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.
Friday, 26 March 2010
Friday, 19 March 2010
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!
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
