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Cunt of the Month

Mother Teresa, sun-dried, shrivelled up, conker faced, table cloth wearing, dodgy saint and dead nun is our second posthumous Cunt of the Month Award winner. Yes, I know, another dead cunt and a woman again to boot! I don’t want any of you thinking I’m a misogynist or anything. It just turns out that a load of dead spunk buckets are right cunts. I can’t fucking wait for Winnie ‘put a tire around their neck and set fire to it’ Mandela to croak it. I’ll give her the award the very second the first bit of muck hits her coffin.

The previous Chief Kiddyfiddler Pope John Paul II called the sanctimonious shite gabbler ‘Blessed Teresa of Calcutta’. Which was nice. Except that most folk in Calcutta don’t remember her ever lifting a fucking finger to help in their time of need. She apparently set up a school for 5000 poor street urchins and orphans, only nobody could ever find the school or the 5000 pupils who were supposed to be attending it. They’re all probably being bummed to death by some priests somewhere. Which carries us nicely onto our next point, when the desiccated cardigan wearing witch bitch found out that one of her ‘very best friends’ had been caught with his cock jammed up an alter boys arse she was outraged… That the paedophile got fired! I mean what type of world do we live in, where a well meaning priest can’t touch up young boys?! She demanded that he be reinstated at once. He went on to abuse another eight kids. All in the name of Jesus of course you understand.

‘Hey Motherfucker! She raised a lot of money for charity, don’t be so fucking disrespectful!’ wail her contingent of fairy tale worshipping deluded admirers. Did she indeed? Well for a start; a lot of that ‘generously donated’ cash she so willingly accepted came from some of the most despised international fraudsters of her day, Maxwell, Keating and Duvalier all contributed millions of other peoples money to her ‘good cause’. When challenged about this and asked to return the money the filthy old dust bag remained stony silent. She had too. She didn’t have any of it left, she’d passed it all over to Mother Church so that they could silence the growing number of bandy legged Alter boys. Literally millions upon millions squirreled away never to be seen again. This despicable poison dwarf certainly wasn’t spending the cash on improving the orphanages that she’d set up for the poor homeless kids she professed to love so much. The squalid conditions they were housed in were little better then the streets she’d ‘saved’ them from, personally, I would have chose to stay on the streets… less chance of getting a god botherer’s cock in your bum.

The whole world seemed to fall for the fucking bullshit spouted about this backwards peddler of hate, so much so that they even awarded the dilapidated cunt a Nobel Peace Prize. A Nobel Peace Prize, for the woman who refused to give even the most basic of pain relief to the patients who were housed in her ‘Homes for the Dying’?! If you weren’t dying before you went in you fucking were the minute you stepped through the bastard doors. These places were more like horror filled torture chambers then hospices, filled with the screams of patients denied a fucking Nurofen in their time of need. Not only did she lock up the tablet box she also refused to employ any trained medical staff in her doom filled institutions on the grounds that, ‘the most beautiful gift you can give a person is that he can participate in the sufferings of Christ’. Funny that when she fell ill herself she decided to fuck the suffering idea out of the window and booked herself into the swankiest medical facilities (other) people’s money could buy. The hypocritical two-faced, withered old fuckcunt.

When she finally fucked off this mortal coil, the Chief Funnyhat Rape Enabler decide that she embodied his organisations lack of moral fibre and desperation to halt progress so much that he gave the nasty old bint a Sainthood. I mean who doesn’t like a little old Granny eh? That was sure to bring more fuckwits who could be parted from their cash to the Services on a Sunday wasn’t it? A fucking Saint!? That’s like being the largest cunt in a field of cunts situated just outside of Cuntsville.

