I thought of a group of people who, as I know from first hand experience, really are cunts. A-grade, gold standard, prime cut, dyed-in-the-wool, card carrying cunts. Cunts who are seldom identified as cunts. And this group of cunts includes me! Who are they?  Fucking Australians! Pure cunts, the lot of them.

Australians: a very staid, almost austere people.

Australians: a very staid, almost austere people.

“But Australians are friendly and cheerful and welcoming”, you’re probably saying. Perhaps. Sometimes. But really, is over the top friendliness such a good thing? Do you REALLY want to spend your rail journeys and trips to the shop discussing the personal life of an excessively cheerful, nasal stranger called Shane who won’t shut the fuck up and let you get on with your shopping or read your book or listen to your music? Who ever thinks, “Thank God. I was sitting here enjoying a cup of tea and a sandwich, reading Private Eye and listening to Bach, and something was missing in my life. I now realise it was knowing all about the time Shane went surfing in Bangladesh and got drunk. Lucky me.” Does anybody ever think that?

“But Will, that doesn’t make Australians cunts,” you may still be saying. Perhaps not. Being a cunt requires an element of malice. So even their inherent vulgarity and terrible, terrible television (check out “Hey Hey It’s Saturday” or “The Footy Show” on YouTube sometime) may not make Australians cunts.

So let’s move on to the genocide.

“Genocide? Not by those nice Ramsay Street dwelling simpletons from Down Under, surely???”

The moral of the story: don't fall asleep drunk in the company of a friend who has Tippex.

The moral of the story: don’t fall asleep drunk in the company of a friend who has Tippex.

Yep. Proper, 100% successful, total-annihilation-of-a-race genocide. When was the last time you met a Tasmanian Aborigine? There was an island full of them 200 years ago. A distinct race of humans, quite separate from mainland aborigines, with a unique language and culture, but not any more. They were shot, poisoned, driven off cliffs, starved, infected with smallpox… wiped out. It’s true that mixed-race descendants of settlers and Tasmanian Aborigines exist today – rape tends to be a common accompaniment to genocide, let’s face it – but never in recent times has genocide been so successfully carried out. Australia, so proud of winning ANYTHING, certainly beats Hitler, Pol Pot, the Rwandan Hutus and Stalin in the genocide stakes.

Not the we didn’t try with the mainland Aborigines. We certainly mistreated them. We took their children, denied them citizenship and indeed considered them to be a separate species well into the 1960s. A high proportion of Aboriginals today still live in sub-third-world conditions (in one of the world’s most affluent nations) and suffer from massive social problems, including chronic drug and alcohol addiction. But somehow we didn’t kill them off completely. Not like we did in Tasmania.

Incidentally, Tasmania is also the Australian state in which homosexuality was illegal until 1997, and it was only decriminalised then because its government was forced to do so by the United Nations Human Rights Committee. Yes , it was illegal to be gay in parts of Australia until less than 20 years ago.

It's Curtins for you, pal. (forgive me, but I had no choice but to take a stroll down Pun Avenue there)

It’s Curtins for you, pal. (forgive me, but I had no choice but to take a stroll down Pun Avenue there)

But then Australia – open, friendly, welcoming Australia – doesn’t have an altogether unblemished record of tolerance, as any recent immigrant or refugee will know. Actually, they probably won’t know all that much about Australia as they will have been transported straight to a concentration camp… sorry, DETENTION CENTRE, located in some of the hotter, less hospitable and isolated parts of this hot, inhospitable and isolated country. Either that or they will have been shipped straight off to a Pacific island somewhere, to go mad and commit suicide. No matter what horrors they fled, they are not likely to have been welcomed with open arms by Australia. This nation, made up almost entirely of immigrants and descendants of immigrants and refugees is now brutally protective about letting any freeloading illegals in.

Cunts.

Not that Australians are unaware of racism. Ask the next Aussie backpacker you meet what he thinks about South Africans. The answer will be something along the lines of, “They’re ALL racist. I don’t know what it is, but every single South African you ever meet is, without exception, a racist bastard. They all make fucking generalisations about other races and cultures and they have such fucking annoying voices too!”

In our defence, we do have the largest Greek population outside of Greece. Or to put it another way: the largest source of funds for Golden Dawn.

Kyle Sandilands: even Bill O'Reilly thinks he's a cunt.

Kyle Sandilands: even Bill O’Reilly thinks he’s a cunt.

Australia is a nation who have produced a strain of talk-radio hosts even more virulent than conservative USA. Have you heard of Kyle Sandilands? Google him. Read about the time he hooked a 14 year old girl up to a lie detector live on air and quizzed her about her sex life, resulting in her admiring to having been raped when she was 12. Read about his on-air bullying of a refugee from Pol Pot’s Cambodia. Read about his threats to hunt down a female journalist who had criticised a book he had written.

He remains a popular radio and TV ‘personality’ and a judge of Australia’s X Factor. And there are plenty more like him. Actually, Australian talk-radio hosts could be the subject of their very own cunt of the week.

Then there’s Australia’s treatment of its extraordinary and unique wilderness, flora and wildlife, some of which survives. We’ve certainly done our best to fuck it up, with nuclear tests, coal mines, iron mines, bauxite mines, uranium mines… big pits of Chinese money and fuck whatever lived on top of it.

'Sheepish? It's the bladdy sheep shit I'm warried about.'

‘Sheepish? It’s the bladdy sheep shit I’m warried about.’

As for the bits we haven’t dug up and sold to the highest bidder, we’ve grazed cattle and sheep all over fragile fauna and released foxes and cats and carp and cane toads, against which Australia’s native wildlife doesn’t stand a chance.

In many parts if Australia, admitting to taking climate change seriously is slightly less acceptable than admitting to fucking goats.

Are there good things about Australia? Of course. Some of the wine is nice, even if the beer is largely horrible. The food is very good. Melbourne has many lovely public parks and an excellent tram network. The coffee is superb. Some of the people are alright, in small doses. Dame Joan Sutherland was one of the 20th century’s finest coloratura sopranos. Many of my own friends and family are very pleasant people. So I guess Australia and its population is not always totally 100% cunt. Just as drinking a gallon of sulphuric acid is not always totally 100% fatal.

But collectively, may I humbly present the Commonwealth if Australia, its population and the author of this essay as your cunt of the week.

Knock Australia all you want, but don't bash the Bishop.

Knock Australia all you want, but don’t bash the Bishop.

And  you know the worst thing? You’ll just continue to love us. You British will continue to watch our soap operas and talk about emigrating down under every time it rains. You’ll continue to ask us, with genuine surprise, what we’re doing over here when we could be enjoying the sunshine back home. (Incidentally, have you ever actually tried to live and work in temperatures that don’t fall below 35 for weeks on end ??? Give me the wettest, bleakest British weather any day.) You’ll continue to spare even the scummiest Aussies any real racism or prejudice, no matter how unpleasant you are to hard-working Poles and third generation descendants of Pakistani immigrants. Nothing I’ve written here will sway you from your belief that Australia is a wonderful paradise. A belief shared by most Australians.

So we may be cunts, but as long as you keep encouraging us, you’ve only got yourselves to blame.

willrTHIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER Will Richards is a part time comedian, born and brought up in the town of Melbourne, Australia. Will has lived in the UK since 2001 and after this essay has been published is likely to be staying here for the foreseeable future.

When performing on stage , Will adopts an English accent.

It’s a little known fact about Will, but he’s the curator of the world’s first – and only – Pantomime Horse Museum. His proudest exhibit is the earliest panto horse, which was just a regular horse with its head, legs and arse chopped off. People would simply climb inside the carcass and animate it from within. Will keeps the specimen in a walk-in refrigerator, and spends every morning dousing it with vinegar. This is why Will often smells like piss and meat.

When The Krankies die, Will hopes to have them sealed inside a panto horse costume and embalmed. Nothing to do with his museum: he’s just a sick bastard. He also has an extensive collection of dead flies, which he keeps selotaped to his bedroom wall.

