Le Cunt : Sub-par narcotics

L’evidence : Leaving aside all moral, ethical and legal discussion of drugs, the basic premise is simple : you take them to alter your state of mind/body.

Some cocaine will pep you up, a pill will make you dance, a trip will make you see things, some grass will get you stoned, and so on.

But when you get drugs which are crap and barely do what they’re supposed to then one has every right to be unhappy. How many times have you got some hash which looks like hash, smells like hash, burns like hash, smokes like hash, but does about as much as smoking a piece of tractor tyre? Too many times, I’d say.

I remember one time during some drought in the early 90s going to the Old Chinaman and buying what looked like excellent stuff from a particularly sinsister looking chap. When I got home and smoked it, instead of getting me stoned, it had the exact opposite effect. I was reverse stoned and when you want to be stoned that is not an acceptable state to be in. Of course I couldn’t go back and complain, the bloke was so evil looking this is the first time I’ve mentioned it and it was over 15 years ago. It still rankles though.

And what the fuck is wrong with E these days? I paid £30 for my first E, way back in the day, but I was off my bracket for about three days. Now you can get 10 pills for €25 but you need to take all of them to get through the night. They’re rubbish and it’s a sad indictment of young people today that they accept such shoddy merchandise.

I want one pill that will make my stomach flip after about 30 minutes and have me dancing, facing the same way as everyone else, within the hour. If you can’t give me that, fuck off.

Le verdict : I’m quite happy to pay my money, and I realise there’s an element of risk involved when purchasing drugs, but fuck me I want them to be more like Ronseal, doing exactly what it says on the tin, even though there is no tin, instead of the sub-par load of cheap-arsed, mass produced, ALDI standard shite you’ve just sold me, you shit dealing Le Cunt.

(18 votes, average: 9.67 out of 10)

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Popularity: 3% [?]

Le Cunt : Those prune faced le cunts who self righteously appoint themselves as gate keepers

L’evidence:

“I need to see a doctor”
“Name”
“I don’t care what he’s called, I have chest pains”
“What’s your name?”
“Maxi Cane”
“Date of birth”
“What?  My left arm tingles”
“Date of birth”
“Can’t remember but you’ll know my date of death if you have me stand here any longer”
“Have you been here before?”
“No, and I’m having second thoughts about coming back, let alone recommending a friend”
“Medical history?”
“I don’t know, I was fine this morning and now I have chest pains”
“We can’t see you without your medical history”
“Why?”
“Are you allergic to anything?”
“You”
“Fill out these forms and come back to us”
“Get ta fuck, I need to see a doctor”
“And we need to see those forms filled out”
“Is there a doctor available now?”
“Have you an appointment?”
“You’re going the right way for a beating.  How can I make an appointment when I don’t know when I’ll be having chest pains?”
“You’ll need to fill those forms out and make an appointment”
“I could be dead by then”
“You better get your finger out then”
“When is the soonest available appointment then?”
“Tomorrow at 2pm”
“TOMORROW?  Are you serious?”
“That is if you’ve filled out the forms”
“Finding, it, hard, to, speak, at, normal, pace, chest, feels, like, it’s, closing, in, left, arm, tingles, need, ambulance,”
“Get off the floor, this won’t get you admitted any sooner”
“What’s, that, light?  Grandma?”
“NEXT!”

Le Verdict: It warms my cardiac arrested heart to know that these turkey necked le cunts are more worried about the tidiness of their filing system than my health.  Surgery Hitlers every one of them.  That is unless you happen to be Edna from the bridge night in the local parish hall, then you’re right in there.

Contemptuous void of all emotion slaves to administration beurocratic heart attack voyeurism enjoying nazi Le Cunts.

(12 votes, average: 9.33 out of 10)

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Submitted by: Maxi Cane

Popularity: 3% [?]

If my name had been Philip, I would have been a pharmacist

Le Cunt: People called Damien.

L’evidence: Legion, so it is. Damiens Rice and Dempsey. Singer songwriters so insipid as to make unseasoned, boiled to fuck cabbage soup made by grandmothers through the ages seem like a tasty night out in a high end curry house.

Damien Thorn, as featured in award winning seventies documentary “The Omen”. While Master Thorne’s aversion to all manner of Catholic priests and churches is something to which your correspondent happily relates, the whole  bringing about end times, employing snarky housekeepers and owning scary dogs pushes Le Beast firmly into Le Cunt territory.

Damien Macken. Called Damo by his  entourage . Anything and everything that does not meet with Damo’s exacting rugby-playing, knuckle-dragging standards is summarily dismissed as “gay”.  The intelligent, the slightly less well off, the nose breathers, all homosexual in the eyes of my erstwhile school chum. One confidently assumes that little has changed in twenty years.

