Last night I took an E. The sign outside the shop now says 'T SCO'

Greetings donkey lovers everywhere! Yes I am back.
I've been away on holiday. Well when I say holiday I actually mean prison. In Horfield Jail, Bristol (psychiatric wing). It was all a bit of a mistake really though the local magistrates didn't see it that way. It all started when I began stalking an english woman I met in the Arts Centre in Newry. I'd nipped in to use the toilets there one Thursday morning when I was in town doing my weekly shop/shoplifting (I don't actually need to shoplift because as I've mentioned previously I am fucking loaded to the gills due to some clever investing on the stock market back in the 90s - that and the insurance I claimed after accidentally drowning my father in the slurry pit - the cunt deserved it anyway so it was a win-win situation - I just enjoy the thrill of stealing things I don't really want or need - especially womens underwear). As you know one of my favourite pasttimes is loitering around female toilets - must be the smell of all those female hormones and things. Anyway, I was on my way out when I encountered a blonde vision dressed in willowy scarves and smelling of patchouli oil. She was gazing at some paintings by a group of local lesbians or something when she caught my eye (I'd been staring at her breasts - I love the way those hippy types rarely wear bras). "Every picture tells a story" she said as I readjusted my penis and trying not to look like I was playing with myself (I was). "Yes, well the paintings hanging on my walls tell me how bad the security is in the antique shop over the road!' (I love stealing things from there). She just smiled and walked on (I think she knew I fancied her and wanted to play hard to get). Anyway to cut a long story short, I followed her all the way to the carpark and watched as she got into her car. It had a covered trailer on the back and in a moment of lust fuelled madness I decided to climb under the tarpaulin and hitch a free ride to her house. I already knew by this stage that I would rape her and sink my teeth into those pendulous breasts (hopefully she'd let me - she was a strong looking woman and I didn't have any chloroform on me to render her unconscious). However all didn't go according to plan. Next thing I knew I was on the fucking ferry to Holyhead (I thought the customs checked in trailers for drugs and things? How come no-one bothered looking in hers?). After stretching my legs for a bit and having a pee over the side of the boat I returned to the trailer and decided to have a snooze. Fifteen hours later I awoke to find myself in the carpark outside Bristol Zoo (I still had my bags of groceries with me that I'd bought in Dunnes Stores the previous day). I've never been there before so I thought I'd make the most of it and have a nosey around and there's no better way to start than by visiting the local Zoo. There was a sign saying that they'd just taken a delivery of a breeding pair of Kangaroos and as I'd always had an interest in them I decided I'd go there first. The sign said that the public weren't allowed to touch any of the animals but I thought I'd take my chances and climbed over the fence and into the kangaroo pound. They're magnificent beasts and they didn't mind at all when I put my hand into the female's pouch (I'd secretly always wanted to do that). Next thing I knew however three security bastards bundled me to the ground and next morning I found myself in the dock of Bristol Crown Court on trumped up charges of gross indecency with a defenceless non-consenting animal! Four fucking weeks in the local nick (psychiatric wing) was what the judge deemed to be appropriate recompence (wig wearing cunt) and what made it all the worse was the fact that I didn't get as much as a sniff of the art loving hippy bitch's gussett (never mind a proper full on sexual assault) that started my unfortunate chain of events. Four weeks of aversion therapy and prescribed drugs (I didn't even get a buzz from them). Speaking of drugs, by the time I got back to my homestead in County Armagh my herd of donkeys had gone bonkers as a result of lack of proper food which caused them to break out of their enclosure and into the spare barn that I'd rented to an acquaintance (who for legal reasons I'll refer to as 'Danny') for horticultural purposes. It turns out he'd been using it as a makeshift cannabis factory and once Fenella and the rest of the donkey posse got a taste for it the greedy flop eared bastards munched their way through the whole fucking crop! They were completely off their equine tits for the best part of a month. The neighbours must've been wondering what the fuck all the non stop 24 hour braying was all about! Danny went beserk when he found out and burnt down the barn and several other
out-buildings and has hinted heavily that he wants his cut of the insurance which is a real fucking pain because unbenownst to him or anyone else there must be at least eleven bodies buried in the ground under the barn and you know what those insurance bastards are like, they like to poke around and dig deep before they part with a penny so I'll probably have to end up
re-housing the stiffs somewhere else before I can submit a claim.
So that's everything up to date now and I hope it goes some way to explaining my absence from here. From now on it's 'rape local - stay local' for me.

Yours affectionately

Richard

Until next time as usual
I wish myself luck x

ps - I accidentally sent a picture of my dick to everyone in my address book today.Not only was it really embarrassing, it cost me a fortune in stamps.

Saying, "Guns don't kill people, bullets do," is like me saying "I've never raped anyone, but my penis has."