Harold Bishop and Helen Daniels from Neighbours are rumoured to be Will’s parents. You think that’s unusual? You don’t know the half of it. Nobody’s saying that the actors who portrayed those characters are his parents: they mean the actual characters are his parents. Australians drink too much.

FOLLOW WILL ON TWITTER: @justinbeiber ONLY JESTING. DO NOT follow that wee cunt.

REALLY FOLLOW WILL: @jollyfunky AND ALSO CHECK OUT @TweedyDuffer

 

Cunt of the Week (17th April 2013) by Jonny Seaton

Posted on by

t1I’m going to set my stall out straight away: I hate the Tories. I can’t stand them, in fact, but my first memory of them was a positive one. In 1975 I remember Margaret Thatcher being elected as the first female leader of a political party, and thinking, as a 6 year old, ‘That’s good.’ My main female role model at that time was my mum, and she was brilliant, a really positive influence on me.

Perhaps it was my doctor father’s left-wing leanings, or perhaps it was the 80’s and the height of political comedy with Ben Elton and Spitting Image vying for our attention at putting down those in power; either way, I realised that the Conservative Party were not the party of the people….unless of course the people you were referring to were ‘society’s elite,’ a phrase that was something of an oxymoron in the 80’s, as Thatcher had denounced society, and claimed that it didn’t exist. As she put it: ‘There’s no such thing as society.’ (‘Elite’ is also open to interpretation: by elite I mean the rich, or the wannabe rich.)

Major: like an old Clark Kent, minus the Superman.

Major: like an old Clark Kent, minus the Superman.

But after introducing the poll tax, the vicious attacks on the unions and strikers, the denationalisation of once great industries, the initial steps in privatisation of the Health Service and so on, Thatcher was eventually deposed by her own party. There followed a slight move from extreme right-wing, blue politics to closer-to-centre, grey politics with seven years of John Major – a man so dull that not even the later revelation that he had had an affair with Edwina Currie could liven up his image. And it was image that the next PM, Tony Blair, was all about. Tony will be remembered for a few things, most notably an illegal war; a war that I totally agree with, if I am honest. Saddam Hussein was a bad man who committed genocide against the Iraqi Kurds, and if that was the reason for the invasion there would have been a lot less of an issue. The official reason was Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD), but none were ever found – they were never going to be found. What Iraq did, and does, have in abundance is oil; and with the USA calling the shots, we were always going to war.

Gordon Brown squeezing an imaginary Tony Blair heart.

Gordon Brown squeezing an imaginary Tony Blair heart.

The collapse of the financial services led to Labour’s downfall, despite a couple of years of a good man, Gordon Brown, whose biggest problem was timing. Blair’s legacy was that the next Prime Minister was going to be a Tory. A big reason for this was the collapse of the financial services and the plunging of the UK into recession; interestingly enough a collapse that can be accurately traced back to the US policies of Reagan, which had been copied by Margaret Thatcher in the 80’s: greed, self and money; a man mind thyself attitude.

David Cameron: even his own shadow thinks he's a cunt.

David Cameron: even his own shadow thinks he’s a cunt.

So on 11 May 2010 the public went to the polls, and nearly 30 million turned out to vote, which is a great turnout (about 65% of those eligible). The Tories won 308 seats, which wasn’t enough for a majority unless combined with the seats of the Liberals – and don’t get me started on that! Many saw this as a protest vote, but whatever the reasons the Conservatives were back in power.

So 13 years since we last had a Conservative Government we had another, and the ‘everything now’ society in which we live caused people to forget how bad it was the last time. There is a feeling amongst the electorate that all the parties are much of a muchness. The bland politics of Major and Blair did nothing to dispel that. They are wrong: Cameron is very much one of Thatcher’s children. He has been in power for less than 3 years, and what have we seen?

  • Cuts to the armed forces and an end to the Scottish Regiments, replacing them with one cheaper Scottish Regiment. In the best traditions of Thatcher, this is a Scottish-only thing.
  • An end to the separate Scottish Police Forces, being replaced by one force…. another Scottish thing
  • Cameron is continuing the gradual erosion of the NHS
  • Cameron is undoing all of the good that came from the Beveridge Report, which fought the ‘five giant evils’ of Ignorance (Education), Idleness (Work & Pensions) and Disease (NHS)
  • Iain Duncan-Smith claiming he could surive on £57 per week
  • The introduction of a Bedroom Tax, potentially forcing the most vulnerable in society to take in unknown lodgers
  • The phone hacking scandal, and Cameron’s disclosed closeness to Rebekah Brooks, the editor at the height of the scandal. She is set to go on trial in September this year but I doubt anything will come of that. Am I cynical, perhaps?
Thatcher's coffin being led to the ground by the BNP, who won the competitive bid to run her funeral.

Thatcher’s coffin being led to the ground by the BNP, who won the competitive bid to run her funeral.

So on this, the day that Margaret Thatcher is buried, you would think that my cunt of the week is the Conservative Party. Well, I am afraid you are wrong. Yes, I despise them; I hate everything they stand for and wish they did not exist. However, what they stand for is well documented: they are the party on the right; they are the party of money; and the party that likes to keep that money circulating amongst themselves….

My cunt of the week is… well it could be you? Did you vote? No. Do you complain about the Government? You do? Well, it is you then. Voting is the right of every free person over the age of 18 in the UK. It is a democratic right, and one that if you forego then you forego the right to complain that this party – which has always been composed of cunts – continue to do what they have always done.

Jonny Seaton

Jonny Seaton

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER Jonny Seaton is fast becoming a regular and favourite on the Scottish stand-up circuit. Last month he reached the grand finale of Radio Forth’s Big Comedy Audition, and received great praise from the judges. Outside of comedy, Jonny works as a fluffer for the animals on David Attenborough documentaries. ‘When David Attenborough wants to see two elks fucking, then David Attenborough GETS to see two elks fucking,’ explains Jonny. ‘But sometimes they’re not in the mood. David won’t accept this. He’ll say things to me like, “I didn’t fly all the way to Africa and trek through bloody jungles and across deserts getting my arse bitten off by mosquitos just so that these two lazy cunts could ruin my money shot.” Oh, he can be quite brutal sometimes. That’s where I come in. Sometimes you need to be tough, with a vice-like grip, sometimes gentle, like you’re shaking hands with a brittle-boned Oompa Loompa. Yes, I love my job, but it can be challenging. You try wanking off a tiger.’

The cost of failure can be high. On one occasion Jonny failed to excite two apathetic rhinos into having sex, and so Attenborough ordered Jonny to put on a rhino costume, and fucked him himself.

Jonny once went to France. He liked it.

Not all of this biography is true… Jonny fucking hated France.

FOLLOW JONNY ON TWITTER: @BalernoDad

 