Le verdict: Anyone I can think of whose name is Damien, and if there are others they are surely hewn from the same fossilised shit, is either a sinning against music, sinning against humanity or sinning against my teenage self Le Cunt.

(8 votes, average: 7.75 out of 10)

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Popularity: 3% [?]

Le Cunt : The need to break with all good protocol and lay cable in someone else’s home.

L’evidence : Like most well educated folk I keep my pooing to my own house. It is comfortable, the reading material is plentiful and I do not have to worry about stinking out the place.

However, every so often one is caught short and you have to go against every instinct in your body and take a crap in someone else’s gaff.

The reason this is a problem is because you never take a good crap, like the ones which come out in less than 10 seconds and require no wiping, or the little rabbit dropping ones which, although they will plinky-plonky in the toilet bowl, are probably the least offensive craps a human can produce.

No, when you have a BM in someone else’s house it’s because you haven’t fully managed to evacuate before leaving home. Perhaps a combination of drink, drugs, kebabs and other substances has left your bowels in a state. The one you plopped at home was barely half-cooked. The other half was still basting in your gizzards and when the bell pings it has to come out.

They are almost always painful, they almost always take an age to fully give birth too and they are, not almost, but ALWAYS, always the smelliest of all shites. If you can imagine the stink of a dead tramp’s corpse, being feasted on by a special variety of maggot who eats the rotting flesh and then vomits out a substance which smells like a mix of 4 day old smegma, Paris Hilton’s minge and a Roscommon slurry pit.

The worst part is there’s always someone waiting outside to use it. Even if you open the window it makes no odds. You have to sit and wait for a while to hope the smell dies down enough so that when that person goes in after you they don’t immediately call the authorities to raze the house to the ground because of the impossible infection that has been unleashed in their bog.

And isn’t always the downstairs loo as well so that when the door opens the stench wafts through the house? It is.

Le Verdict : I love a good poo but having to do it in someone else’s house is a big pile of ‘I know we all poo and all poo smells but Jesus Christ I wouldn’t inflict this on my worst enemy’ Le Cunt.

(14 votes, average: 9.50 out of 10)

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Popularity: 4% [?]

Le Cunt : Having to shake the hand of some person you have never met.

L’evidence : I submit the image as a mere taster of what has been proferred to me down the ages. Why do we shake hands? It is the done thing. People say it is polite.

But wouldn’t it be just as polite to wave gently and say ‘How do you do?’ when you meet somebody for the first time? If you get to know this person a bit better and you can be relatively sure that they have somewhat clean hands then you can decide it’s appropriate to shake hands when you encounter one another.

How do any of us know where those hands have been? Perhaps they have been fondling the breasts of a gypsy girl, their foul milk and downy fur coating the palms that the person wants you to touch. Perhaps the person you are expected to shake hands with has been fingering somebody or fingering themselves. They may have had an intolerable itch upon their stinkbox and been forced to go beneath the underwear for the kind of scratch that brings some peace.

There are innumerable places a person’s hands might have been before you meet them and, unquestioning, you simply take one of those hands in yours, sweat on sweat, your pores opening to allow the germs, virii, filth and assorted palm flotsam to enter your own body.

It is a filthy, ghastly habit and from this day forth I shall refuse to shake hands with complete strangers. I shall say “Please do not be offended but for all I know you’ve been using your hands to maul spunk into your mouth like Winnie the Pooh eats honey. I am glad to meet you but I will not shake your hand until we are better acquainted”.

I think people will appreciate my forthright approach.

Le Verdict : Society’s rules dictate that we are ill-mannered if we do not shake hands but surely it’s bad manners to wipe your own grime onto the hand of a complete stranger. It’s a load of demure Le Cunt.

(10 votes, average: 5.60 out of 10)

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Popularity: 2% [?]

Le Cunt : The loudmouth twat who can’t keep his mouth shut during a gig

L’evidence : I don’t have any but we’ve all been there. We’re talking small venues, theatre gigs – obviously this kind of person can’t make any impact in a stadium.The song ends, applause dies down and then some wanker thinks that’s the moment for him to try and entertain the crowd.

“Yer a legend, wha?!”

“We love you [artist name]!”

“Play [song that artist is most well known for]! I’ll buy ye a pint!”

“Nice pants/suit/hair/beard/glasses!”

The list of ludicrous unfunny things that these people say is neverending. They don’t understand when people around them start cringing, their toes curling. All they hear is the occassional titter from the few ‘tards in the audience who don’t realise they’re listening to somebody who, if they spent 45 years studying how not to be funny, couldn’t be any less amusing than they are now.

This person does attract the odd critic who almost always kicks in with a timely ‘Shuddup the fuck, wouldya?’, but nothing prevents our pal from shouting stuff. He couldn’t shuddup the fuck even if he wanted to. But of course he doesn’t want to. He plays the crowd for laughs, gets a few, but the one thing he should get he never does.

