Archive for February, 2015

The election is hotting up with some top quality bog standard monetary shenanigans and bigotry from two of the leading parties and some bunch of flag waving chancers who for some unknown and completely spurious reason keep ending up coming across like a complete rabble of jackboot saluting bigots.

Heaven forfend that Rifkind and Straw should ever have done anything wrong, because obviously what they did was completely above board and in no way are we trying to impugn that politicians are a hideous bunch of grasping salivating homunculi intend to filling their own pockets and fuck the paups as long as they don’t find out. The Daily Backhander applauds such entrepreneurial spirit, and can only encourage all the others politicos out there in WestminsterLand to shake a fucking tail feather and start taking monetary inducements to either ask questions in parliament or offer access to certain top ranking members of the Houses of Parliament’s playpen for as many beer vouchers as they can stuff into their greedy pockets. Nothing wrong with a bit of graft on the side as long as it’s between rich people and corporations and the proles don’t find out.

In other fab and groovy election news yet another UKIP member has had to sling their bastard hook for living back in the 1940s when standing around and screaming at people who look a bit different while jabbing a finger in their faces was seen as perfectly acceptable behaviour. For some reason the lefty kaftan wearing bead hugging tree shagging muesli eating rabbit stroking kitten loving corporate hating Greenpeace and lentil brigade think that being a massive fucking bigot is somehow unacceptable. What sort of society are we living in when in this day and age a perfectly normal honest and decent member of the stazi can’t build a gallows outside a non-white resident’s door and set fire to a cross on their lawn?

Figel Narage must be the unluckiest cunt in the world, as our editor Adolf Goering said the other end during our daily Hour of Hate. Time and time again some of the more unconventionally opinionated members of his brigade may utter the odd opinion about how people who touch each other’s bottoms are causing the floods or how them foreign types are clogging up the roads by being all foreign and that, and yet UKIP as a party are somehow tarred with the same feather just because the majority of their candidates and supporters seem to be the community natured types who hang around in large groups wearing hooded bed sheets as a fashion accessory. Yes, UKIP do appear to be in the position where every week one of their brown shirts mistakenly comes across as a frothing spinny eyed holocaust denier who appears to live in a version of England straight out of The Railway Children, but this is simply bad luck. In fact the party is a lovely bunch of good honest Englishmen who like a pint to laugh at every now and then and want what’s best for the country, even if that may involve setting up a few gas chambers around the less salubrious areas of the UK.

But politics and being a cunt make strange bedfellows. The idea that someone in an influential position would take money for access to whoever Johnny Corporate wanted to brown nose strikes people as somehow unsuitable, the same as the idea that running as a candidate for a party with a background in foreigner-hating somehow makes them a bigot. These incidents are merely the icing on the cake, meaning that the actual cake bit below is full of really lovely people who are kind to animals and love people of all creeds, colours and nationalities. For instance, I have it on good authority that Figel Narage gives money to big eyed orphaned foreign kittens and definitely doesn’t goose step his way through the national anthem every night after touching himself in an unseemly manner whilst watching old VHS copies of The Black and White Minstrel Show. Many members of the three main parties give the money corporations give them to act as ‘executive advisors’ to charities for helping injured bunnies and poorly hedgehogs.

People get the wrong idea about those in power, or those grasping for power with their withered, desperate claws. Yes, they may come across as though they’d take money for old rope or set fire to a barge full of refugees, but in reality they’re a warm hearted collection of chirpy socially conscious do-gooders who spend all their time helping out at charity fetes where they judge vegetables shaped like bellends. I have it on good authority that come drinking time on a Friday after a hard day’s work the entirety of Westminster refuses the lure of mammon and hoofs it down to the local homeless shelters where they hand out gifts of gold and kittens. Once people realise that politicians are really a lovely bunch of cocoanuts the quicker they can go back to sleep and ignore all the continual stories propagating the fallacy that they’re a collection of small minded power hungry bigoted prole hating cock jockeys. We at The Daily Backhander are here to promote this message. For a small fee obviously.

CUNT CORNER

Quite frankly it’s been piss poor here at Cunt Corner. Usually, in the run up to the elections, the red tops are full of slavering shit about how the Tories will literally cut their own knob off for your vote, but so far the only cunt headline has been the stalwart Express with “Millions Set for Tax Cut: Tory Pledge to Put money back in your pocket” promoting the bullshit bribe factor which has currently become fashionable with certain members of parliament. The rest of next day’s shit tickets were pretty lame in their cuntness, so I put a plea out there to all cunt papers – try writing more bigoted, witless toadying cunt headlines for the sake of this section.