Cunt of the Week (13 September 2012) by Hannah Baillie

Posted on by
It was a relaxing, lying-sweating-in-your-bed-eating-a-chicken-n’-mushroom-pot-noodle-with-the-blinds-shut Sunday morning. I was lying alone (no change there) and began flicking through my Sky box. As I’m sure most of you know, there’s not a huge amount going down on the telebox on the Sabbath day, as of course most television producers are out taking part in communion.
–
Just as I was about to shove a fork up my nose (to create some actual decent entertainment) a Blast-Fae-The-Past flashed before my eyes. I skipped merrily down memory lane. My heart and mind were engulfed in nostalgia. My very CHILDHOOD AROSE FROM IT’S GRAVE!!!!! Well, OK: Supermarket Sweep came on. Now, I’m only 20, but I still remember this show from my old skiving school days like it was yesterday.
–
For those of you who may not be too familiar, Supermarket Sweep was a game show filmed in the late 80’s/early 90’s,  hosted by fake tan guru, Mr. Dale Winton. The concept is pretty simple (yet hilarious): six contestants are given three trolleys with which to run around a supermarket (studio full of food donated by Asda) so they can pile as much food as they can into them. The winner is whoever has the highest priced contents in their trolley when it’s tallied up at the checkout.  Now, let me make this clear: a bit like how I feel about my mother, I’ve got a love-hate relationship going on with this show.
–
On the one hand, it’s a fun, unique game show that’s pumping full of adrenaline with giddy, up-for-a-laugh contestants. On the other hand, it’s a cheesy pile o’ pish that features a bunch of pastel-coloured-jumper-with-scrunchie’s-in-their-fluffy-90’s-hair-wearing douchebags that are seen jumping up and down like retards thinking that 200 quid is going to change their lives.
–
But is that the entirety of what sweep has to offer when the contestants are seen going ‘wild in the aisle’?! Of course not!  Our palm-tree-tie wearing Winton also sets these bucktoothed souls a couple of challenges along the way; whether it be scooping up a bag of Pick N’ Mix, or an inflatable bonus.
–
The remaining four that go away without winnings are not left with nothing. Dale gives them a gift no amount of money could buy in my most favorite part of the show: the end credits. After Dale says, ‘Now remember, next time YOU’RE at the checkout, and you here this beep *beep beep*, think of all the fun YOU could be having on SUPERMARKET SWEEP!’
–
And then all the contestants, along with Dale, begin waving, and waving……. and waving and waving and waving and waving, until the cameras cut. I always fantasize about which of the penniless contestants is going to sue the show for repetitive strain injury on their wrist.
–
I hope you enjoyed my cunt.  Thank you and good night.
–

Hannah Baillie

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER Hannah Baillie is 20 years old, and exists in Edinburgh. She is currently studying hairdressing but one of her passions – if not her main passion – is comedy! Now and again you’ll maybe see her in some Joseph Fritzel basement of a pub, telling ‘jokes’ on a Friday night. After completing high school she worked part-time as a For-Midgets-Only prostitute (HANNAH BAILLIE FUN-FACT – She’s fucked The Time Bandits, and jerked off the wee one from Game of Thrones), in order to save money to travel round America.

Whilst in the US she got to work aiding Mexican illegal midgets across the border into America in shopping trolleys. Baillie called it ‘liberation’. The FBI called it ‘kidnapping and sexual assault.’ When feds apprehended Baillie in Texas she was dripping with dwarf goo and shouting: ‘What use are those stupid wee T-Rex hands on my muff?’

Realising that there was more to life than being enthusiastically tea-bagged by scores of tiny men, Hannah decided that she’d be quite good at scalping people instead. So, if you look like you’ve been made love to by a bush, backwards, and like a wee ch ch chuckle vision along the way….why not find Hannah’s salon and say HI… But don’t say HI HO.
–

Cunt of the Week (03 Sep 2012) by Ross Leslie

Posted on by

Matt Bendoris – high quality journalism guaranteed.

I seriously considered making my ‘Cunt of the Week’ the pathological liar and teen romance high school preppy, Paul Ryan, after that performance at the Republican National Convention. I could also have added the embarrassing ‘turns’ by Romney-bot and former American hero, Clint Eastwood, however I remembered Jamie’s normal readership includes such intellectuals as Richard Hunter and Gregor Wappler, so I just left it as I didn’t want their brains to hurt. 

Therefore, step forward future sexual assaulter Matthew “Matt” Bendoris, for your journalistic car-crash of an interview with a fit lady, the super-talented Scottish violinist, Nicola Benedetti. Link to said article is here – http://www.thescottishsun.co.uk/scotsol/homepage/news/mattmeets/4502198/Matt-meets-Scots-violin-queen-Nicola-Benedetti.html – enjoy for yourselves.

Now, of course, you get what you deserve if you happen to read The Sun, hopefully a form of genital warts; that being said, and I believe this to be a true fact, 97 per cent of male Sun readers already have genital warts. Seriously, check it out on the Internet. And I wasn’t reading The Sun in online or print format, so don’t start by saying, ‘Haha Ross, your cock is all warty, too.’ It’s not, and I have photos to prove it, right? Anyway, yes, let’s get back to the cunt. (not with those warts you won’t, dirty – Jamie)

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a red blooded male who likes to have the sex with ladies, and have done so on hunners of occasions, absolute hunners man. I have the humans I have procreated at home to prove it. Because of this I am well aware that Benedetti is a good looking woman; however, I wouldn’t try to mentally prepare her for a sexual assault whilst interviewing her for a national newspaper and then clearly take the huff halfway through because she clearly finds me physically disgusting.

Nicola Benedetti

He then says that she doesn’t take the bonniest of photos sometimes, and she is a bit beaky. Google image this weedy, specky cunt: he looks like Harry Potter in the first movie. He then gives us a blow-by-blow account of what she is wearing, and describes her physical attributes, sweat clearly pouring onto his keyboard as he types the words.

But what does any of this have to do with fucking music!? I am not a classical music fan – I’m more of a Carly Rae Jepsen man – but she is very talented in her field and it might be an idea to ask her some questions about that, eh? I suppose she has to take her share of the blame for agreeing to speak to the cunt in the first place, or at least her agent should be fired, but maybe her agent is still pissed off she didn’t want to get her vagina out for FHM-Zoo-Nuts, or whatever it’s called these days.

He does then ask a little about her music, but this is buried amongst references to her boyfriend being a lucky man, as he somehow snared this one – perhaps by being a man, and not coming in his pants when he first saw her; and then, worryingly in this boozed-up country of ours, he mocks her for only having FOUR drinks on her birthday night out. ‘I bet she didn’t even start a single fight in a taxi queue,’ he thought to himself.

I actually emailed him when I read it to congratulate him on his fine journalistic work, and asked if he had managed to get out the semen stains from his underwear. His response?: ‘Cheers’. Why argue with a fucking moron, Leslie, why do it? In summary: Bendoris – fuck you, cunt.

Ross Leslie

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER: Ross Leslie hasn’t been doing comedy for very long, but in his short-time on the Scottish stand-up circuit he’s already won Scotland in Session’s ‘Fuck You I’m Funny’ competition, been a finalist in The Shack’s Massive Comedy Gong Show, and been violently and lubelessly hate-fucked by the circuit’s premier sexual terrorist, Vladimir McTavish.

Leslie’s first ever gig was a gong show; a gong show being the harshest, most brutal comedy environment known to man. It’s the stand-up equivalent of D-Day. Less a baptism of fire, and more a baptism of the raging and eternal flames of Hell. It certainly doesn’t do wonders for your nerves or will to live, so for Leslie to have spent the majority of his first thirteen gigs gonging it means that the man has balls like space-hoppers. Or he’s completely insane.

Jonathan King. NOT from Fife.

Ross Leslie wasn’t just born in Fife. He IS Fife. If Fife is a Kingdom, then Leslie is its king – much like a blue-bottle is king when it’s perched atop a particularly gooey mountain of dog shite. We continue the royal theme with a little known fact about Ross: he was the disgraced pop guru Jonathan King’s first victim, and the only one of King’s victims not to press charges. ‘I knew he was lying when he said he’d make me a star,’ swooned Leslie. ‘I just wanted that wonky wee mouth gorging on my stauner.’ Leslie still visits King in prison six times a year for conjugal visits, and he always takes with him a Thomas the Tank Engine rucksack containing a jizz-stained school tie, an 80s shell-suit and a giant tub of mashed bananas.

PS: I apologise for the hurtful and disgusting lie I made up about Ross in this biography. Let me set the record straight. Ross Leslie is NOT from Fife.

FOLLOW ROSS ON TWITTER: @misterross  

CHECK OUT ROSS’S BLOG:  http://mum-blings.tumblr.com/

Cunt of the Week (28 August 2012) by Peter Wood

Posted on by

It’s a new season for the singing competition that has every wanker who has ever picked up a hairbrush travelling to London, Newcastle and Glasgow to audition for this tripe.

X-Factor: living the dream. All I have to do is wangle it through the live auditions, then listen to the judges’ bullshit about how I’m an artist – strange, how do they know that I paint? Same comments, every fucking year: ‘You’re born to sing’, ‘You’re a star’, ‘I can see your album in the bargain bin in Asda…em, I mean HMV’.

