‘Wondercunt’ is my favourite new profanity.
In case you’re a confused or dumb-ass cunt a wondercunt is indeed a noun and refers to ‘someone who is such a cunt that compared to a normal cunt—they seem advanced.’
I have several wondercunts in my life and I love them dearly. Not the least which because when I thusly inform them they are wondercunts they’re cunty little eyes will fill with cuntly little tears as they embrace me and tell me that a) they fucking love me too or b) I can go and get fucked, may as well fuck myself in fact since few people will want such a dirty mouth within two feet or their motherfucking precious bits.
Or not, because with that kind of stellar fucking advertising the line may get rather too long for mere-ass mortals and I will be left with a singular category of wondercunts waiting to annex South Cunt as they are tired of the tyranny of North Cunt, that rambling orifice of vulgarity and shameless proponent of the profane.
At any rate, a moment like that is when you know that shit is serious between two motherfucking cunts, as opposed to two regular cunts incapable of weeping over profound compliments such as these.
The so-called higher part of myself feels obliged to outline a history of the word ‘cunt’ and therefore obtain a modicum of redemption in the eyes of the literati, the puritanical, and the well-bred.
But I won’t—I’m a tired, overworked cunt who finds the idea of summarizing such a history utterly motherfucking tedious.
So here’s a list of stellar cunts who have snuck their namesake—directly or indirectly—into some of the most iconic literary works familiar to both regular and gifted bastards. Please note that the list is by no means exhaustive, though I can personally vouch for each motherfucking entry here:
• Chaucer, Canterbury Tales
• Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress
• Shakespeare, Ophelia and Twelfth Night (and probably more, that dirty, brilliant bastard)
• John Donne, The Good-Morrow
• Germaine Greer, Lady, Love Your Cunt
• D.H Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover
• Robert Burns, Merrie Muses of Caledonia
• Marianne Faithful sang about it on Broken English and Azealia Banks spits out at least a dozen times in her seminal 212.
We’re not even going to touch on Irvine Welsh because I suspect that bastard of having bought shares in that fucking word, the cunt.
Oh, and FYI—‘Gropecunt Lane’ was a perfectly acceptable street name in cities and towns in England during the Middle Ages. Especially in the red light districts. Let that sink in for a moment; quaint, picturesque England was entirely unbashful over this tiny, four letter word.
So what are all those easily offended cunts taking offense to, exactly?
Does it matter? None of them will ever become stellar wondercunts with that attitude anyhow. Let them eat cake (an unverifiable and highly suspect ‘quote’ from an eternally headless cunt that would never be mistaken for a wondercut, like, ever.)
So let’s take a quiet fucking moment an raise a glass—or several—to these awkward, loyal bastards, these weeping wondercunts to whom there is no compare.
I sincerely love you fuckers, you dirty, profane bastards. You make my world a better place.