Latest Cunt Counter since 05/02/2015:

Mail: 3

Express: 4

Star: 1

Usually the Mail are in front as The Express become obsessed with the latest health cure which can cure cancer just by slamming your bollocks in the fridge door, but they’ve improved on their Tory boot licking.

50 Shades of Plop

Posted: February 18, 2015 in Film - sort it aht!

A satirists edge is never blunted when trouser guff like 50 Shades of Farty Old Bollocks turns up on your doorstep just begging to be given a pasting, and not the sort they probably do in the film, which mainly involves sighing gently, a bit of mild spanking, and man-glue. No, the sort of cutting edge modern satire Sortitaht deals with involves making vaguely obscure political jibes about stuff in a really intelligent way that will have Hogarth shitting his satirical pants. So, with no further ado, I present the current list of 50 Shades sequels in the pipeline:

50 Shades of David Cameron Is a Twat

David Cameron is a dashing, squishy sausage faced bellend running the country. Jemima Pants is his secretary, a total and utter nerdy virgin who’s never done it at all. Together they hook up with a right barrel of old gits like Osborne and Gove to give the country a damn good spanking. Cameron calls this ‘austerity’ and the paupers, who really like a good bit of S&M, submit freely as their rights and privileges, not to mention their welfare, is systematically stripped and then chucked in the bin. In the end the country breaks free from his tyranny by voting someone else in, then the whole business starts all over again, because bloody politicians are all the bastard same. The film is seen as a metaphor for the current government.

50 Shades of The Bloody Obvious

In this adaption Hollywood maverick kingpin Michael ‘Morecambe’ Bay (get it! – FUCKING SATIRE, THAT IS!!!) convinces the viewing public, portrayed by Spankington Sorebottom, to bend over a table while he gives a right good slap to its collective arse. But this time it’s all done in loads of slo-mo with explosions going off which should be exciting but ultimately ends up being a fucking headache to any poor cunt who watches the thing. In the end the public rise up against Bay and go and see something decent, and Bay is reduced to filming himself wanking, which is essentially the last Transformers film anyway. But with dinosaurs. The film is seen as a metaphor for Michael Bay being utterly fucking shit.

50 Shades of Pie Munching

Eric Pickles is a dashing, handsome entrepreneur who likes sitting on people. Quiverington Shallowthighs is his secretary, a thin woman who just happens to own a pie factory. Sick of being the Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government Eric slowly involves Quiverington in a subtle web of naughty botty games, before tieing her up to the bedpost and then raiding her factory, scoffing everything in sight. Shallowthighs eventually rises up and chases off the salad-averse tubster by waving a sprig of lettuce at him. The film is seen as a metaphor for the government eating away society’s resources and sense of fair play. And about fat people being greedy.

50 Shades of Billy Bollocks and His Amazing Performing Knackers

Billy Bollocks is the brooding, seething, smouldering adjective shagging head of a giant Enormocorp faceless company producing musical testicles. Tired of slapping his pods in the face of his dominatrix secretary he hires Nimmynumb Nommynuts, a quivering bowl of sexually frustrated trouser quivering virginity, to take it up the wrong ‘un. In the end, after an extended bout of botty play, she turns the tables on him by slamming his hairy walnuts in the fridge door for being a cunt. The film is seen as a metaphor for some old bollocks.

50 Shades of Fucking UKIP Are Cunts

Handsome dashing alcoholic Figel Narage runs the Kensington branch of the UKIPs. One day Brenda Bigones walks in scratching her arse and makes Figel go all funny in the toilet area. He immediately chains her up to the wall and has a good old go on her grundies. Brenda, being a total nerdy virgin, loves it like a slapper, because all women are like that, and begs Figel to do unspeakable things to her, such as reading out the UKIP manifesto. Realising he hasn’t got one Figel flushes himself down the toilet to join all the other jobbies in the sewers who think UKIP have sound principles. The witless arse ferrets. The film is seen as a metaphor for the British voting public being a bunch of old racist homophobic sexist fuckwits.

