Radio Cunt FM

By UNCUNT staff

The other morning I was woken up by the harrowing sound of Chris Moyles on BBC Radio Cunt FM. ‘Fat Cunt’ Moyles as I like to call him.

Fat cunt Moyles and his little team of helpers are wittering on about something ‘hilarious’ and ‘random’ that’s keeping them all considerably ‘amused’. Though I get the general impression that the producer could walk into the studio with the sad news that Comedy Dave’s grandmother had passed away in the night and they’d still be amused. Moyles would probably describe it as ‘totally random’ and they’d all break out into giggles. Including Comedy Dave. Whoever the fuck he is. To be honest I’m not even sure if he still works on the Chris Moyles Breakfast Show. But if he does then he’s a cunt.

“How can you listen to this every morning?” I ask my girlfriend, gobsmacked. “He’s funny” she replies. “No,” I say “he’s a fat cunt”. “Well he must be good at his job, he’s been doing it for 15 years” she says. Which is a fair point I suppose. But then, when you think about it, Adolf Hitler did his job for 15 years too didn’t he? Quite competently as it happens. So did Goebbels. And Himmler. And all the other Nazis. Including that fat cunt Hermann Goering. Who’s probably the Nazi who most closely resembles Chris Moyles isn’t he? Physically speaking.

So I’m ‘listening’ to the show and eating cornflakes (another thing my girlfriend has got me doing). I say ‘listening’ to the show, but actually it’s more like having a surgical lobotomy without anaesthetic, performed by a doctor who informs you during the pre-op that he fully intends to shit in the cranial cavity where your brains once were before he removed them.

I’m enduring these halfwits and trying desperately to block it out with semi-lucid thoughts about the day ahead and my forthcoming holiday. Things like that. Normal, mundane thoughts. But these normal, mundane thoughts are repeatedly blocked out by the even more normal, even more mundane thoughts being vocalised on national radio by this bunch of feckless cuntstables. (I got that one off The Shadowline. Not sure if it works in this context but hey….)

Tina, one of the crew, has made up a pop quiz and a jingle to go with it. It’s about Glastonbury. It’s called ‘Tina’s Glastonbury Tunes’. Tina has pre-recorded some tunes that will be performed that weekend at Glastonbury and Moyles and the other braindead prick have to guess what these tunes are. It’s as simple as that.
“Shall we hear the jingle again?” enthuses Moyles in his mock racist Leeds taxi driver drawl. The lyrics to the jingle consist of three words repeated loudly, ad nauseum: “Tina’s Glastonbury tunes”.

Yes, Chris. Let’s hear it again and again and again. (Said jingle ends up being stuck in my head all day. I can even hear it now. The fucking cunts.)

Just as I’m beginning to seriously wonder whether the producer has been replaced that morning by his 8 year old child who’s brought in a scrapbook of his ideas that he wrote down for his school homework last night, the torture is interrupted by Moyles playing a record.
I say a ‘record’, it’s more like having a surgical lobotomy without anaesthetic, performed by a doctor who informs you during the pre-op that he fully intends to shit in the cranial cavity where your brains once were before he removed them.

Then my girlfriend switches off the radio and we leave the house, her smiling and happy, me twitching and traumatised like a gibbering nervous wreck.

And to think Moyles, the fat illiterate cunt, demanded a pay rise of £1m per year for this shit. And then threw a strop when he was told he was only worth half a million a year. If I’d been Andy Parfitt, the controller of Radio Cunt FM, I’d have castrated the cunt, sacked him on the spot, gone round to his house, burgled all of his expensively acquired tat to sell later on eBay, burnt his house down, tattooed ‘I AM A FAT CUNT’ across his gormless fucking face and had him deported to the Faroe Islands to present a daily breakfast show to the meagre indigenous population of the Arctic Circle. In Swedish.

Radio Cunt FM likes rundowns. So here’s a rundown of the top 3 biggest cunts ever to have presented on 97-99FM BBC Radio Cunt. It’s a bit like the Top 40. But better…..

1. Bruno Brookes

Remember Beat The Teacher on Children’s BBC? Well the cunt that brought you that also battered his girlfriend (Anthea Turner), wore a mullet and cunted up the airwaves daily for 9 years from 1986-1995.