I can sing, I have a nice, cute face, a floppy hairstyle. I’ll maybe wear that quirky hat that I’ve always wanted to wear. UK today: where if you have a voice, you have a future. McVicar, Rose West and Ian Brady are all practising with a hairbrush for the 2016 auditions.

PETER: ‘I can’t give good head, but check out my new tattoo.’ (That’s what Peter wanted to say about the photo; it’s not a cyber-based admission of his own poor gobbling technique, which I can confirm is excellent – Jamie)

New season, same shit judges. You have Louis Walsh, the gimpfucknugget, then you have Gary ‘I have a personality that could make paint dry’ Barlow. Then there is the blowjob queen that can give head as good as Paris Hilton, and the mystery judge, ooooohhhh… what cunt will it be this time? They did have the forgettable Kelly Rowland that can sing, unlike Tulisa Constatvillas… Constanvialla… constonant, please, Carol. However, have you tried singing along to her songs? It’s like trying to sing along with Usher, heaps of hmmmmms and uuuuuhhhh, and then some rambling pish, and thank fuck there’s a chorus.

Back in the competition, the producers have paid for their botox, and made them wear a white t-shirt to show off their abs! Sing a cover, and they’re off through to boot camp, where you have to pretend to be all nice to the other hopefuls. Which is a bit like a comedy competition; secretly it’s all high 5’s, and ‘You go, girl/boy’, but secretly you’re like, ‘I hope this bastard dies on his/her arse.’ Then into the room, which is like Scotland/England/Wales/Ireland at school. Have I made it through? Wait a minute, this could be the room that goes through: we’re all cute and got killer abs and perfect hair and teeth! No, wait, there are 4 gingers in this room and 4 fat guys and a guy that seems to be just banging his head off the wall. Mind you there was that woman that was telling me she was on smack for 5 years and lost her whole family, including a leg through a combine harvester accident, and then of course her dad died and she left the keys next to note that said I should enter X-Factor.

Next stop, the judges’ houses. Oooohhhh, will I be going to sunny Spain, America… what? Where? Ireland with Louis Walsh and some dick from Boyzone; no, sorry, Getalife. Oh, this is life changing.

‘So if I spank you in the gimp mask I’ll get a place in the live shows?’

What, Louis, you want me to put my cock where for a shot at the big time? Could I not just give you a light paddling? I know if I put my cock there that I could get the record contract, but I am not that way inclined. So will a paddling while you wear your gimp mask get me a place on the live shows?

The live shows, I’ll have to make up some bullshit story about being abused by my granddad, but it’s not been done. That should make up for the fact that I don’t have children. I have just read through the first song choice: what the fuck, Bon Jovi? Ah, well, I’m boned.

So when it comes to the ring for me, and I am going to become more desperate than a fat girl on Babestation? So I never made it through to the final. And so what? The winner will have less fame than One True Voice. I mean, where are the winners? What happened to Leon Jackson; what happened to the first bloke and Cheryl Cole? 14 million people will pick up a phone to vote for two abortions called Jedward. Also, all we do is increase Satan Cowell’s bank balance, to cause more wars and conflict and deaths. To paraphrase the late Bill Hicks: ‘If it’s a choice between eternal Hell and good tunes, and eternal Heaven and X-Factor… I’m gonna be surfin’ on the lake of fire, rockin’ out.’ X-Factor = Cunts.

Peter Wood

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER Peter Wood has been doing comedy for the last 4 years, and is currently producing sets for next year’s Glasgow Comedy Festival and Edinburgh Festival Fringe. Peter has placed in the semi-finals of the Scottish Comedian of the Year competition in 2009 and 2011, and describes his sets as fresh, original and funny. His favourite comedians are Mark Nelson, Paul Sneddon (aka Vladimir McTavish) and Raymond Mearns. Peter used to run a successful comedy night in Aberdeen, called ‘Best in the Field’, which literally took place in a field on the outskirts of Johnshaven. No human beings attended, but he seemed to have a good rapport with the cows who formed his audience. Unfortunately, they failed to adhere to Peter’s strict ‘No Trainers’ rule one too many times, and he stabbed three of them in the face with a spade. Peter then spent three weeks secured to a post, dressed as a scarecrow and drenched in bovine blood, shouting ‘KAISER SOZE!’ before he was shipped off to Thailand by the government. Peter has BPD, which means, by his own rules, if he got himself a floppy hairstyle and auditioned for the X-Factor he’d win it hands-down. There’s some confusion here, though. I’ve only ever seen Peter mention the acronym, so either Peter is bi-polar, or he works for the Boston Police Department.

FOLLOW PETER ON TWITTER: @peterpolishwood

 

Cunt of the Week (6 August 2012) by James Walker

Posted on by

Hello. Before I start properly, let me say this. Unlike what I’ve seen from the other writers of this feature, I feel very uncomfortable using the word ‘cunt’. It’s not a natural thing for me to use that word, and in my head, the fact I’m putting quotes around the word means that I’m not really saying it, and the quotes sort of cancel the word out, which is of course inaccurate, but will help me sleep at night.

But maybe it should be a word that I’m a bit more comfortable with. For that reason, I am picking not one, but two of them. That’s right. I’m going to write about two of the fucks (I am very happy to use ‘fucks’ all day long.)

Now I like Ant & Dec. They’re fine. I’ve not been harmed by them in any way. I do not have a beef with them. My beef is with their smaller counterparts, Little Ant & Dec. If you watched Ant & Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway,you’ll probably be aware of Little Ant and Dec. It was a segment of the show where A & D introduced these two kids, who were the child versions of them and they went off and interviewed celebrities and whatnot. They seemed very nice, and quite funny. I enjoyed them up until when the show finished.

‘Then why on earth are they your ‘cunts’ of the week?’ you might be thinking, in italics.

Well what I said at the end there. That’s exactly it. The show finished, and after that, nothing. Little Ant & Dec were no more. I both thought, and hoped, that it was going to last forever. It’s not as if they’d been going since the PJ & Duncan days, but I personally think the parents of Lil’ A & D should’ve had the foresight to get together and conceive a good few years earlier so that such a thing could have happened; I know that I’m going out in a few nights, so have just washed my best top, so looking forward is always a good thing to do. They were on one TV show and that was it.

Three for the price of two.

It’s just a shame that they’re not still around now, doing the same things as Ant & Dec, but a bit smaller, that’s all. It’s almost as if they were just shoved on to Saturday Night Takeaway as part of a recurring segment, and their future as Little Ant & Dec after the show wasn’t even considered. Little Ant & Dec are no longer together, and that’s why they are my ‘cunts’ of the week.

And finally, some people might be thinking ‘oh, well Little Ant & Dec actually aren’t that little anymore and are very possibly taller than the actual, properly aged Ant & Dec, and would no doubt have different interests and generally wouldn’t want to be known as a smaller version of other men for the rest of their lives. So it wouldn’t really work now, anyway’. I have decided to ignore those people entirely.

The enigmatic James Walker, who wishes to remain faceless for security reasons. Either that, or he’s incredibly fucking ugly.

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER James Walker is a guy who is not very good at writing in third person and I, being him, can attest to that. Both he and I have done a bit of stand-up before as the same man and he has not won any awards (and neither have I.) I live in a flat together with him and they, and we have two hands between us. She has decided that this bio bit has already gone on a bit too long, and he and me and them would have to agree.

ALL OF US ARE ON TWITTER HERE: @jameswalkerguy.