50 Shades of Running Out of Ideas

Wankington Shitworthy runs the Fancy Pants Art Gallery and employs Wilhelmina Nerdyvirge to shine all the bollocks of the brass statues. Wilhelmina, discovering she loves a good spanking when posh rich twats are doing it, finds herself subjugated to Wankington’s will and over time fulfils her wildest passion with a bit of mild buttock spamming and some gaffer tape over her nips. Realising she is losing herself in a whirlwind of sexual games, she finally overthrows her oppressor by driving a truck over his knob. The film is seen as a metaphor for Belgium.

50 Shades of Spanking Botties

Hunk Bigtrousers lives in a massive house in a posh area of London and runs a corporation which makes millions kicking orphaned kittens to death. Wimpington Shybird is a naïve and witless secretary who – for some unknown fucking reason – falls in lust with a millionaire bellend and submits to his will of not being to get it up unless he’s causing someone else pain – much like the current government, right, kids? In the end she realises that having a sore bottom at the end of the day is about as erotic as shoving a hedgehog up your ring, and she forms a revolutionary army and takes down the corporation, installing the tricolour up Hunk’s rear loader. The film is seen as a metaphor for shoving a flagpole up someone’s arse.

And there we have it. The next phalanx of botty spanking pseudo-naughty films to come out of Hollywood, which will probably all get made now that 50 Shades of Fucking Pony Old Rope has pulled in (ooer) ninety four cunting million in it’s opening weekend. I worry about humanity, sometimes.

CUNT CORNER

And the Daily Star makes it’s first foray into the all new Cunt Corner with the headline ‘Sponger reverses snip to have baby No. 13’, propagating the idea that if you’re on welfare you’re spurting out sprogs and rolling in handfuls of money whilst flicking the V’s at proper working people, like those who own Vodaphone, Amazon and run the country. Never one to be left behind The Express kick in with ‘House Prices Up £2,221 A Month! And more good news as wages rise too’ giving lie to the idea that sky-rocketing house prices are a good thing and aren’t the coalition great for getting the economy back on track. This is backed up by the Mail’s headline on the 11th ‘Best Time Ever To Take Out a Mortgage’, carrying on the paper’s time honoured tradition of toadying up to the Tories by churning out this bullshit ‘good news’, the feckless arse licking shitwanks.

Cunt Count so far:

Mail: 3

Express: 3

Star: 1

In the cunt run-up to the cunt election I expect to see more cunt headlines, to get scribbling journo scum!

Coffin dodgers have been given a piffling handful of used fivers by Conservative trough feeder George ‘Spunky Pants’ Osbourne. Nigel Farage has tried to piggyback on the Rotherham abuse scandal by saying it’s all the Labour party’s fault and they all smell of wee and can’t do wheelies on their Grifters. Ed Millitwat has promised all fathers the opportunity to spend more time with the screaming poo machines they spawn in an effort to make people not vote for him more. The Greens have invited members of ISIS to vote for them in the idea that democracy should be open to all and not just a select few of David Cameron’s chums, regardless of political leanings. All these incidents add up to what has become the standard repose of the parties in the upcoming election – spouting bollocks.

Naked electioneering has been part and parcel of the patronising state of political discourse throughout the campaign season. Who can forget the image of David Cameron molesting an underage husky in an effort to fool the electorate into believing he liked puppies and kittens and would definitely be looking after the environment if people were foolish enough to hand him the keys to Whitehall. Five years down the line and he’s opened up fracking in people’s arses. The Labour party are pushing the notion of the NHS as the big political dog whistle to disguise the fact that they’re going to stick to the Osbourne spending plan despite it being a major paup-fucker and means of demonising them lower class lot, who smell of wee (as Cameron has stated in his last Tory Party Address ‘Why The Paups Smell of Wee: And Probably Poo.’) Nobody needs reminding of how the Libs and Nick Clagnuts turned tail on their standards and started rubbing their naughty bits over the Tory manifesto, so hasty were they to dump the legacy of their policies and start touching the bottoms of big business. Around election time the political parties see the golden chalice within their grasp and start promising free piggyback rides of wheelchair ridden pensioners in an effort to get everyone to vote for them.

The notion that the general public would fall for this big bag of scabby old bollocks is ruddy well mental, to paraphrase Aristotle. But why do politicians follow this course of action every time an election looms. We talked to head pleb fucker Ian-Duncan Baldy, Secretary of State for Work and Paup-Starving as we sat in his Chingford home.