Those are years of my life I’ll never get back.....



2. Jo Whiley

[I take no credit for this description, my mate Chris texted it to me during the BBC coverage of Glasto the other week.......]

“Jo Whiley’s a fucking idiot. I mean Zane’s a daft kiwi cunt but I think that his enthusiasm is reasonably genuine, whereas Whiley just spews faint praise on EVERTYTHING. She would have you believe that she likes all music in the world. There is no music that she doesn’t like. David Gray could walk on stage and rape a seagull to death and then take a dump on its dead, rotting carcass and she’d say something like “that was lovely stuff from David Gray there”.

3. Zane Lowe

A “daft kiwi cunt” without a shred of musical taste or human decency. Indiscriminately bigs up anything from the Klaxons to Lady Gaga to Biffy Clyro to Goldie Lookin’ Chain; praising them like they’re The Beatles in the immediate aftermath of having recorded The White Album. Zane Lowe would literally place his open mouth at the bottom of a funnel while Chris Martin of Coldplay lowered his gaping anus over the top and proceeded to shit dysentery down it - a bout of dysentery contracted whilst staying at a Buddhist yoga retreat in the Himalayas. Lowe would drink it all down then look directly into camera and say “WOW! Words cannot describe how excited I am about this new Coldplay material.”

He’s a cunt of unimaginable, almost indescribable levels and I hate him more than any other celebrity figure in the entire history of the world ever.

Anarch-cunts

Anarch-cunt 1: “Hey, Oscar. Let’s, like, go and smash up some shops and stuff maaaan.”

Anarch-cunt 2: “But Sebastian, like, why maaaan?

Anarch-cunt 1: “Because, you know, like, anarchy and stuff. Maaaan.”

Anarch-cunt 2: “Oh yeah, maaan. Yeah. Do you have like any specific targets in mind, maaaan?"

Anarch-cunt 1: “Yeah, maaaan. Like, Topshop and stuff."

Anarch-cunt 2: “Yeah maaan. They’re like totally evil maaaan.”

Anarch-cunt 1: “So like, when should we do it maaaan?”

Anarch-cunt 2: “Like on Saturday man. There’s this big protest happening anyway. It’s like the perfect time to do it maaaan.”

Anarch-cunt 1: “What if we like get arrested by the police maaaan?”

Anarch-cunt 2: “Ah maaaan, like, fuck da police, maaaan. Getting arrested is like cool, maan”

Now the thing is, if you want to go round smashing up Topshop and Abbey National be my guest. If you want to fight the police, be my guest (you will lose obviously, and then complain about it.)

But do it in your own time you posh student cunts.

Don’t hijack a legitimate TUC march of a quarter of a million people, most of whom are facing redundancy from their jobs. Their livelihoods. (Jobs and livelihoods being things the ‘anarchists’ have never really had to think about. Living mostly in squats on mummy’s regular trust fund instalments)

The crucial point here. These aren’t anarchists. What we saw on Oxford Street weren’t acts of anarchy. They were childish acts of wanton vandalism.

Throwing balloons full of paint? Well done. Ramming wheelie bins into shop windows? Slightly unimaginative. Abusing policeman? We’ve all had the urge too, but what goal does it actually fulfil? Unless your main objective is getting clubbed round the face with a retractable truncheon. Or teargassed. Or better still, kettled. “Hey, Oscar, let’s like get fucking kettled maaaan. It’s like the new thing.”

Real anarchists would shoot David Cameron.

Real anarchists would plant a bomb in the headquarters of Visa.

Real anarchists would hack into the local government council tax computer systems and fuck them up irrevocably.

They would do things that had resonance and meaning. They wouldn’t do ineffectual things just for the sake of attention.

These hooded student cunts (who clearly shop in Topshop, and all have bank accounts) shamed the Socialist movement on Saturday. They embarrassed Ed Miliband. They embarrassed every trade union organisation and workers collective who were demonstrating against public service cuts. They turned it into a G8 style riot farce.

Yes we can blame the media. “why are they focusing on the violence???” we scream.