 

Cunt of the Week (30 July 2012) by Gregor Wappler

Posted on by

Jamie Andrew With Hands says: I’ve never felt moved to include a disclaimer in a ‘Cunt of the Week’ before, but here it is, folks. This week’s guest writer doesn’t so much sail close to the wind as become the wind, and wipe out a few shore-based tourist resorts. The tourist resorts being your sense of taste and decency. Yeah, I know, that analogy’s a bit muddled. But go with it. As I was reading over Gregor’s submission, I thought, ‘Should I censor this? Is it a bit rich to proclaim myself the arbiter of decency given that my current stand-up set is about a quadruple amputee? Is it wrong to censor creativity, however horrible it is?’ So, with all that in mind, I’ve decided to run with it. You have been warned. Gregor Wappler is a terrible and hideous human being.

I had a long think about what topic to cover when considering this week’s Cunt of the Week. I read some previous articles written by my contemporaries, and took inspiration from Mr. Robin Valo’s article last week about Facebook, and the fact that people think their opinion matters so much that they constantly update their statuses with pointless things.

So I thought that on the eve of the annual celebration of gratuitous self-gratification – I am of course referring to the hell that faces comedians every year, the Edinburgh Fringe – I would focus my attention on the hugely cunty aspect of modern life that is fame-seeking; i.e. people who just want to be famous for the sake of being famous, despite possessing no discernible talent. You know, glorified attention whores, a few of whom I have already passed on my way to my fringe base in Edinburgh; singers and bands already with the guitars and microphones out on street corners, singing and jiving away, desperately battling for attention from complete strangers because of some Oedipal longing in them for love and attention that was not adequately received and provided by their parents during the all important developmental years.
Well I have news for these cunts: it’s the 30th of July; the Fringe HASN’T EVEN STARTED YET! At least wait until it has begun before singing your fucking contemporary folk songs! This pathological need for undeserved adoration and attention seems to have built up to boiling point and more since the inception of shows such as X-Factor and Britain’s Got Talent.

Now every cunt and their dog (quite literally) thinks they are deserving of fame and money for singing badly, or just generally being their spastic self. Everyone thinks that their opinion means something, and that people should listen to what they have to say. Newsflash: your opinion means fuck all, and nobody else should listen to you, you fucking mongoloid spastic cunt.

The British population voted on Britain’s Got Talent this year and came to the conclusion that a dog is currently the most talented person in Britain today. A fucking dog! What a bunch of spastics. There should be a way of tracking these people down so that we can ban them from voting in important things, like the general election; or, failing that, putting them all in a big sack, filling it with cement and throwing it into the North Sea, along with the fucking prize-winning dog.

This person has just searched for attention and found it, and for how long? Well, the dog’s already about seven, so it probably only has two good years of performing left before it succumbs to broken legs and fucked joints from performing unnatural tasks every night. It should be put down, and its owner raped simply for wasting our time and getting on our collective tits.

This is what i mean: everyone thinks they can/should be famous, because they abused a dog and made it the most famous/’talented’ thing in Britain, and rapists and paedophiles get bad press! At least Ian Huntley didn’t vote for Pudsey the fucking dog! No, he just had terrible bath-time etiquette; however, he did keep a clean crime scene.

Gregor Wappler

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER: Gregor Wappler is an Aberdeen-based stand-up, who was born in Milngavnie (which for all you non-Scots out there is pronounced guh-van). He’s been a Scottish Comedian of the Year semi-finalist, and once managed to use that little key to open the corned beef tin without snapping it off. As you can probably tell, Gregor’s stint working at the Rape Crisis Centre wasn’t a long or happy one; although it did give him plenty of material for next year’s Fringe, and his collaborative comedy double-act with Daniel Tosh: ‘The Rapes of Mirth.’ Gregor Wappler is the reason the Scottish Spastics’ Society changed their name… to the Gregor Wappler Foundation for Mongoloids. You can see Gregor and fellow stand-up (and Cunt of the Week contributor) Robin Grainger at this year’s fringe:  http://www.edfringe.com/whats-on/comedy/applause.

FOLLOW GREGOR ON TWITTER: @gwappler1

FOLLOW GREGOR AND ROBIN’S SHOW ON TWITTER: @applause2012

Cunt of the Week (23 July 2012) by Robin Grainger

Posted on by

It’s not tricky being annoyed at something. It is tricky, however, finding just ONE cunt or symbol representing said cuntitude, upon which to base one’s annoyance. (I just used the antiquated term “one” there to describe myself. You must already think I am a cunt.)

I had many thoughts about whom or what my victim would be. I scanned the competition. Richard Hunter told the council to fuck off; Fraser Edwards used his wit to banish real ale drinkers (I’m informed he was tucking into a Bishop’s Finger at the time…) and the lovely John McGoldrick did away with an absolute knob of a customer. My contemporary cunt caller-outers seem tough to beat.

I thought perhaps to target my rage on racists. Nah, racists are too easy. It would be much more fun, hypocritical and overall cunty of me to focus my rage on an area of modern life. An area which spills in on us like a randy priest, not just on Sundays, but daily: social networks.

How ironic to hate social networks when this display of vitriol will be shown on social networks. I realise I am as much a slave to social networking as anyone is, and this annoys me. I’d much rather have posted the blog by carrier pigeon.

Social networking is helpful if you want to promote something, share music and engage in shoot-shittery,but some people want everyone to know fucking EVERYTHING. Who gives a fuck where you are eating? Who gives a fuck that you got a new job? All that does is remind me that I have eaten tear-sodden rice for 11 consecutive days while wanking over the fact that I might not get the woman with the glass eye at the job centre.

Social networks also take the fun out of life. If you are with mates drinking and have a laugh, why do you have to return home to find yourself tagged in a status that reads ‘Drinking and having a laugh’? You know! You were there! None of the world’s important events would have happened the way they did had social networking been around. The Last Supper would have simply been: ‘Jesus is in Nandos tagged with 12 others. The waiter totes knows we didn’t order the wine. LOL.’

At this juncture I’d like to express hatred for social networks simply because they have become a breeding ground for fucking abbreviations. Use the whole sentence you dicks. We didn’t learn speech just to piss it all up the cyber-toilet wall did we? The fact that this generation is progressively more retarded than the last isn’t a coincidence; it’s because morons are saying ‘LOL’ as opposed to actually laughing.

On the other hand, at least the JFK mystery wouldn’t have been a mystery: the killer would have ‘checked in’ at the book depository.

Social media is just too time consuming. It takes over everything. Remember the thrill of meeting anyone new and learning that they are interesting? Facebook timeline punched that joy right in the gooch. Now, if you are single and like someone, you can stalk them backwards to find out they had an eating disorder, own a Sex And The City boxset and have a fondness for Jedward. In the good old days it would take a long-term relationship to build up that kind of hatred for a person.

Social media also makes people – mostly retards – believe that their opinion is as valid as everyone else’s, when it is actually formed from ignorance and fucking stupidity; Before this, you wouldn’t have to see these people spew their polyp-heavy, tabloid-flavoured diarrhoea all over your life and laptop screen. More people care about what lip balm Katie Price wears with which to boredly glaze a monosyllabic moron’s cock, than they do about actually having a conversation with a real person in real life. Celebrities for the most part are cunts; they are worshipped on social networks by cunts, therefore social networks are cunts for keeping the whole cuntcycle in motion. Kill them all.

I suppose it all boils down to me really. I need social networks, but I fucking loathe them. Perhaps if I dedicate the rest of my life to tabloids and The Only Way Is Essex, with a full volume backing track by Bieber on repeat, I may find myself joining the masses of mindless, joyless fucks out there. Let’s hope I’m not converted. Or cuntverted.

PS: The original draft of the blog wasn’t about social networks, it was about onions. I fucking hate onions. I don’t trust them. No vegetable should have the power to make a person cry. Unless that vegetable is a terminally ill loved one.