“It’s quite simple,” Ian told us as he threw another orphaned cripple onto the fire. “We in the government have known for many years that everyone who votes, regardless of their political affiliation, is a frothing mental. Every four or five years they gimble out of their pleb hutches to put their cross on a piece of paper which essentially marks them out as gullible twats. Seriously, think about it. In the last forty years has there really been any social progress made, or has it always been the same of grasping shit buckets in power, doling out treats for their chums in business whilst unloading the contents of their caks onto the poor and needy. The only difference is knocking a metaphorical jizz load of socially destructive policies onto the upturned grateful faces of the paups has more become a lot more blatant. Back in the days of Blair you had to introduce working tax credits and sure start centres to help the proles work for the price of a bellyful of mother’s ruin – now we don’t even bother with those. Whatever party gets in, be they UKIPs, Greens, Labours or Tories the agenda is to grasp as much payola as possible, give the impression we’re in it together whilst stamping on the future of the majority of the voting public, and then fuck off into retirement coasting on cushy ‘consultation’ positions with the corporations we introduced tax loopholes for. It’s marvellous.

“The general public know they’re going to get shafted, but that essential gullibility that keeps them hoping the next bunch of money grabbing shit weasels who get in power might have a smidgen of consideration for the paup majority keeps them voting. Other people vote because they’ve gone crazy ape bonkers and believe politicians know what they’re doing and are in it for the good of the country, even if means they have to suffer. We call these people ‘Tory voters’ although an even more barmy version has mutated into the UKIP voter. Seriously, UKIP haven’t got a fucking clue what they’re doing, relying on laughing at pints and the sort of rampant bigotry and hatred that got Hitler into power as the misdirection and snake oil that will see the barely human Home Counties sub-humanoid cannibalistic underground dwellers voting for them. Next time one of these gibbering spinny eyed knuckle draggers comes knocking at your door and asking for your vote so they can build a shiny new set of gas chambers in the village as somewhere to house the poor try asking them about their economic policy . I’ve seen UKIP delegates literally shit their pants as an excuse not to answer that.

“The problem is there really isn’t any other choice. There is no moderate anything, as parliament eventually corrupts everyone, so imagine what it does to the fuckers who are already corrupt, which is just about everyone, come to think of it. In the next parliament we’ve decided to re-name all the parties to reflect their politics, so we’ll have The Cuntservative Party for the Tories, The Labour Cunty for Lab, The Cunteral Democunts for the Libs, and The Ucunted Kuntdom Cuntipendent Cunty for UKIP. The Greens will just be The Greens, as they’re not so much a political party and more a shade of avocado.”

Until then we’ll have to put up with more skin-crawling diversionary tactics rolled out by all the parties vowing for their slice of the pie.

CUNT CORNER

Since the new Cunt Corner start date of 05/02/15 only two newspapers have stood out from the pile, and they are The Mail and The Express, of course. The Mail get the immigrant bashing in early with ‘At Last! A Crackdown On Foreign Patients Abusing NHS’ on the 5th,, followed by some council bashing on the 9th with ‘Old People Auctioned Off To Care Homes On Internet’. The Express took a big meaty chew on Cameron’s shiny bellend with TWO headlines based on the pension, with ‘£100,000 Boost For Your Pension’ on the 5th and ‘How To Increase Pension Payout’ on the 9th.

To sum from the last 7 days – vote Cams for better pension bribes, fuck the immigrants and councils are bastards. Cunt Counter so far stands at:

Mail – 2 Cunt Headlines

Express – 2 Cunt Headlines

The Conservative Party have found themselves in hot water lately due to a series of posters showing a rotund looking Ed Milliband cosying up to Alex Salmond with the slogan ‘Look At These Fat Cunts’ written in orphan’s tears beneath them. Roundly condemned for being negative, the Tories have responded by saying that a big kid made them do it, and what they really wanted to show was a picture of David Cameron next to some puppies with the slogan, ‘I Promise I Won’t Eat Them’ underneath.