Well, because students with masks over their faces chucking light bulbs full of ammonia at police officers is a more exciting news story than 250,000 slightly geeky people walking down the road.

The media have some culpability and they abused their responsibility for sure (there was football violence in Cardiff on Saturday for example and every single Saturday at the Den or Britannia or Elland Road. 'The media' have made a decision not to publicise football violence anymore. Because they know hooligans just want to get on telly or in the newspapers.) That is responsible journalism, ignoring pointless acts of unrest.

But when people occupy and smash up London’s busiest street you can’t really ignore it can you?

The anarch-cunts really fucked me off on Saturday. This was the first protest I’d been on since 1994! And they stole my fucking limelight!

UK Uncut?

More like UK UNCUNT you dipshits.

Cunt Of The Year 2010

Hi everybody, Nick Clegg here.

It's been a cunt of a year hasn't it? Tories back in power, massive cuts to vital public services, students rioting on the streets of London. And next year's shaping up to be a right cunt too what with the impending purge of the country's poorest people from social housing, massive public sector redundancies, draconian limits on much needed economic migrants from outside the EU, VAT rising to 20% and inflation going absolutely mental.

It really is all a bit of a cunt isn't it?

Now, I know what many of you out there will be thinking. You'll be thinking "that David Cameron has a lot to answer for. That plum-tonsilled, cock sucking, fox hunting, play-doh faced inbred cunt - he's responsible for all this. He's forcing open the bum cheeks of this great nation and reaming its arsehole with a croquet mallet. String him up. Cut his testicles off and shove them, quivering, into his wet-lipped mouth."

But I say to you, no! Cameron is not to blame. If you must blame anyone, blame me. If you must call someone a cunt, call me a cunt. After all, without me none of this would have been possible.

The day I walked out of 10 Downing Street shaking hands with my dear friend the prime minister, was the day I took millions of trusting votes and literally wiped my arse with them.

That's right, Lib Dem voters (whether you are long term partisans or simply had enough of Labour - and let's face it who wouldn't have with their record employment figures, lowest ever NHS waiting times and brilliant revamp of our schools) every ballot paper you ticked and put in that little box, I used it to wipe my faeces-splattered shitbox and then flushed it down the toilet. It was a long night and my anus became sore and chafed. At one point I looked over to my trusted colleague Vince Cable and noticed that his arse needed wiping too, so I handed him a wad of voting papers which he eagerly soiled. As he did so he smiled and said something noble but the gist of what he was saying was lost as everybody was too distracted by his symbolic act of defecation.

Whilst I agree that David Cameron has put this country on a course of destruction, social breakdown and unprecedented inequality over the next five years, we have to bear in mind that he's a tory. What do you expect? It's in his blood. I can assure you he's really a thoroughly nice chap. (He even likes The Smiths. Kudos Dave).

But I was supposed to be the one you trusted. I was meant to be a watershed moment in the history of British politics; a politician proudly standing up for his principles, disrupting the two party power monopoly and reforming the electoral system forever. I even had the fucking Guardian spunking over me like I was the new fucking Messiah!

Well, that's all gone to shit hasn't it?

You all deserve an apology and I wish I was able to give it to you. But at the end of the day, when I look in the mirror and see my own slightly embarrassed, nondescript face looking back at me I think "Clegg, you old cunt, whatever glaring, deceitful, cowardly mistakes you've made this year, you have at least acheived one notable success - you've got the Liberals back into power for the first time in decades. Sort of."

Oh who am I kidding? The truth is I hate myself. Every night, once all the politicking and debating is done and another section of the British populace has been shafted in the House of Commons, I go upstairs to bed and I take out the selected papers of Gladstone, Asquith and David Lloyd George and I have a little wank over them. And then I cry long and hard into the night.

People of Britain, I say this to you. I am a cunt of epic and legendary proportions. It's not going to be easy reconciling my conscience with all that I've done. To be honest, one of these days I'll probably kill myself.

But not right now. There's still work to be done.