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Jizz on a Journo – Leaky Holes

This one has been brewing for a while but due to recent events it has only just been turned into a media farce with attending fucking clown music. Julian Assange many moons ago made a few absolute cunts look like… absolute cunts in front of the watching world. Those who silently stalk the Halls of Power were suddenly thrust into the spotlight of International renown, everybody suddenly knew every word the horrible snarky fuckers had been whispering behind closed doors for years. Peoples suspicions were finally justified. We are being led around by the noses by a bunch of untrustworthy compulsive liars intent on feathering their own nests at the expense of those they swore to serve. Those fuckers who have been exposed go into a shock of self-righteous indignation and immediately try to cover their cock and balls with their big wobbly gratuity taking jazz bands.

Senator Cunt – ‘Hey this isn’t fucking fair! If I’d known people were going to hear what I said, I wouldn’t have fucking said it would I?!’

Jizzed up Journalist – ‘Look, I’d like to help you you Cunt. I really would. But I have news to sell and you looking like a two faced fuckpig in front of the World is big news right now. So unfuckinglucky.’

Senator Cunt – ‘What if I said that peoples lives were being endangered by them knowing too much truth?’

Jizzed up Journalist – ‘You’re preaching to the converted mate, I’ve been lying to the gullible fuckwits for years. But to answer your question. No. We’re still going to print whichever bits we think will sell more papers.’

Now everybody knows that politicians have extreme phobia of journalists or Fallicouscuntaphoboia to give it its proper scientific name. I mean why wouldn’t they be, those are the only shits known on the face of the planet who can out lie them. Unable to comprehend that any of this was their fault, they do what they do best, they set out to use some patsys’ to character assassinate the grassing Aussie shitface who stitched them up in the first place.

Senator Cunt – Hello, is that Sweden?

Police Constable Swede – Hej, how can I help you?

Senator Cunt – I need a favour, some prickster, whistle blowing, descendant of a convict has dropped me right in the shit. Any chance you can do him for rape?

Police Constable Swede – But he hasn’t, you know, raped anyone? The girls, they keep changing their stories, turns out they wanted his cock in them after all?

Senator Cunt – For fuck sake! He spunked up someone isn’t that enough?!

Police Constable Swede – Well if you insist, I’m sure we can rustle up some bollocks. You promise we wont come out of this looking like cunts who do your every bidding?

Senator Cunt – Of course I’m sure. Now Fucking Do It!

So Sweden now wants to speak to Assasnge regarding one torn jonny and one jonny that never turned up to play. That’s right they’re not charging him with anything, they just want a friendly little chat. This bothers the media not a jot, they sense a controversy in the making so they switch sides back to their Lords and Masters and start calling the hapless Aussie names. Rapist, sexual deviant, sex offender etc being the pick of the bunch. Sounds like my CV.

Assange quite reasonably asks Sweden to promise that, should he return there to help with their spunk sack enquiries, that they wont hand him over to the Americans who are drooling at the mouth with the thought of water boarding the Tell Tale Tit. ‘No can do I’m afraid and hey if you don’t like it maybe you’ll think twice before cream pieing in a Swede again eh Rolf?’ is the response he gets. With panic mode engaged he turns to the only people who are willing to help him. Ecuador. Yes. Ecuador.

Assange – Any chance I can hole up with you guys for a bit, Sweden are after me on behalf of their American sponsors?

Ecuador Ambassador – Hmmm it depends, what they wan’ you for?

Assange – I artex’d two birds cervix with my man paste.

Ecuador Ambassador – In that case…. Welcome! In Ecuador cock spewing up a senorita is a National pastime!

This disturbs America as Ecuador are one of those annoying little nations who wont allow themselves to be bullied, so instead they lean on the UK, who are notorious brown nosed lap dogs, to do something about it. The same Government who have been unable to eject a hook handed, fundamentalist, hate inciting, jihadist who regularly calls for the death of all British Infidels, for going on nearly three years are able to cook something up in mere days for a Swedish condom faux pas. In fact, the Brits get so annoyed at Assange’s bare backed antics that they threaten to do a repeat of the old Iranian Embassy number on Ecuador should they not play ball.

