I fucked an amputee…

Last weekend was wilder than a jaguar on crack with its cock into a toaster.
A friend of mine, James, was holding a little B.B.Q. house-warming type shin-dig and invited me along (I very much think he regrets that decision now). I’m not entirely sure why he invited me because we don’t know each other that well, and anybody who does know me, knows it’s better not to invite me to these occasions, regardless he invited me.

I was meant to be there at around 5pm. I showed up at 11.30 in police custody.

I was meant to bring a house warming gift. I threw up in his shoes and punched his friend.

I was meant to help him get into some girl he likes. I fucked her to prove I could then fucked her amputee sister to win £50.

Let me explain. You see I was planning on showing up and being civil as I so often do… However circumstance prevented it. I just so happens that an old ex-girlfriend was in town, so I decided to go meet her, I don’t really know why I did, but I guess I don’t really have to since my cock made that decision for me, as it does with most decision which relate to vaginas.

Anyway, I went out to meet her and all went well, and we’re meeting again next week. I wasn’t entirely drunk when she left and it was only 7.30 and I don’t arrive at parties at 7.30 as far as I’m concerned if a party ends before 4a.m. it’s not a fucking party, so I had a few drinks on my own…

Untill I met some Americans. Now, the Americans fucking love us Irish and it’s pretty much mandatory that we leach the fucking shit out of this one way relationship. And so, like a 13 year old Japanese school girl taking advantage of elderly perverts through the medium of used underpants and up-skirt videos I pounced. They bought me so much fucking drink I went fucking blind. Who would have known that watching Irish people drink is like a fucking Olympic sport to Americans? I was not fucking complaining.

I don’t quite remember how this next part happened, but the bar got shut down… I’m sure I and a rather rowdy crowd of Americans were responsible somehow but I really can’t remember how.

And so, we took to the streets and like freshly liberated Guantanamo inmates breathing fresh air for the first time we threw up, en mass, all over the street, and then all over a police car, then all inside the police car, and a more beautiful sight I haven’t seen since.

The police dropped the Americans off at their hotel. They were actually quite nice about the incident, although, I “should have known better” according to P.C. Jim Davies, or whatever the fuck his name was, who decided to drop me home, needless to say, I lied about where my home was, and told him the address of my friends house.

When we got there, the B.B.Q. had expanded and there were a few smokers standing outside the front door and you could see some people round the side drinking.

“Are you sure this is your house?” He asked, to which I replied,

“Why yes fine sir, I am most sure that this establishment is my home, you may drop me off here sir and I shall trouble neither yourself nor these streets any more with my jovial antics, and here is a tuppence tip for your fine services this eve!” Which translates roughly to “Course, thus is..my?….. house… I KNOW WHERE I LIBE!!!!” (I was still quite drunk, and a little drowsy.)

After a brief conversation at the door between James and the nice policeman I was allowed in on the condition that James wouldn’t let me out of his sight. This is no small task, but neither James nor the policeman though this would be an issue, as both of them thought I’d be passed out in an hour… How wrong they were…

When the policeman had left James escorted me through the hall and up the stairs as quickly as he could to prevent me being seen by his lovely presentable friends, to which I took great offence, I believe my exact words were,

“James! No! James! Look at me! James! FUCK YOU! What? What is it? Am I not fancy enough to be around your friends!? I can be fancy James! Want me to be fancy?! I’ll wear a fucking doily and drink tea and talk about the establishment and lick bums James! Is that what you want James!!!!”

It was at this point that James’ shoes were to become the victims of an oncoming barrage of Technicolor fluids which would make a great excursion from my stomach to my mouth and inevitably into James’ shoes.

On completing the arduous task of vomiting all over my friends household I decided I had become sober enough to join the party, so I cleaned up and went downstairs to chat, I was talking to the girl James wanted into, and for a good 15 minutes straight some long haired hippy mother fucker who dressed almost entirely in fucking hemp was staring at me, needless to say I initiated a confrontation, only to find out, after punching him, that he had a lazy eye, sounds cliche, but this is my life. I was nice enough, I apologised and helped him clean up his bloodied face and we’re good friends now. In so much that I didn’t do any of that he hates me.

Anyway, James’ supposed woman to be, Jennifer, was quite impressed by my awesome face breaking skills and we fucked in James’ bed, I felt that if I were to betray him I should at least do it with a degree of class.

This is where we get to the fun part of the story. After fucking she introduced me to her sister…

This was awkward for a number of reasons, the first being that I offered her a hand shake, regardless of the fact she had no arms or legs, the second being that 10 minutes later I did the same thing drunkenly thinking she was somebody else. We did not get off to a good start. Inevitably my male friends started joking about how little Nancy No Legs wouldn’t fuck me if I were the last man on the planet. Needless to say I took this as a challenge and a bet was made, all my male friends chipped in raising a total of £50 if I fucked her I got it, if I didn’t I would be left with neither pride nor dignity.