Negative campaigning has been part and parcel of elections since the dawn of man. Historians have found early cave paintings depicting a sad looking stick figure with a tiny knob wearing a blue rosette and the words ‘Tory Have Short Penis’ scrawled underneath whilst a tall caveman in a red rosette nearby flicks the caveman ‘V’s. From Saatchi and Saatchi’s ‘Evil Eyes’ campaign to Tony Blair’s ‘The Tories Won’t Start As Many Wars As Me’ election misfire, the history of political campaigns has been one overflowing with absolute toss.

The main question is, do these campaigns have any real impact on the voting decisions of the person on the street. The millions ploughed into campaigns would suggest that the parties believe they do, whereas no one else really gives a monkey’s wank stick. This year, due to the Labour coffers being empty on account of the party being run by the 6th Form Debating Society, Ed ‘Stewpot’ Milliband has promised to go against the grain and run a campaign based on issues rather than personalities, mainly because he hasn’t got one. His first poster, showing a big pile of elephant shit with ‘Tory Policies’ scrawled across it, has received some criticism due to the fact that the pile of shit wasn’t big enough. The Tories responded with their ‘Ed Milliband Touches Kids’ poster, and again were roundly condemned.

The fringe parties have also been getting into the action. The Liberal Democrats have produced a series of posters with a big picture of Little Nicky Cleggy Wegg and the words ‘We’re Not All Turncoat Wankers Like This Bucket of Bollocks’ which is proving to be popular with no one at all. The UKIPs have photoshopped a picture of a Panzer tank smashing through the front door of 10 Downing Street with the slogan ‘Do You Want to See This Happen? If ‘Yes’ Then Vote For Us!’, whereas The Greens have produced a series of posters with a tooled up marine mowing down civilians whilst biting the head off a terrorist and the words ‘Death From Above’ printed in dripping blood beneath, which they put down to an error at the printers. Alternatively the new recruitment campaign for the US Rangers showing a bunny hugging a kitten and the words ‘Pwease Wuv Us’ has gone down surprisingly well in America.

But how do political campaigns come about? We asked Cuntingdon Shitworthy of Wanky, Farty and Plop Creative Media Industries to take us through the process.

“You have to start out with the basics,” said Shitworthy in that smug, supercilious way all media types do because they’re massive wankers. “We look at the amount of money in the pot and then take a huge amount of cocaine, and that usually gives us the idea to get more coke and whores. We then spend five hours in the exclusive nightclub for London cunts called ‘Cunts’ chattering an endless stream of witless, pointless shit before retiring to a pad in Chelsea to snort more cocaine, talk more shit, and then finally stumble into the office in the morning and steal something off the Internet. Our new intern, Tarquington Nipsyshit, came up with the idea of fattening up Ed Milliband for that Tory poster because everyone hates fat people. We were going to produce a whole series of posters of the shadow cabinet, all looking tubby, with the slogan “Yuck! Fatties! They Can’t Even Control Their Own Fridge, Let Alone The Country!” but were vetoed when Eric Pickles ate all the prints. We then thought of photoshopping Milliband onto stock photos of Fred West, Attila the Hun and Charles Manson, but were again overruled when Cameron told us they were all his great mates, so we had to start thinking outside the box. The new campaign is going to blow your socks off. We’ve photoshopped a pair of evil red eye over the Labour leader’s testicles, with the slogan “Milliband’s Bollocks Watch Over You”. We’ve since been fired.”

We showed the ‘Bollocks’ campaign to an average man on the street, Joe Bigot. A regular reader of The Sun, Joe used to vote Conservative before switching to UKIP and likes to watch Deal or No Deal and rub shit in his hair.

“I think it’s a rather denigrating affair,” Joe told us over a dry sherry from his Hackney bedsit as we listened to Mahler. “Political discourse has always been one of belittlement which can only work to condescend the political process itself. The main problem is with the candidates and the policies they espouse which has led to the upsurge in the popularity of the fringe parties, which at least carry the whiff of conviction. The political war machine needs to dig itself out of the trough of schoolboy name calling and concentrate on producing inclusive and socially productive policies which enrich society as a whole. Being a Sun reader, however, I am a bigoted xenophobe and wish only to be ruled by an iron fist so long as them foreign types don’t get in.”

We approached the UKIPs for a comment but their candidate just sat in a corner crying and wanking.

With less than one hundred days to go before the country heads to the polls and shits itself in fear there is one factor which remains certain – the political campaigns to be unravelled will be about as enticing as having an old man’s saggy helmet slapped against our faces, but a lot more cheesier.