Greetings donkey lovers everywhere. I'm so sorry for my lack of communication recently but I've been a bit busy. Well I say busy but I suppose otherwise engaged might be a better phrase to describe my absence. In a nutshell - I've been hooked on Big Brother. I've hardly left the house since it began back in June. I can't seem to get enough of it and it's really fucking annoying me because normally I absolutely hate that programme. All those talentless self important nobodies prancing around like tits on the telly trying to launch their careers in the media. And that fucking Davina bitch yelling at us on a Friday night about fuck knows (okay I actually wouldn't mind violently raping her as long as I was able to gag her). Anyway this year for some reason it's different. I've been hooked since day one. I've been masturbating non stop to the antics of the housemates. My favourite HM (housemate) changes on a daily basis. Obviously I'd like to fuck all the female HMs (even the stupid plastic looking one with the false tits and annoying accent). I had one of my best wanks ever when the Irish one (whose name I can't spell) and the tiny blonde one (my favourite wank fodder until she left due to a foot injury.....) had to engage in a tights-over-the-head themed tug of war. I haven't ejaculated as forcibly in years. I also find myself strangely drawn to Ben (the posh one with the shit hair). I'd like to injure him (a bit).
Anyway I've decided to snap out of my wank frenzy after I visited the local shop for some shampoo earlier (for myself and my donkeys) and the woman behind the counter said, 'never mind Wash n Go, how about go and wash !' It was only then that I realized I hadn't had a proper wash in 6 weeks (since BB began). Normally I bathe sometime between 9-10pm on a Friday night but because of my BB fixation I've continually postponed my ablutions. Coupled with my non stop masturbation I now realize that I probably am a bit wiffy and do indeed need a decent scrub. Actually I do have to scrub myself raw to get rid of these bloodstains. The bitch in the shop refused to go quietly so I was forced to stab her repeatedly with a pair of scissors I found behind the counter in order to shut her up*. It's a good job she was too stingey to invest in CCTV. It took me almost two hours dissecting her body in my garage. The place is a fucking mess but I haven't time to clean it up now. I've just got enough time to dump the body parts over at Dick's piggery down the road and get back here for a complete body scrub before Big Brother starts. It's nomination day and I like to make bets with myself about who'll vote for who so I'd hate to miss it.

Until next time - I wish myself luck.

Yours

Richard.
* I normally would've ejaculated at this point but because of my recent frenzied penile outpourings my reserves are totally depleted and I experienced what could be called a 'dry cum'.

Looks aren't everything, but you can't wank over personality

Well you would think so wouldn't you...but I've managed to do it on many occasions. Breast feeding is healthy and natural and women should be allowed to do it in public. Masturbation is also healthy and natural - so why have I just been kicked out of BurgerKing for having a wank? I couldn't help myself...you know how it is sometimes when it's either knock one out or else you're all over the place for the rest of the day? I blame the current heatwave and the effect it has on young women in town centres. It's the way they dress (or don't dress)...it's drives my libido crazy! Acres of exposed flesh everywhere - especially the fat ones.
If, as Freddie Mercury claimed, 'fat bottomed girls make the rocking world go round', isn't it about time that our city centres received some recognition for their contribution to astrophysics? I've always had a bit of a thing for overweight women. Not in a sexual way or anything (well sort of) - it's more to do with murdering them. I mean where's the fun in grappling an underfed stick to the ground and raping her? Sorry forget I said that - it sounds quite fun actually. No what I meant was, fat women, they're more of a challenge. Fuck it - it's too hot today to write much. What I just wanted to tell you was that I saw this fat bitch in Burger King breast feeding one of her offspring and the sight of her engorged sweat-glistened tits proved too much for me and I ended up jizzing all over her chips. I tried passing it off as excess milkshake detritus but the manager wasn't having any of it. I'm so unlucky when it comes to self pleasuring in public. I really must try harder in future. I'm off to Tescos to buy some supplies now.
New Miley Cyrus DVD:
£15Tub of Vaseline:
£3 XL Box of Tissues:
Donkey Lovers Monthly - £2.50
The look of disgust on the cashier's face as I pay: Priceless!

I also have an appointment with my new GP - she's female (hooray!). So was my previous one. She reported me for lewd behaviour last time I saw her and refused to treat me again. I went to see her for my bi-monthly check up and she told me I'd have to stop wanking. When I asked her 'why?' she replied, 'because I'm trying to examine you you sick bastard!' I didn't think that was very professional of her at all. Plus she was ugly as well.
I hope you all have a lovely weekend.
As usual, I wish myself luck!

Richard.

PS - Tip of the day:
To spice up my wank sessions, I tried something new. Take a hit of rohypnol and see if you can finish before you pass out. It's almost like raping yourself.

"Give me your man juice, spunk all over me you dirty bastard".