Truth be told after I got talking to her she was actually quite interesting and I kinda wish I’d talked to her sober and not fucked her for money, but alas, this is life. As it turned out, she had climbed various mountains and on one trip she ended up having to be rescued after getting lost or some shit like that and for some reason (I can’t remember what) that had to take her arms and legs off. Anyway I feigned sympathy and interest for a while and told her plenty of men would like her (she had no self-esteem, which I’m guessing should be fairly obvious considering the fact she’s no fucking arms or legs) and the conversation went a bit like this:

“I have no arms or legs lol”

“That’s awesome, does that make rolling down hills more or less fun?”

“MOAR LAWLAWLAWLAWLALWLWL!”

“Your sister’s a good lay”

“I’m ugly”

“You are…. LOL”

“That hurt :(”

“Sorry, you’re not really, want to fuck?”

“OK!”

Obviously the conversation was longer and more complex but I can’t be fucked going into the whole thing, and also, I don’t remember most of it.

Anyway, I don’t know if any of you have ever fucked a girl with no arms or legs but there are certain things about doing it that can be a little… strange.

We’ll work backwards, from the end of the sexual experience to the start.

When you’re finished you have the option of stealing her clothes and moving her wheelchair into the hallway… I thought for a good 5 minutes about this. On the one hand it’s hideously cruel, on the other, it’s horrendously funny and a once in a life time opportunity. I’ll let your imaginations decide which option I went for.

When you’re fucking, you feel so much bigger in proportion, it feels like fucking a 2/3 human size bag of potatoes with a face.

Undressing her kinda takes the spark out of the moment a little (well,  that’s assuming that the lack of arms and legs hadn’t done that already.) It feels like you’re 7 again and taking the clothes off of your sister’s Barbie dolls to see what’s under them, except at the end you don’t bite the head off and spit it out the window…

The worst part about the whole experience?

Before we did it she wanted me to take her to the bathroom… I won’t even go into what that was like…

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Which is more fag-tastic? AIDs or Twilight?

Since Twilight is the biggest pile of malignant, steaming, dinosaur diarrhoea I’ve ever had the misfortune of having been bombarded with – by both retarded, illiterate, emo, shit stains (who you’d be forgiven for thinking are little more than a mass of extras from the lesser known B movie: ‘Chernobyl: the aftermath,’) the media, and countless cretins, perpetually masturbating, in orgasmic delight, to whoever decided to cast that potato headed, mongoloid, queer bait, cunt faced, twat browed, fuck basket as the star (I don’t know or care to know his name) – I’ve decided to conduct some research…

Today we’ll be finding out just how fagtastically bum loving Twilight is.

In Pie Chart A, as illustrated below, we see, through seconds of painstaking research, that Twilight is vastly more bum loving than AIDs:

Having AIDs, it's considerably less gay than watching or reading Twilight...

Having AIDs; it's considerably less gay than watching Twilight... You read it, it's official.

In the next step in concluding just how much of an ass-ramming-bumathon Twilight is, I compared it to a prostate massage.

See Pie Chart B, below, for the results of my painstaking research:

Prostate Massages; recieving one, or giving one, is less gay than watching Twilight... Getting the picture yet you bum loving sphinctal explorer?

Prostate Massages; receiving one, or giving one, is less gay than watching Twilight... Getting the picture yet you bum loving sphinctal explorer?

When I finished my research, I decided that this isn’t really enough to decide once and for all that Twilight is the most massively, homosexual, steaming pile of horse shit ever…

So, I decided to put Twilight to one final test.

If Clint Eastwood watches Twilight in its entirety, then Twilight is officially not a bum licking festival of rampant rent boy abuse, if however, Clint Eastwood cannot watch Twilight in its entirety, then Twilight is, as I thought before conducting this research, a steaming pile of accidentally spilt bum fudge fueled by Gay Pride, sprinkled with the AIDs infested cum of 607k AIDs suffering bum lovers who perpetually masturbate to prostate massages…

Here are the results of the ‘Clint Eastwood test’ as captured on digital camera:

clinteastwoodwatchingtwilightclinteastwoodonwatchingtwilight
I guess that settles it:

If you watch Twilight, you might as well be watching Brokeback Mountain; watching Twilight is the equivalent of masturbating with a rabid (same sex) badger with a dildo up it’s ass and Twilight itself is to the arts what Nazi Germany was to diversity, multiculturalism and acceptance.

Men like porn, who’d have known?

Today was a somewhat strange day for me, I went out for a meal with my girlfriend, it was mildly amusing and we talked of a great many things, well she talked of a great many things, I nodded and pretended I could “completely relate to that” and hit on the waitress when she wasn’t looking since I knew I wasn’t getting sex tonight, and quite frankly, I’ll be fucked If I’m going to pay over £100 for a two course meal and not fuck something at the end of it.