The Christmas Cuntdown

By UNCUNT staff

In the shopping malls, on the radio, on VH fucking 1, you just can't avoid Christmas tunes. Some of them are brilliant. Some are cunt-ridden. Here's UNCUNT's selection of the best (and by "best" I mean absolute fucking worst)

Cliff Richard - The Millenium Prayer



Listen Cliff, if that is your real name (it’s not), why don’t you take your God, your daily bread, your 260m records sold worldwide and shove them up your leathery, fake-tanned, puckered, born again arsehole. You’ve shat on the beauty that is Auld Lang Syne and you’ve forced your God shit down people’s necks once too often. This single, quite incredibly, went to number one. Who the fuck went out and bought this? Oh, Christians. (And not the band The Christians with that bald chap, I mean actual Christians….you know, Catholics, Protestants, Baptists, all that shit…..yes they do still exist.) Well thanks Christians for ruining Christmas and for ruining pop music forever. If Jesus had an iPod he would definitely skip this track every single fucking time.

*Cliff's real name is in fact Harry

David Bowie & Bing Crosby - Little Drummer Boy



Having tired of entering Berlin, coked out of his walnut and sieg heiling like a good ‘un, David Bowie decided to devote the rest of his music and ‘acting’ career to being a cunt. There was that one exception, Labyrinth, but even then many people see that as a bit cuntish in its own right. Here, he teamed up with Bing Crosby; famous for the racist yuletide classic White Christmas. What’s so wrong about this is not the shit-yourself-cringeworthy banter or Bowie’s hideous south London twang, it’s not even his shite 80s haircut. It’s the fact that this song was never, EVER intended for the pop charts. This is what you sing in school assembly when you’re 6 years old (and even then it’s crap). What in shitting crikey were these cunts thinking?

Madonna - Santa Baby



Did she really need to do this? Did she? Did she really? Really?

New Kids On The Block - Funky, Funky Christmas



I’m going to warn you. Watching this video could be damaging to your mental health. It has literally nothing to do with the actual concept of Christmas and everything to do with cashing in on fleeting, superficial chart success. I’ll admit, I liked NKOTB. When I was 9. I also liked Bros. But Bros never tried to act like street-wise tough guys, with baseball caps on back to front did they? They were a decent, honest boy band. Not like this shower of cunts.

Smashing Pumpkins - Christmastime



After producing one of the 90s finest rock albums Siamese Dream, Billy Corgan made the conscious decision to become a weird skinhead vampire. He went in to talk to his PR agent and his record label and told them grunge was over and the kids of the future would much rather listen to a whining, self-pitying, angst-ridden, goth twat wearing leather trousers. In many ways he was correct. In many ways Billy Corgan invented Emo. And for that alone, his career will always be remembered as a shit-stained aberration. What his PR guys, and the rest of the world, weren’t expecting was a Christmas single. Surely it went against his moody image? I mean, Metallica never recorded a Christmas single did they? Slipknot never recorded a single with Ol’ Dirty Bastard on lead vocals did they?

No they didn't. Although a part of me really, really wishes that they had.

The 'C' Word

By UNCUNT staff

I'll be brutally honest (as always), I'm not sure whether to praise James Naughtie or cunt him off.

Why, you ask? Surely he should be the unoffical media spokesperson for this entire blog?

Well, the truth is I'm a bit annoyed. I've had this issue of UNCUNT prepared for weeks (if not months), saving it up for the right moment. If I'd written it last week I'd have looked like a prescient genius. Now, after his brilliant Today programme gaffe, I just look a plagiarising, opportunistic cunt.

But fair play to the cunt, he's probably been reading too much UNCUNT. He probably had the last issue up on his laptop at the very moment he was making his instantly classic Freudian slip about culture secretary Jeremy Hunt.

Naughtie's slip of the tongue had an important function in bringing the 'c' word back under the microscope of popular culture and mainstream media; a place where it should be. It re-opened a debate about the (un)acceptability of the word, its etymology as one of the oldest anglo saxon terms, the argument over whether or not it is mysogynistic and the enduring funniness of the word with its simple-yet-effective pronunciation.