I got a phonecall from some American bitch last night begging me to "Give me your man juice, spunk all over me you dirty bastard"....Michelle somebody. She sounded black. I think it was a wrong number. Luckily I was wanking at the time so no harm done.
Yeah, I was in a bit of a strange mood last last night. All that murdering in Whitehaven made me wonder where the hell I'd left my mothers old service revolver. Last time I used it was when I kidnapped the woman from the Cancer Research shop in town and made her re-open the shop after hours when I realized I'd accidentally donated a fur coat that I stole from a dead prostitute that I came across in a laneway several months previously. okay so she wasn't really a prostitute - I think she was actually an estate agent or something but you know by now how my mind works. I don't know what the hell I was thinking or what made me do it (donate the coat I mean - not the murder). I guess it was because there'd been a discussion about de-cluttering your life on Loose Women earlier on in the day and I'd decided to get rid of some stuff from my overstuffed wardrobe. My DNA was still plastered all over it (as well as her blood) - I'd have been in deep shit if the local fuzzmeisters had've got their hands on it. They've been appealing for clues and witnesses ever since they found her body AND they were so close to catching me at the time because they were already fingering me for suspected rape when they found her body. Well not actually fingering me but you know what I mean. I'm sure there'd be a lot more rapists around if they were on the promise of a bonus fingering by her majesties finest once they'd got the raping bit out of the way.....almost like a buy one get one free scenario. Anyway, to cut a long one short, I got the coat back from the shop but was forced to strangle the old bat with a pair of used tights (which I've kept) that I found in the 'yet to be sorted' pile in the back of the shop. I hid her body under the aforementioned pile of clothing and there's still been no word of her on the news or anything. I've always suspected they were a shower of slow moving bitches in that shop. The smell must be horrendous by now but I doubt if anyone will notice (not exactly fresh in there at the best of times).
I found the gun earlier today in case you were wondering. It was in the barn where I'd left it after the charity shop strangling. I tend to sweat a lot when murdering or indulging in some light raping (I think it's hormonal or something) and my musky odour really appeals to my beloved donkeys...it makes them go beserk with feelings of lust (male and female). I like to strip off and tease them with it. In the case of the estate agents fur coat, I thought I'd wear it over my naked body and prance around the barn to see if it would add to the ambience. It took me 4 days to regain full use of my bowels after the ensuing gang rape! Still, it was worth it just to see the look of contentment on their little elongated faces. In all the excitment I'd completely forgotten I'd left the gun on a shelf beside the quicklime.
Right - I'm off now to help some people with assisted suicides. I've been volunteering at the local Samaritans and have lots of names and addresses to attend to. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. They're literally dying to top themselves. I'm glad I found my revolver again. I am currently suffering from tennis elbow which makes strangulation a bit tiresome after a while.
As usual, I wish myself luck!

Richard

PS - Heard this joke the other day and I actually pissed myself laughing.It wasn't very funny, I just have a bladder weakness.

Auto-erotic asphyxiation, it's breathtakingly good.

Last night I murdered the vet by mistake. I only meant to scare him (a bit) but in hindsight I think maybe I did the correct thing by ending his life. It started yesterday morning when I noticed that little Nicky (the weaker of my donkey babies) was a bit collicky and was off his breast milk (I get it delivered free from the romanian woman who lives in a tent on the roundabout near the bypass with her 14 children and alcoholic husband in return for out of date packets of Uncle Bens boil-in-the-bag rice the man in the storeroom at Sainsburys gives me in return for stolen tights and soiled underwear I steal from the girls boarding school laundry that I frequent when I'm feeling energetic - it's a long complicated bartering chain but I'm willing to do anything for the sake of my new 'family'). Fuck I've forgotten what I was talking about now. Hang on a sec whilst I rewind.....oh yes - the murder of the vet (or cuntryside as I have renamed it). Anyway - I called him in to give little Nicky the once over just to be on the safe side. After waiting for 8 fucking hours (he said he'd be round in twenty minutes) he finally arrived. All he did was give little Nicky a slap on the back and rammed some sort of tablet down his throat and then asked me for £125 quid and proceeded to berate me for wasting 'his fucking time'! In return I told him that I had no change on me but that I'd go to the hole in the wall in town and drop it round his place later in the evening (I knew where the cunt lived). He left in a huff after telling me that unless either of the twins were coughing up blood that I shouldn't bother wasting his time again and go and get a fucking life! I've met some arrogant pricks in my time but James Herriot or whatever the bastard vets' name was took the biscuit. Superannuated overpricing cunt! Anyway - I dutifully went to the hole in the wall but it ate my card (not sure why, it's not as if I don't have the cash) and because it was after 5.30pm the bank was shut so there was fuck all I could do about it. So I decided to drive on up to Mr Vet's mansion (an utterly tasteless late 80s monstrosity) and explain the situation. Anyway, when I got there I couldn't see any sign of life but I found the back door was unlocked and my inner curious cat forced me to enter the premises. After having a good old nose around the kitchen and pocketing £500 in £20 notes I found in a drawer I made my way into the living room where I noticed the aforementioned practitioner, dressed only in white silk stockings, engaging in what could only be described as violent self abuse whilst listening to some sort of classical music racket (even though he had headphones on I could hear it) and reading a Mills & Boon novel borrowed from the local library (it was overdue - I checked the date stamp afterwards). After weighing up several possible directions to take I finally settled on choking him with the lead of his stereo headphones. I only meant to scare him or perhaps leave him unconscious but as usual I had a bit of a blackout and got carried away and ended up killing the fucker. I choked and choked and pulled and pulled at the lead until I was finally 'awoken' from my murderous squeezings by a wet sticky deposit hitting me on the face. It seems I'd accidentally done a Michael Hutchence/Kill Bill deathwank on Mr Vet (at least he probably enjoyed it). So being left with only one option, I carried him as far as the hall door and hung him there (his penis still slightly pulsing and dribbling) in order to make it look like death by misadventurous wanking and then left to return to my babies (they were due a pre-bedtime feed) £500 quid richer and 100% mentally satisfied with my handy-work.
So here we are right up to date. Little Nicky is feeling much better today and has even started playfully bullying David around the barn. Still nothing on the news about Mr Vet. He's probably still hanging there in the hallway. He has a cleaner who calls in on weekends. I hope she finds him first. I've never really liked her much - she used to be a cleaning lady at my school when I was a kid and I remember she reported me to the headmaster when she caught me using the girls loos (I was desperate for a pee and the boys toilets were miles away). I couldn't help myself having a wank while I was in there and she totally ruined it by walking in and catching me just as I was about to cum.
Right - I'm off to buy £500's worth of donkey paraphenalia and accessories and playthings for my two boys. Speak again soon I hope.