SuperAIDS.

Le Verdict : Yeah, I know “we’re not in mass here”, but I didn’t come to listen to you barking like a spasticated Frank Carson. Shut your fucking mouth or fuck off to the International to heckle some stand-up on open mic night or something, you blathering, as funny as being raped by an ogre Le Cunt.

Bonus Le Cunt : People who talk constantly during a gig. If you wanted to chat to your friend about your period then you could just have easily stayed in the pub, you pig-ignorant, disrespectful, shitewaffling Le Cunt.

(12 votes, average: 8.33 out of 10)

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Popularity: 2% [?]

Le Cunt : The exploitation of Muhammed Ali

L’evidence : Muhammed Ali is to be granted the dubious honour of Freeman of Ennis, which is a bit like being awarded the key to Clondalkin for all the good it’d do you.

Stricken with Parkinson’s Disease he is unable to speak, yet he’s wheeled out for people to have their photo taken with him at a dinner he can’t eat. There’ll be a civic reception to give him the award he won’t understand and to add insult to injury there’s going to be an open air concert featuring Mundy. Mundy. For fucks sake.

Ok, so what if the whole tour has been arranged as a charity fundraiser backed by a biotech firm? So what if Ali sits there, glassy-eyed, expressionless, while grinning gombeens have their picture taken with him? So what if it’s tragic beyond words to see the world’s greatest ever boxer destroyed by an illness, a shadow of a man, let alone his former self? So what if an old man is stripped of his dignity for the benefit of others?

So go pay €650 to go have dinner with him and contribute to his exploitation. Tell everyone about the night you met a legend. Go on, you fucking cunts.

Le Verdict : It’s a pitiful sight, like seeing Angelina Jolie sunbathing asleep, naked on the beach and taking a picture of yourself beside one of her tits with your mobile phone, you shameless Le Cunts.

(9 votes, average: 10.00 out of 10)

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Popularity: 3% [?]

Le Cunt : Black people.

L’evidence : Where to start?

Who is the fastest man in the world? A black man.

Who is the best blind singer in the world? A black man.

There hasn’t been a good white basketball player since Larry Bird died. Or retired.

Black people gave us genre defining rappers. White people gave us Sno and Vanilla Ice.

Ever been to mass? It’s boring, isn’t it? Not if you’re black. They have choirs and singing and dancing and clapping instead of dull sermons from child touchers that make you feel guilty about wanking.

Black people are so awesomely great at everything they make white people look crap and as I’m an already crap white person I object to being made look more crap so they’re cunts.

Le Verdict : The reason why there are so many black people in prison in the USA is because the white people are getting as many of them off the street as possible to make themselves look better. Black people should have realised by now they need to tone it down, the better than us, show off, well tanned Le Cunts.

Submitted by : Arthur J Whitey

(13 votes, average: 7.38 out of 10)

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Popularity: 3% [?]

Le Cunt : The people who complained that RTE did not provide live coverage of Ted Kennedy’s funeral.

L’evidence : This article from the Irish Independent:

RTE, the state broadcaster, received up to a dozen complaints for failing to break into its schedule to broadcast the funeral of Senator Ted Kennedy. The funeral was broadcast live on Sky News and BBC News 24, but a number of people felt it was “disgraceful” that RTE failed to cover the event, at which Taoiseach Brian Cowen was present.

Firstly, Ted Kennedy was an American politician. AMERICAN. Yeah, his pretty boy, Marilyn Monroe fucking President of the USA (which you can only be if you’re an AMERICAN) brother was a big favourite with the Irish, until he got his head shot off. Sure, he had links with Ireland but so, seemingly, does every single candidate for the US Presidency.

Secondly, it’s a fucking funeral. Who wants to watch a funeral instead of the Sunday Game Live or even an omnibus of Fair City? Anyone who complains that a funeral is not being televised live is a sick, twisted individual who needs to closely re-examine their life. I would certainly not let these people babysit my children because they would probably rape the ever loving shit out of them.

Television is about entertainment. Not watching a funeral mass. If you’re that into funerals you can go to one any day of the week in real life, leave TV for mindless, brain numbing diversion.

Le Verdict : The kind of people who would want a funeral on TV are the kind of people who read Peig for fun, the gloomy, wallowing in their own misery, trying to ruin TV for everyone else Le Cunts.

(5 votes, average: 7.60 out of 10)

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Popularity: 2% [?]

Le Cunt : People who are unable to spell the name Michael

L’evidence : It’s everywhere. Everywhere.

Le Verdict : You don’t get Jhons, Puals, Divads or Roterbs so why the fuck do we we have Micheals and Michales, you fuckwitted, lazy spelling, dyslexic Le Cunts.

(7 votes, average: 8.00 out of 10)

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Popularity: 2% [?]