Robin Grainger

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER Robin Valo Grainger is a 23-year-old stand-up originally from Mordor (Cornhill, Banffshire), but now living in Edinburgh, because he thinks he’s better than you. Especially YOU. He’s been on the laugh circuit since September 2010, and in that time has made it as a semi-finalist in the Laughing Horse New Act Of The Year competition, and semi-ed it again for the Scottish Comedian Of The Year competition in both 2010 and 2011. Some cunts from The Skinny have said that he’s like ‘David Bowie going through an emo phase,’ and credited him with ‘swagger, energy and some great ideas.’ The Daily Record called him, ‘The most diabolic sex criminal since Glitter.’ Grainger alleged that he was abused by a ghost in 1998, and since then has never been able to watch an episode of Scooby Doo without screaming in primal terror and masturbating himself into a bloody, crying mess. Puzzlingly, any TV show featuring John Craven has exactly the same effect on him. Robin Grainger is really looking forward to being dead.

FOLLOW ROBIN ON TWITTER: @robinvalo
READ ROBIN’S BLOG: aboynamedrobin.wordpress.com
SEE HIS FRINGE SHOW: http://www.edfringe.com/whats-on/comedy/applause

Cunt of the Week (09 Jul 2012) by Jordan RA Mills

Posted on by

Jump on board Jordan’s Fun Bus. Final, and only, destination: Hell.

I’ve wanted to write a Cunt Of The Week piece since Jamie introduced this section of his blog, but didn’t quite get round to it. Partly this was because it would require deciding on the precise cunt I wished to afford the title, and that meant narrowing down a myriad of options. There are many cunts I have encountered, some anatomical, some abusive terms of hate, and some abstract applications of the word.

I have a couple of past bosses who are cunts, but I don’t like to write about them because it would take too long to illustrate their inherent cuntishness with innumerable examples; Edinburgh is a cunt, but I risk alienating much of the readership (and my potential comedy audience) if I pursue that. I think smokers, and the smoking ban, and cyclists, are all cunts. These are predictable, run-of-the-mill targets for the label, though. As is That Cunt Cameron, the man busily fucking up life for everybody in the UK, and I feel I would have to do some proper research to condemn him eloquently. Instead, I wrote FUCK THE TORIES across the back of a shirt, and wear it everywhere. It’s heartfelt, and something we can all agree on. Fuck them.

One American solution to the Megabus problem.

Having told you some of my considerations for the title, all of them dismissed, it is left to announce my present Cunt Of The Week. And what an utter fucking cunt I have lined up for the (dis)honour. Despite not having a TV, or even the internet (beyond the capabilities of my phone), it didn’t escape my attention that there was an incident on a Megabus the other day.

I’ve made many trips around the country in the past twelve years – up and down to London, Dundee, Edinburgh, Manchester, Nottingham, Buxton, Birmingham, for work, holidays, or for gigs. Some of these were spent in the company of friends, many more were conducted solo. Bus and coach travel on this island is a fucking nightmare at the best of times, regardless of the operator. My first ever trip down to London took eleven hours instead of (an equally unpalatable) nine; another trip down was marred by the driver blasting music all through the night, preventing us from sleeping; this was the same trip where they started to leave the service station before the scheduled time, leaving people behind.

An overnight bus trip from London to Glasgow took an hour to board, and then the double-decker broke down as we passed the Thames. And so we sat there, the engine turning over and over, before the driver eventually announced that a second bus would be joining us and we would have to transfer over to it. Twenty minutes’ later, he finally managed to get the engine going again.

On the way up the road, with no further problems, the secondary driver came up the stairs to admonish somebody for some minor misdemeanour – drinking, I think. Despite the wayward passenger apologising, the primary driver pulled onto the hard shoulder shortly afterwards, marched up the stairs to reiterate his mate’s threats (adding one about abandoning the guy at the next services), and then returned downstairs, whereupon he singularly failed to restart the bus. So it was, therefore, that a cramped and packed double-decker sat on the side of the motorway for two hours at 3a.m., again adding hours to an already unpleasant experience.

There are further personal examples too, but my complaints have always fallen on deaf ears and I long ago decided that it was always – ALWAYS – worth the extra cash to take the train or to fly instead. I cannot remember ever taking a coach trip to any part of the UK and disembarking thinking, ‘What a wonderful journey, I enjoyed that.’ Naw. It just doesn’t happen. 

The new Hamlet ad, perhaps?

This week’s cunt, then, is whoever took it upon themselves to prolong the misery of an entire coachload of passengers by seeing something ‘suspicious’ (in the form of an electronic cigarette: witchcraft, I suspect, to some of the cretins who populate this sorry excuse for a nation). Instead of challenging the person, or quietly alerting the driver, they managed to get the bus pulled over, caused the motorway to be closed in both directions, and get responded to by – at the BBC’s estimate – 24 armed response officers, 18 fire appliances, 25 police vehicles, 4 ambulances, 2 bomb disposal units, and 2 sniffer dogs. That’s cuntery that you can quantify right there. 

Is THIS how it happened? Full, second-by-second reconstruction to follow.

Whoever you are, well done for being such a spineless cunt that you couldn’t simply ask, ‘Excuse me, what are you doing?’ and instead grassed an innocent person up to a fucking bomb squad. Everyone on the coach was made to leave it with guns trained on them, and as someone who grudges the slightest delay caused by a fuck-witted backward passenger, I can only begin to imagine the sheer hatred I would have for you had I been on that bus.

I hope you are suitably embarrassed, you time-wasting cunt.

SOURCES: 
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-18738402
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-stoke-staffordshire-18728246
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-stoke-staffordshire-18728303

Jordan RA Mills

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER Jordan R.A. Mills writes lots, some would say too much, but he is mostly a good cunt and so people tolerate his wordy indulgence. He keeps a blog about his stand-up comedy adventures – http://jramills.wordpress.com/author/jramills/ – and recently wrote an acclaimed short satire of the medium, which was filmed and can be watched here: http://vimeo.com/41548848

Jordan is perhaps best known for devising and producing the Children’s ITV series ‘Gangsta Troll’, which featured the aforementioned troll and his two best mates: an owl who wore gold medallions, and chain-smoked with the help of a terrified sparrow; and a labrador called ‘Big Dave’, who could scratch hip hop records. Everyone’s favourite episode was the one where Gangsta Troll had a rap battle in the street against a wise-cracking pigeon. The series was cancelled when Jordan produced the episode ‘ABC, Open Wide For Me’, in which Gangsta Troll took lots of magical meth that caused him to shit letters of the alphabet into a policeman’s mouth.

Jordan died in 1987.

FOLLOW JORDAN ON TWITTER: @JRA_Mills

Cunt of the Week (02 July 2012) by Euan Meikle

Posted on by

Greetings fellow citizens. When Jamie asked me to nominate a Cunt Of The Week, I had to think long and hard (two words not normally found in the same sentence as Jamie Andrew). This world has a plethora of ‘see you hen teas’ to choose from, names such as Jeremy Clarkson, George Osbourne and Pastor Fred Phelps all came to mind as being worthy of weekly cunthood. However, I decided not to waste time venting bile on such small fry and so have opted to line up her Majesty the Queen in my crosshairs (metaphorically speaking, of course, as no doubt MI5 are taking notes).

Firstly, I want to state that I don’t believe Elizabeth Windsor, an 84 year old granny, who no doubt loves her friends, family and corgis, is a particularly bad person. She’s certainly not up there with Hitler, Freddy Krueger or whoever came up with the Go Compare adverts. My beef is with this imaginary entity that centuries of tradition and ritual, pomp and circumstance have created: The Queen.

It gets my goat that in the 21st century a perfectly ordinary woman, with the standard number of heads, legs and genitals, is somehow perceived as superior to the rest of us purely because some of her very distant ancestors won a few battles. Since Tharg hit Zog over the head with a club in order to steal his woolly mammoth burger, humans have always tended towards hierarchies of some sort. However, in this day and age, surely our leaders ought to have to earn the power, respect and fancy hats that come with the position.

The weirdness of the whole concept is best summed up by taking a look at ‘God Save the Queen’ (the original, not the Sex Pistols’ song). I’m not even going to go into the offensive verses about ‘rebellious Scots to crush’, and ‘beating up Welshmen who look at you a bit funny.’