I wish myself (and donkey lovers everywhere) luck!

Richard x

PS - I had to go to the dentist the other day (wisdom teeth removal). After I woke up from the anesthesia, my dentist said "You have the prettiest teeth I've ever come across..."- I requested he define the word "come."

Jogging backwards to gain weight

That horse faced bitch who works in the butchers shop told me I needed to gain some weight and bulk up a bit if I ever hope to score with any of the local chicks. What the hell's that supposed to mean? I think she must fancy me or something but she's got no fucking chance. Anyway, at least seeing her reminded me to set my VCR (I still have one) to record a programme about D.I.Y. pig slaughtering on BBC2. She's one of those people who just ramble on and talk shit just for the sake of it and doesn't seem to hear what anyone else says. Even when I suggested shaving a good six stones worth of unsightly flab off her thighs using the bacon slicer didn't seem to register with her so I left without paying.
Anyway - greetings donkey lovers everywhere. The weather is lovely and I have some news. I'm going to be a father!!! Well not a real Dad. Not one who abuses you or anything. No. I'm going to be a surrogate step father type person to two, yes two brand spanking new donkey twins! Hooray for new Dads everywhere. I am overjoyed. I rescued them from the local donkey sanctuary. Apparently their previous owner was a bit of a cunt and regularly beat the shit out of their poor mother, so much so that she turned violent and almost killed him and had to be put down (the yummy mummy donkey not him). When I saw their little faces staring up at me from their pen I was instantly smitten and immediately offered to adopt them (I showed the RSPCA man my donkey loving details). I have decided to call them David and Nick after our new governmental heads. I have so much to teach them about the big bad world and once they are old enough I shall tutor them in the ways of wooing and encourage them to mate with the local donkey babes that sell their wares down in my bottom field (they are in for a good time - believe me). Oh - and I found out all about their previous owner, who he was and where he lived etc. He was a big ugly fucker but once the drugs kicked in (I spiked his pint with good old rohypnol) he didn't put up much of a struggle. I managed to drag him back to my barn and tied him to one of those devices vets use when they want to artificially inseminate cows (it's amazing what you can buy on ebay for next to nothing). I waited until he had semi-regained consciousness before letting Large Lionel (my top he-man donkey stud) have his way with him (three times in a row - he must be on donkey viagra or something). Naturally I had my trusty videocam at the ready to record it all for posterity and it IS available on the web if you know where to look. It took me about four hours to cut up his body afterwards into portable sized pieces because my electric carving knife was on the blink and I had to use mothers old cleaver instead. Still, it was worth it and at least his pigs had plenty to eat once I'd delivered him back home. I've a good mind to do the same with that cow in the butchers shop if she ever pokes fun at my physique again (she's on my to-do list)....but I'm too tired to even think about it at present. It's not easy being a single father to two growing boys what with night feeds and general lack of sleep - I'm run ragged these days. I don't even have the energy to masturbate, although I did manage to knock one out while watching Coronation Street the other night (Hayley). Still it will all be worth it in the end. I feel good about myself again and my female donkeys look at me in a whole new way now. I think they're impressed (and perhaps slightly turned on...you know how it is when single women see a bloke being all fatherly with young children and so on). Anyway - it's time for David and Nicks' evening feed so I'll have to sign off for now.
Until next time, as usual

I wish myself luck.

PS - a bloke who looked the spit of Ronan Keating once offered to hold my penis in order to let me blow my nose when I was using the loos at the BBC in London several years back (I was there to watch a recording of the Jonathan Ross Show - who I HATE). Not sure why I decided to tell you that.