The humour behind the word is why I write UNCUNT. It's simply a funnier expletive than wanker, tosser, dickhead or anything else. I have, of course, had to deal with the suggestion that the word contains historically sexist conotations. Well, we live in a post-feminist world and while I (the product of a feminist mother and a hippyish upbringing) found the word unsayable for much of my youth, as a progressive adult I find the idea of not saying 'cunt' because it might be offensive to women a far more sexist and regressive concept than using it freely and liberally.

I do not, however, condone its use to describe a woman. The traditionalist in me feels it is a word that should only be applied to males. You will note there haven't been any UNCUNT issues devoted to any female figures in film and music. Is that perhaps sexist of me in itself? Should I not call everybody a cunt regardless of gender? I suppose I probably should but I still retain an element of what Hadley Freeman described to me as "squeamishness" about the word. This blog in some ways is a form of therapeutic workout for my literary psyche.

I actually began to use the word freely and liberally only after hearing several women I know using it. One being my sister, another being a close friend who loved watching late night episodes of Prisoner Cell Block H and abusing the eponymous (all-female) prisoners. More recently, a female colleague at work, apropos of nothing, described Alexa Chung as a cunt. She said it in her northern accent (which alters the word to something perhaps more aggressive) and it was simultaneously shocking and hilarious. Now, in all fairness, Alexa Chung is a cunt, everybody thinks that. But the feminist part of me thinks that it's ok for a woman to call her a cunt but unacceptable for a man to do like wise. Weird huh?

The word is of course simply slang for the vagina and in that sense no different to its genitally offensive relations 'cock', 'pussy' and 'twat'. But there is something in its short, sharp shocking enunciation that elevates it to a higher plane.

While the word has had many airings in the film world - horrendously in Nil By Mouth, disturbingly in Taxi Driver, scarily in Sexy Beast - it has been far less used in the annals of music.

This issue is a dedication to those heroes of music who have uttered the immortal word on tape.

The Libertines - What a Waster

Banned by Radio One, most bands would have viewed this release, their first ever single, as commercial suicide. For the Libertines it cemented their reputation as serious, subversive, hedonistic, intellectual heroes of the UK underclass.

Alongside references to the bible, the Beano and James Joyce's Ulysees this sexual ode to a coke-addled waster girl contains the most glorious swearing ever put on record. Never have the words "what a divvy, what a fucking div, walking like a moron, talking like a spiv" sounded so poetic. But what really nails it of course is the majestic use of the 'c' word. "the city's hard, the city's fair. get back inside, you've got nothing on. No, mind your bleedin' own you two-bob cunt." The working class Victorianisms radicalised a whole new breed of young English pop stars of the future and I, for one, am eternally grateful to Messrs Doherty and Barat.

S*M*A*S*H - Lady Love Your CuntWho remembers the New Wave Of New Wave? (Or NWONW as the NME cleverly titled it). For those of you too young (or too old), it was a very brief musical movement in 1993 that acted almost as an unintentional segue between grunge and britpop. Many say it was the forerunner to britpop and they definitely have a point. Bands that fell into this category, as well as punk rockers S*M*A*S*H, were punk rockers Compulsion, glam-mod, eyeliner-wearing speed freaks These Animal Men and the indie Morrissey-endorsed Smiths-soundalike Echobelly. I loved all of these bands. Very briefly. Sonya Aurora-Madan was a bona fide role model for non-white indie kids; a British Asian woman wearing a Union Jack t-shirt. A decade after their demise I spotted guitarist Debbie working in the Notting Hill Record and Tape Exchange - how the mighty fall.

Not only did S*M*A*S*H accompany Oasis on their first US tour, they also released a mini-album, a full-length album and this non-album single.

Named after Germaine Greer's essay, this pro-feminist attempt unfortunately did not go down too well with the indie chicks of the day (the indie chicks of the day being largely affiliated with the contemporaneous Riot Grrrl movement). Upon its release I recall letters in Melody Maker from women saying (and I am paraphrasing here) "fuck off S*M*A*S*H, who the fuck do you think you are? Have you got cunts? No, we have and we'll fucking decide if we wanna love them or fucking hate them. You cunts." It was classic.

It's also worth pointing out that S*M*A*S*H were from Welwyn Garden City. Is there any town in existence that is less rock'n'roll? (It's a rhetorical question.)