This song is essentially a request that God, who made the whole universe and all of time and space and reality, take time out from his busy schedule to take a personal interest in the health and well-being of this one, wee old lady. Later verses get even more surreal, imploring the almighty to rescue her from any potential assassins, and even interfere in the politics of rival nations. One can imagine God sitting on a cloud somewhere, thinking: ‘Well, I really ought to do something about cancer, and the whole Syria situation is getting a bit sketchy, but my top priority has to be showering my choicest gifts on Lizzy and confounding the knavish tricks of the French.’

Unfortunately it seems we’re going to be stuck with the royals for some time yet, barring them being outed as giant lizards from another planet. Just remember, as Johnny Rotten once sang: ‘those tourists are money.’

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER: Euan Meikle was the first man in western Europe to successfully have full sexual intercourse with a musk ox. Ironically, given his hatred for the title, The Queen wanted to recognise this feat and give Euan a Knighthood for ‘Services to Extraordinary Acts of Beastiality.’ Euan now lives in Stirling, Scotland, with the musk ox, and their three children. He spends his time making the kind of music they play in Guantanamo Bay to get the terrorists to confess, and you can listen to it in all of its electronic glory, here:  http://soundcloud.com/yuan-mekong.

FOLLOW EUAN ON TWITTER: You can’t: he isn’t on Twitter, the technophobic slag.

Cunts of the Month – CoTW Retrospective

Posted on by

Welcome to our first monthly Cunt of the Week retrospective. Below the ugly mugs of last month’s guest writers are their names and their nominated Cunt. Click on the picture you want, and prepare to be transported to their rants.

Tam Wotherspoon – NORTH CAROLINA

 

Rik Carranza – MATTEL

Fraser Edwards – REAL ALE DRINKERS

Richard Hunter – ARGYLL AND BUTE COUNCIL

Cunt of the Week (18 Jun 2012) by Richard Hunter

Posted on by

Guest writer: Richard Hunter.

Hello. As your guest writer this week, I’ve been racking my brains for which subject to choose. Obviously, Jamie Andrew was first choice, but given that this will still be true when he next begs me to write a piece – as no-one else has submitted one yet – I’m sure we can wait for that.

So, my CUNT OF THE WEEK goes to Argyll and Bute council.

Yeah, that’s right: those cunts.

I should point out it’s for a specific reason, and if you’re on Twitter (@Tricky308, by the way) then you will probably already know why. If you live in the Argyll and Bute area then I’m guessing you have a few hundred reasons. To be specific, it’s the banning of the blog ‘Neverseconds’, which is written by an 8-year-old girl called Martha Payne.

In truth, the council only placed a ban on the taking of images. I suppose at this point I should explain.

Martha writes a daily blog, under the name Veg, at http://neverseconds.blogspot.co.uk/ which details what she had for lunch that day; this includes a health rating, mouthful count and a picture of the food on offer. She will also collate pictures sent from other lunchtime diners around the world, and will rate their lunch, too. Our food does not stand up well by comparison!

Richard’s stage direction for this picture: {JAMIE INCLUDE PICTURE ONE HERE} {and remember to delete all theses little edit notes before you publish it you thick cunt}

The council saw fit to ban the pictures being taken because they felt Martha was taking pictures of the wrong type of food. Here’s the quote:

“The photographic images uploaded appear to only represent a fraction of the choices available to pupils, so a decision has been made by the council to stop photos being taken in the school canteen.”

So are they saying that Martha’s only option if she wants to keep taking photos is to upload to her blog every possible combination of dinner that day and then rate them all individually? I would think childhood obesity is enough of a problem in Scotland without forcing a little girl to eat 20 different portions for lunch, just so she can write a factually accurate blog that night. I suppose if she did take this option the council would no longer need to worry, as by day 5 her hands would be too fat to type without hitting several keys at once, and within 2 months the inevitable heart attack would cease the blog altogether.

Argyll and Bute council have also claimed that the ‘school catering staff had been left “in tears” by press coverage’ and they ‘feared for their jobs’.

Anybody else smell shite? That may well be the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve seen in type since Jamie sent me that text about how his gig ‘went well’. Does anyone with a child actually blame the dinner ladies (or catering staff, if that term offends anyone) for the dross meals that are served up? NO, of course we fucking don’t: the dinner ladies work their arses off to provide this food. And, yes, OK, it’s not to a great standard, but when they’re working with ‘Big Bob’s Chicken’ (almost 19% chicken inside) or ‘Sandy’s Sausage Meat’ (made from only the healthiest of hamsters), then how the fuck could they manage to serve perfection? If they could get the backing from the councils, who in turn decided to spend more on a child’s lunch than a prisoner’s breakfast, then perhaps the council wouldn’t be so ashamed of the blog that is clearly just showing up the horrendous shit our ( and by ‘our’ I mean ‘your’, as I have no kids) kids are being fed.

Check out these two pictures:

 

 

 

 

It’s even more embarrassing when you look at the pictures! I’m sure it wont take much guessing from you readers to figure out which of the above pictures is being served in Argyll and Bute, and which came from Spain.

The silver lining in this whole debacle is that since Friday the 15th of June the blog has had over 100,000 hits* (I’m imagining right now that Jamie is trying to work out if he can get Falkirk council to ban his site so that he can aspire to similar figures) and has raised over £30,000 for the charity this website was all about. Oh, that’s right, I never mentioned that. This blog that the C.O.T.W is taking down – and, yes, I know they were technically just banning the pictures, but as it’s a blog based around pictures of Martha’s food, it wouldn’t work terribly well without the pictures, would it? – was set up to raise money for Mary’s Meals: a small charity that serves up life-saving meals to people who have been greatly affected by the East African food crisis.

It costs around £7,000 to fund the start-up for a kitchen to help provide these life saving rations. As of Thursday morning, young Martha’s website had helped to raise £2000, with her over-all target being the seven thousand to see a kitchen opened. But by Friday night the pledge stood at a little over £30,000. Infact, if anything, the people at Argyll and Bute council have helped…

Nah, they’re still total Cunts!

‘SCOTLAND OR NOT?’ A fun new lunchtime game. HINT: if there is Irn Bru visible, it’s probably Scotland.

OK, this is the REAL picture of Richard Hunter. But he does look a little like that Mexican cunt from season 3 of ‘The Shield’.

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER Richard Hunter is well aware that his name shortens down to DICK Hunter, and so are any audiences who have seen him perform stand up. His first gig took place in 2007, and that went so fucking well for him that he chose not to gig again in Scotland for another 4 years. He did fuck off to Australia and gig there for a while, where he realised that they think the name ‘Dick Hunter’ is just as funny as all the cunts in high school did as well.

Just yesterday Richard found out that he doesn’t live in Denny, Falkirk, but in Dunipace, Falkirk. A fact that has made not one solitary difference to his already quite pathetic life.

He would like me to point out that since he started to take stand up seriously, last JULY, he has taken part in 87 gigs, whilst my current gig count is 94, and I have been taking this seriously for nearly 2 years (closer to 18 months, if we’re being picky). I think what Richard’s trying to say is that i’m a lazy cunt. 

If you want to know more about Richard, or find out how horrendous he can be with a movie-based pun, then by all means follow him on Twitter.  But don’t bother adding him on Facebook. You may follow him, but you’re not his fucking friend (don’t feel sad about this: your name will be added to the list of everybody Richard has ever met)!

Richard regularly appears on-stage naked, ending his set by thrumming himself off with a little glove-puppet he calls ‘Grahamie Mandrew.’ As he ejaculates over the front row, he’s been known to shout: ‘BROLLY UP, YOU FUCKING WHORES! IT’S RAINING DICK JUICE!’ Please bring a sou’wester if you come to see him perform.

FOLLOW RICHARD ON TWITTER: @Tricky308

————————————————————————————————————————-

Write for next week’s Cunt of the Week (CoTW): http://www.jamieandrew-withhands.com/2012/06/01/cunt-of-the-week/

 

Cunt of the Week (11 Jun 2012) by Rik Carranza

Posted on by

The head cunt, presiding over his cunt empire.