Why are they fighting to get seats in Parliament? I say let the fat bastards stand.

All this election bollox....I'm sick of it. I wasn't allowed to go into my local polling station yesterday (I used the postal option) because it's a council owned leisure facility and the bastards have a restraining order against me ever since my unfortunate 'loose shorts-no underpants-sagging testicles' incident. It's not my fault that my ball sack has become somewhat dangly as I approach middle age and how the hell was I supposed to know that the yoga class I turned up for was exclusively for pregnant women? It's not as though I was at the front or anything...I slipped in discreetly at the back and was in the middle of doing some warm up stretching exercises when the vegetarian looking female instructor told the rest of the class to turn around and face the back of the room for their first yogic manoeuvre. There were one or two gasps from the assembled audience as I did a few open legged squats and my dangly bits slipped out for some air but on the whole it wasn't as bad as it could've been, I mean it's not as if any of them hadn't seen a well honed set of balls before though I have a feeling that my 'tea-bag & meat' themed joke might've been a bridge too far for the vegeterian woman.
Anyway - balls to the lot of them! Bloody hypocrites. They're talking about a well hung parliament and fresh members and things and if that's not sexual innuendo then I don't know what is.....Radical cuts beckon? Radical cunts more like. I'm off now to see a man about a house cleaner. Apparently there's a russian bloke operating out of the local library who has a large workforce of cheap & available 'cleaning staff'. Not that my house is unclean or anything. Ever since mother died I have kept the place shining (I follow her strict cleansing regime to the letter and even wear her old housecoat and pinney in order to get fully into character)...no I just fancy having an undernourished nubile easterner doing lots of bending over and things while I watch Loose Women on the telly (I usually masturbate during this programme so at least she'll have a few surfaces to clean afterwards). Apparently I am allowed to abuse the ugly looking ones for a small extra fee though I'll have to have a think about it before I sign anything.

As usual - I wish myself lots of luck!

Bye for now

Drop the dead donkey.....

I'm sorry I haven't been here in a while...I've been in mourning for a few weeks now. Poor old Fenella (my top bitch donkey or Equus africanus asinus to give her her full title) is no more. I'm not sure if she's actually dead, she's just fucked off somewhere with Big Trevor (a rampant 3 year old alpha male I bought as a treat for my harem of donkey bitches). Well I'm assuming that's what has happened. There was a bit of a commotion the day before she disappeared. I was down the field grooming her (not in a sick paedo type way), just some gentle brushwork and the occasional playful buttock fondle (I know she likes it when I do that). Anyway Fenella has always had a bit of a thing for me (must be my natural muskiness) and as a result of the aforementioned buttock fondling she started to get a bit frisky and began her usual donkey-man rape simulation which basically involves her using my body as a makeshift donkey dildo until she satisfies herself and goes back to her grazing. Up until this point Big Trevor hadn't really paid her or any of the others much attention (I actually thought he was a bit on the gay side if I'm honest and had a good mind to take him back to the bastard that sold him to me). However as soon as he saw us together he made a beeline for the two of us and was determined to interrupt our simulated coitus with a well aimed headbutt into Fenella's nether regions. He then more or less raped her on the spot and gave me a look that said 'back off motherbitch - this one's mine'. Poor Fenella, she looked quite distraught throughout her ordeal. As Big Trevor climaxed with all the donkey strength he could muster she just stared straight into my eyes and I'm convinced we shared one of those moments when, you know when you're sitting in a bar and you see a great looking woman but she's with some other bloke and she gives you a look that says, 'I fancy you but I'm with this plonker'...well it was a bit like that (not that I ever have got one of those looks in real life - usually it's more of a 'why the fuck are you staring at my tits - piss off or I'll get my boyfriend/husband to beat the shit out of you' type looks). Anyway I awoke next morning to find a broken fence and no sign of Fenella or Big Trevor anywhere. I reckon he's kidnapped her and is probably keeping her as his own private donkey sex slave in a field somewhere well away from civilization and public view. So she might as well be dead as far as I'm concerned. I doubt if I'll ever see her again. All I've got is some wonderful memories and lots of stains on my overalls. I suppose I really should pick myself up out of this depression I find myself in and go out and face the world once more. I haven't even interferred with myself since her disappearance, that's how bad I feel. Maybe I should go loiter around a public library or sports centre and cheer myself up a bit by stalking someone (though I can't even be bothered to do that). I'd go to the doctors and ask for some pick-me-ups but there's a restraining order against me which means I can't go anywhere near the place for at least twelve months. I think I'll give it another few days and then maybe head towards the coast and try some light flashing at the amusement arcades/parks/beaches - whatever's handiest.

Until then

I wish myself luck!

PS - Farmers and landowners - if you do happen to come across 2 donkeys (that's 'come' as in discover, not the rude meaning of the word) in one of your fields or outhouses (one alpha male and one sexually exhausted female) please let me know ASAP! There'll be a few quid in it for you.