Kurt Cobain's answerphone messages to Victoria Clarke and Lynn HershbergIn 1992 Kurt Cobain was becoming seriously fucked up. Now married to Courtney Love and with a new born baby Frances Bean, his fame and lifestyle were becoming all a bit too much.

Out of his gourd on smack he took exception to music journalists Clarke and Hershberg (the former being the long term partner of Pogue Shane MacGowan) and an article they wrote about how Love had smoked heroin while pregnant.

He rang up Clarke but instead got her answerphone. Not dissuaded, Cobain proceeded to leave a rambling abusive message (in two or three parts - answerphones were actual tapes back then remember). At one point he described the duo as "insane cunts", which at the time, for a grunger and a devout champion of women's rights like Cobain, was big news. Select magazine received the tape and published a transcription (which I read as a transfixed 12 year old).

Listen to part of his message here. It's quite funny. In a disturbing way.

Steve Coogan - Everyone's A Bit Of A Cunt Sometimes

Steve Coogan is widely regarded as a bit of a cunt. Despite his ample talent and comedic genius for character acting, Coogan himself has never been taken to the public's heart has he?

Peter Hook once described him as "the biggest cunt ever to come out of Manchester". Nobody knows exactly why but it was probably because Coogan tried to bang Caroline Aherne. It makes sense doesn't it? Aherne hosted the Mrs Merton Show. Coogan appeared on the Mrs Merton Show. Hooky played on the Mrs Merton Show. Coogan must have groped her or suggested a quicky in a seedy hotel. Hooky took exception and labelled him a cunt. That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.

Underneath the "coke and strippers" headlines, the messy divorces, the arrogance, the alcoholism and the relocation to Los Angeles (where the very concept of being a cunt began) there has to be a lovable chap somewhere inside him. No?

Well at least he's able to laugh at himself. The 2009 stand-up tour, according to people I know who saw it, was utterly shite. But the closing song is quite good. I particularly like "I've had a life of plenty, does that make me a c-u-n-t?".

Have a listen. If you still think he's a cunt afterwards well, I can't really blame you.



The Auteurs - The Upper Classes
And so to my final, and favourite, use of the 'c' word in the annals of rock music. Luke Haines has never been one to mince his words. In his autobiography Bad Vibes he cunts off everybody from The The's Matt Johnson to Pulp's Jarvis Cocker. Saving a special, persistent, spiteful-yet-affectionate cunt-off for Lawrence Hayward - brainchild of the shit 80s/90s bands Felt and Denim.

That's the kind of man Haines is. The more he likes someone, the more inclined he is to call them a cunt. That's why I respect him.

On The Auteurs second album Now I'm A Cowboy, which I regard as their masterpiece, Haines sings about everything from Chinese bakeries to new French girlfriends. Every little Britpop gem on this album has an epic quality and contains an undertone of respectful homage mixed with a snidey cunt-off. He'd hate me calling it Britpop, but it is. It's more Britpop than Suede or even Blur. It's want Britpop was meant to sound like before the likes of Ash and Menswear came along, ballsing it all up.

On The Upper Classes, Haines does not hold back. It is one of the great underappreciated lyrics of our time. Slowly, creepingly, but surely he takes sarcastic aim at the aristocracy and their trust funds, inherited wealth and houses behind trees. Halfway through this protracted, bitter put down in which our protagonist steals clothes from an upper class lover then feels ashamed at being in cahoots with the landed gentry, Haines quite bizarrely refers to an unnamed person with the words "that cunt's really got it sussed. Selling wine, selling drugs. You can get so far with a perishing wit, but the money's in trust, isn't it?"

I'm still unsure what or who he is referring to but nevertheless it's one of those rare moments when pop lyricism transcends the mundane, makes you actually laugh out loud and the way he offers it up so off-the-cuff, almost as an afterthought gets you reaching for the rewind button just to make sure you heard it right.

I salute the genius of Mr Haines - the most underrated songwriter ever and a proper cunt to boot.