We have a stalemate. The Swedes won’t come to England to ask Assange if he really did get to fuck two birds whilst he was over there and does he know if they have any single mates? Assange wont come out to play because the UK have said the second he does it’s off to the good old U.S of A via Sweden with him for a nice bit of torture. They didn’t exactly say this, but they’re shit liars so it’s easy to read between the lines. The UK has had to admit that storming the Embassy was probably a bad idea, but that when they see Assange their going to get him. Get him good.

Stalemate is no good for our jizzed on journalists, they need more drama. ‘Whistle blowing Assange is a rapist’ they tell us, ‘he put lives in danger by forcing us to print all his revelations. People could have been hurt by those secrets coming out like that and whose fault is that?’ Well it can’t possibly be the media who made sure all the leaks obtained maximum exposure, likewise the people who actually carried out these dark deeds must also be innocent, after all it was all done in the name of God and Country. No. It’s that cocky Australian cunts fault.

So you two faced peddlers of deceit, every single one of you who has had a hand to play in this whole sorry affair, get your arm bands on and dive into this massive pool of fetid seamen and paddle like you’ve never paddled before, bathe in my cum you cunts.

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Jizz on a Journo – Pizza Hunt

Just before Christmas the tabloids in the UK had a juicy missing person story to run with; a young woman disappears and goes off the radar, her distraught parents are terrified for their daughter, there’s even a boyfriend out of his mind with worry. The police are of course called in to investigate and the media pressgang catches wind of it and so the story goes nationwide. There is a statement put out by the investigating officers, which is then recorded faithfully in the nation’s rags.

“She was last seen on the night of the 16th when she left her local pub, she later stopped at a local store to purchase a pizza on the way home. Police know that she made it home as they found her purse, keys and phone there. What they did not find was any evidence of the pizza. Dept Insp Soppybollocks is very interested in speaking to anybody who may have any information regarding the Mozzarella, Tomato and Basil Pesto Pizza.” 

Wait, What?! I just bet he is the greedy cunt. Who does he think he is, Chief Wiggum? What sort of information would they be needing exactly? How much does one of those Tesco Finest bad boys cost? How many Calories per slice? What is the RDA content of salt equation? All the papers are then flooded with images of the missing pizza, and you just know that somewhere a Tesco Executive is fingering his arse whilst smashing one out over all the free advertising. In fact has anybody even thought to question the Tesco twats? Every Little Helps my arse. The thing is, all the photos are completely unnecessary. I personally see about a thousand of these fucking pizzas everyday in Tesco’s, their always stacked there, unwanted, unloved and unbought (a bit like an ugly dog at the death camp kennels) you know why?… they taste like shit (somebody should probably inform Insp Soppybollocks) I mean for fuck sake, Mozzarella, Tomato and Basil Pesto Pizza? Hang on, is that cheese and tomato? Fuck me, it’s a Margarita pizza! Stop trying to jazz it up you cunts! 

Fast forward to Christmas Day and now we have a murder on our hands, the discovery of the body of the bright young lady should have been enough to satiate the Press’s need for grim Yuletide tidings….but stop!….. Where the fuck is that Pizza?! Still missing it seems, you can just picture the scene can’t you? 

Policeman – Inspector! Inspector! We’ve found the body sir! Over here!

Inspector – Well done officer! Is the Pizza there?!

Policeman – Sir?

Inspector – I said is the fucking pizza there?!

Policeman – errr I…err I don’t think so sir..I…I can’t see it sir, I don’t think it’s here?

Inspector – Then keep looking lad! I’ll not rest until I find that fucking pizza! 

The papers duly print more pictures of the offending bread based foodstuff, but even they are starting to get fed up with the pizza hunt. So far all the inept cunts in charge of this investigation have managed to do is arrest somebody who might not have had a fucking thing do with it and not find a pizza. The police get a bit defensive when their policing skills are called into question and so they rather sulkily admit that they are not only looking for a pizza but that a three foot grey sock is also missing. The following day we have several full page spreads showing the wayward pizza and lost sock. Pizza and a knee length sock? Sounds like a good night in to me. 