I was sucking off this bird last night when I thought, "Wait a minute..."

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Funny how a self-examination for testicular cancer easily turns into a wank.

Ok - I'll have to keep this brief because I have go and sign in at my local police station very shortly. Basically I am currently under investigation by the serious crime unit on suspicion of manslaughter. Yes - the aforementioned Mr Pop Pain has died under rather mysterious circumstances. The randy old scrote was found dead the other morning in the living room of his house. Police were initially happy enough to declare an open verdict of death due to old age, however upon closer inspection at the coroners office they found a small test tube inserted into his arse that contained what later turned out to be partially frozen semen. Upon even closer examination (not sure how they do this bit but it involves a microscope and some clever people) they discovered that the contents of the test tube had originated somewhere deep within my man-parts i.e. it was MY semen! How it got there fuck knows but I could hazard a bloody good guess as to who put it there. Naturally this didn't sit well with the officer in charge and he immediately dragged me in for questioning. Three fucking days they kept me in there...I tried to explain about the Valentines Night shenannigans (see previous post for details) but they wouldn't believe me. I even showed them the scars on my torso and told them to ring the hospital to check out my story (which they did). Now they seem to think that it was some sort of revenge manslaughter on my part - they think that maybe I tried to scare the old bugger and perhaps took things a little too far......! The upshot is that I have to check in with the local fuzz (that's the police, not my pubes) every day because they don't have enough room in the local remand centre at the moment because it's full of defrocked priests and disgraced DUP councillors. Speaking of pubic hair and things, I was visiting the outpatients centre at the local hospital last week and I picked up one of those man leaflets that urge us to examine our private regions on a regular basis. Interesting reading. Sometimes I get a bit 'confused' and forget where I am and do 'silly' things. Anyway I experienced one such episode whilst there and gave myself an full examination whilst in the waiting area......Funny how a self-examination for testicular cancer easily turns into a wank (that's what I said to the security man). I am no longer welcome in the Craigavon area hospital. It's a good job I didn't try the prostate examination on page two of the leaflet!
Right - I'd better go down to the cop shop and sign my name in the book. The policewoman at reception is fucking gorgeous! I think I might ask her out when all this blows over.
As ever - I wish myself luck!

Richard.

ps -
I was flicking through my freeview to see what was on the tv yesterday. I
was appalled when I saw the programme Jade : A Year Without Her. I couldn't believe how badly they had spelt Hair.