Cunts of Leon

By UNCUNT staff

When is something going to be done about Kings of Leon? They show no signs of voluntarily packing up their gear and fucking off, so surely it falls to us - the British public - to get the message home that their kind are not wanted here?

Well, so far, the British public have singularly failed to get this message across. In fact, like poorly little puppy dogs at Battersea Dog’s Home we’ve been metaphorically lapping up Kings of Leon’s vomit for virtually the past decade. We’ve been sniffing their shit and licking their balls like inquisitive dogs on heat. What is our fucking problem?

When these bearded cunts emerged out of Tennessee clinging desperately to the coat tails of the Strokes and the White Stripes like some kind of deranged maniacs the joke was rather droll for a time. But it soon wore thin….

‘Red Morning Light’? Doesn’t mean anything, can’t hear what he’s saying but it’s lively enough and I like how the drummer hits the cymbals.

‘Molly’s Chamber’? Doesn’t mean anything, can’t hear what’s he’s saying, it’s a bit less lively and the drummer’s not hitting the cymbal in the same way.

‘The Bucket’? Ok, he’s enunciating better here but what’s this shit about “18 and balding”?

King of the Rodeo? Lively enough. But what the FUCK is he saying???? Open your mouth you mumbling, clichéd fuckpiece.

By the time they got on to their ‘wanky rock star’ phase of 'On Call' and (somebody please rip off my ears with cheese wire then shoot me in the face) 'Sex On Fire', the warning signs had long been ignored. Their popularity went up, their sales went up, their marketability went up, their stadium tour bookings went up. The quality of the music went down. Strange that…

But it really is those stadium tours that irk us the most here at UNCUNT. Do they ever leave our shores? Clearly they’ve identified Britain as a weak, vulnerable spot they can exploit. To the point where some kind of regulatory body should step in and place a cease and desist order. They’ve never achieved success in their native America. Why would they? Americans aren’t impressed with bands whose main selling point is being American.

3-4 times a year these cunts come back over here with their American ways – stealing our jobs and raping our women. Playing the O2, Wembley or Hyde Park. No sooner have they got off stage from playing their traditional pre-Christmas show then their cunt of a tour manager is booking their next pre-Christmas show.

For their upcoming O2 shows, Ticketmaster have a special Kings of Leon Ultimate Experience deal. For the price of a mere £295 one can buy tickets to the borefest plus entrance to an exclusive pre-show ‘party’ (not after-party you understand) at which they might, just might be able to catch a fleeting glimpse of their hairy heroes. Possibly even talk to them. Definitely not touch them though, security would step in to prevent that happening. Ach, who are we kidding huh? The band will probably be in a roped off area refusing to make eye contact with the plebs. Like David Bowie in that episode of Extras. Also included in the price: an exclusive tour poster. What?? Like exclusive as in ‘only available on eBay’ exclusive?’ Presumably the lucky punters are allowed crisps and peanuts and a can of Lilt before being ushered away from the ‘party’.

But don’t blame Ticketmaster for this hideous corporate sell out. This has the Cunts of Leon hallmark all over it. They are here to demand your money (average £55 per concert ticket) in return for a sub-standard parody of Deep South rock’n’roll.

They’re not big, they’re not clever. They’re inbred and they’re very very ugly. Do something better with your lives.

Choose life, choose a career. Just Say No to Kings of Leon.

UNCUNT Paedo Special

By UNCUNT staff

Let’s face it, we all like reading about paedos.
It’s one of those unifying things we can all shudder at and collectively hate; like the Nazis. Or Ashley Cole.
Back in April,The Sun published two front cover paedo headlines on consecutive days. Paedo headlines sell newspapers. Fact.

But whereas in real life paedos are imprisoned, electric-chaired, lethal-injectioned, even chemically castrated. In the music and film industries they’re virtually congratulated for it.

It’s a sick sick world. But let's make the most of it….

Jerry Lee Lewis
The seminal paedo and an American paedo (the worst kind). Lewis married his 13 year old cousin. Being a hillbilly hick he and his associates thought nothing of this statutory rape. When he tried to tour the UK however he was banned, stopped at the airport and sent home.