Upon the full revelation of the Pizza Hunt the British Nation responds in an entirely predictable and unsurprising manner. They hear the word ‘pizza’ and immediately all revert to teenage practical joke antics, they start flooding the Police with Prank Pizzas. Fuck that their trying to solve a murder an’ all. 

Mario – ‘ello, Little Italy’s Stuffed Crust Deliveries, ‘ow can I ‘elp you?

Prankster – I’d like a pizza delivery please *titter*

Mario – O’ course sir, where are we deliverin’ to?

Prankster – Scotland Yard *chortle*

Mario – an’ what pizza would sir like?

Prankster – A Mozzarella, Tomato and Basil Pesto Pizza please *snigger*

Mario – A what you sick cunt?! Do you mean a Margarita?!

Prankster – Oh..I…errr…fuck it never mind! 

Det Inspt Soppybollocks in his defence has stated that the pizza could be the key to solving the case. Look Soppybollocks I hate to break this to you, but I’m not sure it’s even the key to a light lunch, let alone a vital clue a in a murder case. In the light of this farce, a so-called ‘more experienced’ set of investigating heads’ was bought in to try solve and the mystery (the killing, not the missing pizza). Their first throw of the dice?…. DNA tests on all her Facebook friends….Fucking What?!

This is the future of modern policing. 

Police Commissioner – Ahhh Soppybollocks there you are. Any news on the murder case yet?

Inspector Soppybollocks – No sir, we’ve hit a bit of a brick wall I’m afraid. We tried Facebooking all her friends, but they wont’ add us and they didn’t like our status.

Police Commissioner – Hmmm, have you tried Googling ‘Who is the killer?’ yet?

Inspector Soppybollocks – No sir, I’ll get right on it! 

Now I know what you’re thinking this is the Cop Shop you’re cumming on here Motherfucker not a journalist. Well yes you’re half right, but I am also showering any of those fuckpigs who printed a photo of a pizza too. Rub it in you cunts, bathe in my man muck.


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Jizz on a Journo

As the media represents half of the world’s supply of cum swilling fuckpig cunts, I want to make a habit of at least once a month hosing some of the wankbombs down with my prescription medication riddled jizz.

We’ll start with the wankers’ short sighted uncreative use of the worlds daily events to try to push their own bland, biased view of the world down our ever vomiting throats. These cunts get themselves stuck in little cycles, like spastic hamsters caught on a never ending exercise wheel of bullshit, unable to take their eyes off the cash prize and report honestly and impartially for even two minutes. They have to try re-hash stories they think will sell rather than actual news. This is immediately noticeable when we look at the latest case of repetitive news selling.

Trapped Miners…not satisfied with the happy ending and utterly successful rescue of their ten minute a night Chile segment; the cunts have trawled the world looking for more of the incarcerated dirt diggers. Cunting Christ! Who actually gives a fuck?! These blokes work underground, eat underground, drink underground and probably bum each other to within an inch of their miserable muck filled lives underground. Now they’re trapped and may possibly die underground. Good. At least they’ll die doing something they love rather than raping Mother Earth, the coal stealing heartless bastards. Once the Oakley sunglasses sponsored Chilean miners were released, the media quickly found some more trapped in New Zealand and then China, latching onto every facet of the saga, desperately interviewing each miners wife, mistress and old school teachers in order to introduce more scandal into the scenario. Miners have been getting stuck underground for fucking centuries, only now they’re selling papers do we need to know all of their bastard names and life stories. Twenty nine miners lost in New Zealand… Twenty nine in China…Wait twenty nine in each?! Coincidences like that are not coincidences, it’s God telling us that all journalists are soulless, unimaginative and bitterly failed authors who couldn’t be arsed making up separate numbers for separate incidents…either that or it’s a coincidence.

So for this inaugural Jizz on a Journo, I jizz on them all! Bathe in it you lying fucking cumbaths.


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