Biblio-Therapy

Greetings donkey lovers everywhere! Let me begin by apologizing to you all for my recent absence from my blog. To cut a long story short, I've been in hospital AND a nursing home/nuthouse for some well intentioned aftercare therapy. I suppose I can't just leave you dangling in mid air and not tell you what happened. It all began in mid February, Valentines Day to be precise. It was during the last week of my community service. As you are aware I got chucked out of my last community service position (the cheese shop) and was subsequently relocated to what can only be described as a modern day chain gang facility in the fair town of Portadown. There's major town centre rebuilding going on there at the moment and my probabation officer thought a spell of hard manual labour would keep me occupied and out of trouble. Anyway, there I was, out in all weather digging away like a good'un and whistling at the local talent (there wasn't really much to whistle at by the way). During my luchbreak/unchaining period I happened to notice a poster in the front porch of the local library advertizing a St Valentines Day Knees Up at one of the local clubs. It looked exciting....'St Valentines Day Massacre: Cum If You Dare'. I made a mental note of the venue (and the spelling mistake) and made a date with myself to attend before being slapped around the head by our foreman (who's actually a woman so I didn't really mind) and told to stop loitering around the library entrance and get back to work.
Eventually the big night arrived. I wore my best itchy trousers, suede pumps, flowery shirt (I was feeling adventurous), got my hair trimmed, shaved my entire body and oiled myself up. I was ready for anything! I arrived at the venue (The Twisted Testicle) and was immediately struck dumb by the sight that awaited me. It was like something from the last days of Sodom & Gommorah (not sure how to spell that). Nevertheless, being the adventurist that I am I proceeded towards the bar and ordered a very large vodka & coke. I felt like a bit of a spare prick at a wedding because everyone else there seemed to have at least one (or more) partners with them doing all sorts of lewd acts to each other. I was deep in the middle of having second thoughts when I spied two ladies (sisters) at the bar, both of whom were giving me the eye so I sidled over to them and offered to buy them a drink (big mistake). The first one kneed me in the groin and forced me down onto my knees and told me I'd have to beg and grovel for the privilege of buying them drinks. Now I'm not really into the whole pain thing so I complied and began begging and pleading and generally flashing my cash around. Next thing I knew I was in a corner booth with one sister each side of me, each with a hand placed firmly on my groin. The darker of the two told me she'd been watching me for several days whilst I was digging up the road outside the library. She had the most immaculately set hair I've ever seen. Her sister looked exactly the same too. She introduced herself as 'Sister Pain 1'...'and this is Sister Pain 2'. After 5 minutes I realized that my drink had been spiked with rohypnol (I knew the symptoms well). They told me they had their own private den not far from the club and that they wanted to take me there and 'tear me to shreds'. I was in no fit state to argue so I complied (thought it might earn me some brownie points). They bunged me into the back of a taxi and immediately the two vixens began fellating me, much to the annoyance of the driver who was complaining about upholstery bills. I say fellate, actually it was more akin to two wild dogs fighting over a bone! We eventually arrived at Chez Pain where we were greeted at the door by who I assumed to be Mom & Pop Pain. He was well into his 80's and she looked like an older dehydrated version of the Sisters P. I wasn't expecting any of this at all and was actually quite relieved to see the parents. They invited me in for more drinks and seemed quite pleasant about the whole thing. It would've been around this point that I received the blow to the head which knocked me out cold. I came to about 5 minutes later only to discover that I'd been strapped to what looked like an operating table in a dimly lit basement, surrounded by camcorders and a large (quite impressive) array of medieval torture knik knaks. Old Mother P was the first to have her way with me. I was thankful for the rohypnol I'd taken earlier because it seemed to dull the pain. Jesus she was scary. Meanwhile Sisters 1 & 2 worked at me from both ends whilst they discussed their latest reading material. I felt as though I'd joined some sort of depraved book club/reading group. Pop Pain was capturing the whole thing on camera whilst vigorously wanking himself off like a man posessed, shouting out random quotes from the bible. The whole family joined in a chorous of ' Squeeze out the devil's cream' whilst using me as some sort of fourway masturbatory conduit. Then the original vixen-like sister with the immaculate hair began chanting 'stretch the heathen fucker' and began turning a wheel which I soon realized was working a crude rack-like device and proceeded to stretch me limb from limb. After hearing my arms and legs breaking I passed out. I remember nothing until I woke up in hospital several days later unable to move a muscle. It took me weeks of regressive therapy to recall what had happened on the night in question. My poor old body still isn't right. I haven't had a wank in ages (too many painful memories) and I'm seriously considering a life of total celibacy and avoiding all contact with the opposite sex. I think from now on I'll stick with my donkeys. At least they are gentle rapists! Oh and I am NEVER setting foot in Portadown again. They can march up and down the fucking Garvaghy Road or whatever the hell it is they do there until their hearts content. Just leave me out of it! I have applied to become a monk (you can do it online now) and lead a life of quiet reflection. I leave for the nearest island as soon as my legs have recovered.
As usual,
I wish myself luck!

Cheeses of Nazareth

I have decided to take up voluntary work because I'm bored shitless. As I've mentioned before, I don't really need to work. I've got more than enough money to see out the rest of my days in relative luxury (though I'm too lazy and some might say miserable to go spend it all.....though if any female is interested... I'm always on the look out for a nice young lady to help me spend my cash. Fuck it - I'm not fussy, any sort of lady will do.....I'd even be willing to give some thought to any post-op tranny who showed an interest)......Sorry - I've lost my thread now and can't remember what the hell I was going to say. You see this has always been part of my problem...I'm completely obsessed with sex, mainly because I don't get any.
Oh yes - cheese. I have decided to offer my services to the local cheese shop (on a voluntary basis). Ok I'm lying - I'm actually there as part of my community service (I won't go into the details now but let's just say that the judge came to the conclusion that it would be a waste of time sending me to prison because I'd probably enjoy it too much - I've no idea why he thought this....plus the 'nonce' wing of the local jailhouse is at bursting point already....it seems that I am not alone in my 'night-time pursuits'). As you can see I've gone way 'off-topic' once more and got bogged down in trivial details. I started 'working' in the cheese shop last Thursday and already I've got myself into trouble with the manager. By the way the shop is called Williams Cheeses (not the most eye-catching name). It's a rather nice shop actually that sells all sorts of exotic cheeses from around the globe. However I don't really like the name at all. I said as much to the manager during my first day and asked him if he wasn't tired of local schoolkids making fun of the name......(the graffitti outside the shop was enough to confirm my point). Mr Williams more or less told me to 'fuck off and start opening the deliveries' which wasn't a very christian-like response (he and his wife are devoted bible enthusiasts). His wife (an equally unpleasant fundamentalist sort) looked at me as though I'd just pissed in the grotto at Lourdes when I suggested they call the shop 'Cheeses of Nazareth' (which I thought was a rather clever play on words but was completely lost on her)...I think she would've branded the word 'heretic' on my forehead with a red hot poker if there'd been one handy! Anyway the crux of the matter is, I've landed myself in yet more trouble with the law. Earlier on today I was shelving a rather pungent Dutch goat's milk cheese called Foondel Mee when I noticed a suspicious looking man lurking behind the Stinking Bishop display. I could've sworn I witnessed him shoving several chunks of the aforementioned down the front of his trousers...so sensing an opportunity to get back into Mr Williams good books I took it upon myself to square up to the thief and confront him about his actions. He naturally denied my allegations and started to threaten me, firstly with legal action and secondly with actual bodily harm. I was convinced he was bluffing and made a grab for his crotch in an effort to prove myself right (I did notice that he appeared to dress both to the left and to the right in his gentlemans area which is a dead giveaway) and shoved my hand down the front of his trousers. Unfortunately this had the effect of shifting the balancing point of us both into the wrong side of upright and as a result we both went crashing through the Stinking Bishop selection and into the shop window area. Outside a group of school children on an urban geography field trip were witness to the unfolding events (and in hindsight I can now see that it didn't look very good for either myself or the 'cheese thief'). My hand was still caught down the front of his trousers and the more I tried to remove it the worse my predicament became and due to his girth I was unable to do anything until Mr Thief stood up again. I'd just like to point out that I didn't find any stolen blocks of hard cheese in his underpants but what I did have in my hand seemed to have become rather engorged and was getting harder by the second. It was at this point that Mr & Mrs Williams came running out of the back room to see what all the commotion was about only to discover me lying on top of my would-be thief with my hand placed firmly down the front of his slacks performing what appeared to be some sort of lewd act that one normally does in the privacy of one's bedroom/kitchen/car etc. To add to my woes it turned out that my cheese lifter was actually my parole officer who had been in the shop checking up on me and making sure I was doing my community service. Why the fuck didn't he just say who he was in the first place? Oh and apparently he has some sort of groin condition that requires him to wear a truss and it was this that he was adjusting (not stealing cheese) when I happened to look over at him. I don't think I'll be back working in the shop tomorrow somehow...although my parole officer said he wouldn't take things any further on the understanding that I would 'take things further' next time we meet......(I'm not quite sure what he meant by that).
Until next time