Nonce-o-meter: 6/10 (it was a different world back then)
Jonathan King
If a cartoon caricaturist was employed to sketch their idea of how a stereotypical paedophile should look, the end result would look almost exactly like Jonathan King. Look at his eyes and the lop-sided whimper of his mouth. A mouth that’s sucked on too many underage winkies.

This fat, misshapen dollop of shit buggered a lot of boys in the back of his Rolls Royce in the car park of the Walton Hop in the 70s, documented in Jon Ronson’s brilliant Guardian weekend investigative piece published after King’s trial – one of the best interview features the paper has ever done. It was 2001 and King had finally been convicted and sent to prison for 7 years.
One can only hope he was force fed semen and sodomised with a rounders bat everyday of his incarceration.
Nonce-o-meter: 9/10 (at the risk of sounding a bit Daily Maily...King makes me physically sick)

Michael Jackson
It’s wrong to speak ill of the dead isn’t it? Even skin-bleached, mentally damaged dead kiddy fiddlers.

“What’s wrong with sleeping with children? It’s a beautiful thing. Don’t be so ignorant, you’re ignorant” he said in that Martin Bashir exposé. (I’m paraphrasing…)

Probably the greatest pop star of all time turns out to be a nonce. Sort of like finding out John Lennon was a wife beater. Disappointing.

Nonce-o-meter: 7/10 (probably just touched them)

Pete Townshend
Oh, Pete. Why? Whhyyyyyyyy?

Oh...... For... research purposes? 'kay....

Oh, you were abused as a kid? Shit, sorry.

So, you logged on to child porn sites and put in your credit card details just to analyse what you went through as a kid?

Ok, yep I see your point, that all seems fine.

Sorry to have troubled you, carry on.

Nonce-o-meter: 5/10 (there are other ways to carry out research Pete. Ever heard of the library?)

Bill Wyman
When Wyman was 47 he started dating 13 year old Mandy Smith “with her mother’s consent”. WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU?????

But, it’s not really the mother we should be mad at. It’s the leering, sleazy, ugly, millionaire bass player from the Rolling Stones. It’s astonishing how easily and frequently this sordid tale is overlooked. Everybody goes “yes but they were in love and he later married her when she was 19”. And????

It.is.illegal.to.have.sex.with.a.minor.

She would have been in the third year at school for christ’s sake!!! Apparently he waited a while until he started banging her. Waited until she was 14. You know, he wanted to make sure she was ready. Do the right thing. He was nearly 50 you see, he’d had a lot of experience and wanted to behave like a gentleman.

To put it into chronological perspective: Mandy Smith was born in 1970 the year of free love and Hendrix’s death. Bill Wyman was born in 1936 the year of the Nuremburg rallies. Not surprisingly they divorced by the time Smith was 21 and Wyman was 53. Wyman probably couldn’t get it up by then.

Smith went on to marry former Everton and Spurs footballer Pat Van Den Hauwe - a fate arguably worse than being molested by a paedo.

Nonce-o-meter: 8/10 (if there’s grass on the wicket eh Bill? You filthy paedo cunt)

Roman Polanski
In 1977 (the 70s were a prolific decade for noncery) Polanski was charged with “rape by use of drugs, perversion, sodomy, lewd and lascivious act upon a child under fourteen, and furnishing a controlled substance to a minor”. This charge was later changed to “unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor.” As soon as he was physically able to flee, Polanski got the fuck out of America and back to the safety of France (where sleeping with underage girls is frankly de rigeur)
Mitigating circumstances? Polanski maintains the sex with Samantha Gailey was consensual. He also survived the Holocaust, his mother died at Auschwitz and he’s one of the most talented film makers of the 20th century. Give him a break yeah.

Nonce-o-meter: 7/10 (the Quaaludes thing looks bad and she did say ‘no’)

Gary Glitter
There are no words to describe this cunt. He should basically be killed.













Nonce-o-meter: 11/10 (the electric chair is too good for this cunt. I wonder if anybody…anybody…still has his records in their collection.)

R. Kelly
Pissed into a 14 year old girl’s mouth and filmed it. It doesn’t get more wrong than that.












Nonce-o-meter: 10/10 (hot and fresh out the kitchen)