My Cunt of the Week is not a single person; it’s an organisation. That’s right, Mattel, I’m looking at you. 

You see, a number of years ago – when I was much younger, smaller and more naive – I saw a movie which, at the time, blew me away. That movie was Back to the Future, Part II. If you haven’t seen it then, quite frankly, you need to re-assess your priorities in life. However, for the sake of clarification it is the second part of a trilogy of movies wherein a teenager, Marty McFly, goes on a series of adventures through time, almost shags his mother and claims to be Clint Eastwood. On a side note, if I had a time machine I would use it to punch someone at every major moment in history, or I would go back 2000 years or so to Jerusalem and claim I was Jesus. Probably the second thing. Yeah, I’d do that.

Look closely to see Rik Carranza's supporting role in BTTF2.

Anyway, in Back to the Future Part II, Marty McFly goes to the year 2015 and after a series of misadventures ends up in possession of A FUCKING HOVERBOARD! That’s right: a hoverboard. A skateboard with no fucking wheels! The first time I saw this I was too young to blow my load, but, trust me, it gave me the same feelings.

According to the movie, the hoverboard in question was made by Mattel. Given that the movie originally came out in 1989 and was partially set in 2015, it is safe to assume that Mattel didn’t have the product back then. However, as we are coming up for 2015, by my reckoning hoverboards should be coming out within the next couple of years; you know, so we’ve got time to become familiar with how they work. With this in mind, I contacted Mattel to ask whether or not their hoverboards would be hitting the market soon. This was their reply:-

——————————————————————————————————————

Hello

Thank you for your email.  The Hoverboards are not part of the UK range, but we do value your feedback and this will be passed to the relevant departments for their future reference. 

Kind Regards

Karen Allen

Consumer Response, Mattel UK

——————————————————————————————————————- 

I felt disappointment until I saw the phrase: ‘NOT PART OF THE UK RANGE’. So it does exist then? Awesome! Getting a little bit excited I did some research and found this: http://www.slashgear.com/mattel-hover-board-prepped-for-2012-holiday-release-13213241/

It’s a fucking replica! It doesn’t hover, it just makes some shitty little whooshing noises. Fuck you, Mattel. I want a real hoverboard; not some replica. Adding further insult to injury, it’s only available in the US. By releasing this, Mattel aren’t satisfying fans. They are fucking with us. Acting like strippers by showing us the goods, but not letting us touch. There are self-lacing shoes (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_Efr2TaEPo), holograms (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c0TpDxLfjHc&feature=player_embedded), video calling (http://www.skype.com/intl/en-gb/home), and video googles (http://www.geeksugar.com/CES-2008-Awe-eMagins-OLED-Microdisplay-Headset-943210), but still no hoverboard. So get your ass in gear, Mattel, and give me my hoverboard.

Rik Carranza

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER The end result of multiculturalism gone wrong (at least according to the Daily Mail), Rik embraces both cultures the same way John Terry embraces racial harmony. When he’s not trying to make people laugh he likes sports from the comfort of his couch, movies from the comfort of his couch and pet ownership from the comfort of his own couch. In fact on the few occasion that he leaves his couch he has had some success in stand up comedy, which he started in 2009 and still can’t be bothered to quit.

Rik was arrested in 2007 for having sex with a snowman in a school playground. The terms of Carranza’s release state that he must spend the winter months sedated to prevent any further sexual outrage, so unfortunately you won’t be able to book him for your Christmas party.

FOLLOW RIK ON TWITTER: @rcarranza

READ RIK’S BLOG: http://rikcarranza.blogspot.co.uk/

—————————————————————————————————————-

Write for next week’s Cunt of the Week (CoTW) : http://www.jamieandrew-withhands.com/2012/06/01/cunt-of-the-week/


Cunt of the Week (05 Jun 2012) by Thomas Wotherspoon

Posted on by

Cunt of the Week

My nomination for Cunt of the Week this week is… the entire population of North Carolina. They recently made law in their state constitution that marriage between a man and a woman would be the only legally binding agreement of its kind. This backwards and hateful step was taken by the scum of a redneck society gone mad; thumping out inspiring lines like, ‘It’s in the bible,’ and ‘god made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.’ I mean, congradu-fucking-lations for making something rhyme, you cock-eyed, slack-jawed, sister-fucking idiot. We’ll get back to why it’s not a good idea to base a modern society on a piece of political propaganda written thousands of years ago in a minute. For now, we’ll let them think that the bible should be law, and have a little look at how that might work:

Leviticus 11:9-10:  ‘Of all the creatures living in the water of the seas and the streams, you may eat any that have fins and scales. But all creatures in the seas or streams that do not have fins and scales–whether among all the swarming things or among all the other living creatures in the water–you are to detest.’
–
No eating shellfish.
–
Ephesians 6:5: ‘Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ.’
–
Keep slaves
–
Deuteronomy 22:28–29:  ‘If a man happens to meet a virgin who is not pledged to be married and rapes her and they are discovered, he shall pay the girl’s father fifty shekels of silver. He must marry the girl, for he has violated her. He can never divorce her as long as he lives.’
–
A rape victim must be punished and marry her attacker.
–
I could do this all day, really I could. Come on, you cherry-pickin’ motherfuckers. If you can turn a blind eye to some of the rules in your holy fucking book, then surely you can let two people who care about each other – and want to sample the suffering fucking hell that is marriage – to at least get the nightmare that they desire. Also, those knuckle-dragging morons messed up the language in their writing of this law and null and voided every civil partnership, including those between men and women.
–
Homosexuality was around long before the bible was written; the Greeks and the Romans had much documentation of it, as did the Persians. Hell, there’s even the Isle of Lesbos, for fuck sake.
–
The times they are a’ changing, as a wise man once said. The people of the world need to move past their fears and problems together and embrace the future. Or be labelled cunts forever!
–
Yours Honestly – Tam
—
—
THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER His name is Thomas, but you can call him Tam. He’s normally an easy-going person, but can turn into a Hulk-like, angry, and shouty bastard when he sees idiots about to open their mouths: as he lives in Central Scotland, Tam spends most of his time green. An uber liberal, Tam thinks you’re entitled to your own opinions… unless they’re wrong.
–
He’s a bit fat, but not serious fat… they aren’t going to be taking a wall out of his house to get him out or anything. He loves games – online, board and card, and can be super competitive. He is currently undefeated in Monopoly.
–
Tam lives in Skinflats with his imaginary pet hawk and thirteen dead bodies he hopes will remain undiscovered.
–
Write for next week’s Cunt of the Week (CoTW): http://www.jamieandrew-withhands.com/2012/06/01/cunt-of-the-week/
—

Cunt of the Week

Posted on by

Is Teresa a cunt?

Who’s yours?

You can pick anyone – with the exception of me, as my cuntiness is a matter of public record – to be your Cunt of the Week (COtW – or, tell you what, let’s shorten it to COW so we don’t have to be all vile and C-wordy every time we mention the feature): a politician; a celebrity; the guy who keeps blocking your driveway every morning; an historical figure; a cartoon character; hell, your own grandmother if she’s cunty enough!

So it needn’t be topical. Although the feature is called COW, your See You Next Tuesday doesn’t have to be someone we’ve seen in the news that week. It’s just that every week we’ll have a different person, or a rotation of persons, telling us about their particular **** (I’ve not gone all sensitive on you, I’m just bored of writing ‘cunt’).

Be angry, be passionate! Convince us in 300 – 500 words why your man, woman or character deserves to be crowned the CUNT OF THE WEEK and send your mad, depraved rantings to theotherjamie@hotmail.co.uk. Send them by a Friday and I’ll post them on a Monday.

I’ll put the best few (or indeed the only few, or most probably the ones I’ve made up and published under a false name because not a single fucker out there has bothered to submit anything) up every week, and we can all have a good, old-fashioned weekly hate-a-thon. And the great thing is: we’ll never run out of cunts. There’s too many of them!

Happy cunting.