I wish myself luck!

Snow business

Bloody hell it's freezing outside....I am still suffering from hypothermia after my new year's eve misfortunes. I don't really want to talk about it but I suppose I'd better. I'll give you the condensed version of events. On the morning of Dec 31st I recieved an anonymous invite to a new years eve party and having nothing better to do that evening I decided to investigate it further (I thought that perhaps there might've been some willing females out looking for some rampant sex and gentle raping). The venue was a disused church in the middle of nowhere (just outside Keady in Co.Armagh) and the theme of the party was 'your favourite political character'...so naturally I decided to go dressed as Iris Robinson (I think she's a wonderful, misunderstood genius and I only wish she'd come to me with her financial problems...I would've willingly given her £50,000 in return for some no-holds-barred restaurant themed sex). Anyway I arrived at the party weighed down with several large bottles of rohypnol based cocktails and some delightful finger food. The place was already packed by the time I got there and everything seemed to be going well..the music was loud and so were most of the guests..although I did notice that there was a distinct shortage of females on the premises. Most of the men there took very little notice of my outfit probably due to the fact that quite a few of them had come dressed as Lady Thatcher and Edwina Currie (which was a bit tacky to say the least). I danced my little legs off until just before midnight and as the bells rang in the new year a rather large bearded gentlemen (dressed as Emeline Pankhurst) grabbed me and shoved his tongue right down my throat (he'd been eating cheese & onion crisps - yuk!) and wished me a happy new year. Not wanting to offend him I gave into his demand for a slow smooch on the dancefloor (we danced to Move Closer by Phyllis Nelson) and he whispered sweet nothings into my ear for the next three minutes whilst he pressed his engorged crotch against my hipbone. He complimented me on my tasteful outfit and casually asked me who I'd come dressed as. When I answered, 'Iris Robinson...isn't she just wonderful...that Peter cunt doesn't deserve her', he immediately pushed me to one side and slapped my face. Then the music stopped and he started roaring all sorts of abuse at me. By this stage a bit of a crowd had gathered around us to see what the problem was. It turned out that none of them were fans of the lovely Iris either. All I could hear were all sorts of terms of abuse directed towards me and the word 'abomination' seemed to feature prominently. Next thing I knew I was being manhandled towards the front door by 8 of the fuckers (at least 3 Lady Thatchers, a couple of Edwinas and several Peter Tatchells). They threw me to the frozen ground, stripped me bollock naked (I paid a fortune for that Iris dress by the way) and threw my car keys into the field next door. To cut a long story short - I had to walk 27 miles home in the freezing cold and snow with nothing but an old pizza box to hide my delicate bits. My feet still haven't regained any feeling (I may have to face up to amputation if this continues) and my libido is now non existent. Why oh fucking why did I bother with that party. I should've stayed at home and masturbated to Jools Holland's Hootenanny as usual! And as if all that wasn't enough poor Iris has taken some sort of mental breakdown. I would go comfort her at once if I knew where the hell the DUP Gestapo were holding her! I bet that bitch Arlene Foster knows exactly where she is.....I have a good mind to 'pay her a visit' one of these nights. I hate those horrible tights she wears. I think I will enjoy strangling her with them....
Until next time

I wish myself luck!