Anyway, we got onto some strange topics of discussion during the course of the meal, one topic being her wanting to understand my having a vast deal of pornography despite having her.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is a topic of conversation that is what I like to know as a complete fucking minefield. I’m not just talking a regular minefield here, I’m talking a 30 year old death trap in some weird Asian European shit hole that has claimed the lives and limbs of over 300,000 small third world children despite the best efforts of a load of self-righteous aid workers. Now while that image is fucking hilarious, it is not fun to have to negotiate your way through this minefield on the rickety bike of male linguistic skills after 4 pints and an Irish coffee.

This is how the conversation went down:

“Why do you have so much porn when you can have sex with me?”
“Can I have sex 24 hours a day 7 days a week?”
“No, not quite, but it’s pretty close.”
“Well, that’s why I have porn… Porn’s there for me when you’re not”
“Wouldn’t you delete it?”
“I’m gonna go ahead and tell you that that happening is about as likely as you winning the Nobel Peace Prize.”
“Listen, I hate you having porn… It… Offends me a little.”

Needless to say the conversation ended in the ultimatum:

“Me or the porn” in more words.

I’m assuming you can guess what I chose since I’m sitting at home alone infront of this computer at 4 in the morning…

I guess I’m single again, but I’ll always have porn, porn doesn’t judge me, porn doesn’t force me to make decisions, porn doesn’t complain when I watch Big Butt Bonanza instead of hoovering.

…In hindsight, I should have just pretended to delete my porn, oh well, not that big a deal since I did get that waitresses number.

Man Skills Pt.I : How to survive a Tsunami

Recently, during my little excursion to Asia, I found myself being swept up by a Tsunami, while casually holding my breath for 15 minutes straight, keeping an eye out for underwater debris, and using some man’s dead fiancee and children as a human shield, I had quite some time to think about how most men are completely unknowledgeable in even the most simple tasks regarding manliness and being manly as fuck in general.

As such, I’m starting a new segment to my blogs, called “Man Skills,” let’s see if we can teach you festering wank monkeys some practical skills for the real world.

How To Survive a Tsunami.

Tsunamis are nature’s way of testing your metal as a man, you shouldn’t see them as a natural disaster, rather they’re just one of natures many little tests of your fortitude.

Mindset:
In regards to surviving a Tsunami, mindset is everything.
“Tsunami! I piss in a Tsunami!” or “Fuck everybody but myself! I’ll stitch your dead children together with banana skins and muscle tissue and use them as a life raft!” are two very good mindsets to prepare yourself with for dealing with the inevitable Tsunami.

Practical Issues: Most Tsunami prone areas will have an alert system set up to prepare people if the situation should arise, but since Tsunami’s occur usually between every 6 and 7 years and people continue to live in the same fucking area and have to continually rebuild all their shit every time nature has a hissy fit you can’t really rely on the Tsunami warning center as chances are, like everything else in the area, it’s been flattened and is filled with nothing but the bloated rotting corpses and missing peoples from the previous Tsunami.

Know The Signs: Some foreign git driving around in a shitty hatchback shouting “TSUNAMI!!” is usually a pretty good sign that your area is about to get hit by one, but like I said previously, this doesn’t always happen.

Other signs include earth tremors and earth quakes and if you’re in a coastal area you may see the ocean water recede.

People screaming random shit, women breaking down into tears (thus ruining their chances of survival) and children pissing, not only, their own pants, but yours as well, are usually also good indicators.

What To Do:
If you’re on holiday with your family, friends, or loved one then quickly asses the situation, can you gather your wife three children and wheel-chair bound uncle Albert (who when the wife isn’t around you lovingly refer to as “wheels”) with enough time remaining to haul ass into the mainland?

If the answer is no then you must again re-asses (this entire process should take between 0 and 1 seconds) who do you love most? (The answer is not uncle Albert – Trust me, he’s lived long enough.) Do you have time to get this reduced list of people and yourself to safety? If so then gather them quickly and get as far inland as you can before the Tsunami hits.

Women and children have a tendency to cry a lot when they’re faced with their mortality, so it’s generally a good idea to scream at them a lot until they shut the fuck up and let you take hold of the situation as if you were a professional ball grabber on national ball grabbing day in the Olympic ball grabbing arena.

In getting to inland, your attitude should be one of “every man for himself,” steal a car, punch a 10 year old’s ugly little face and steal his shitty rusted bike if you have to, running won’t be fast enough (unless you’re the bionic man, which you aren’t, because I am)

If you can’t get inland then your only option is to get to higher ground, (optimally you would do both). Hills, tall buildings (before going to your Tsunami prone destination you should have found out a little about the structural integrity of their taller buildings – just in case – if you didn’t and you’re sitting in the middle of a Tsunami right now on your shitty “look at me I’m a working professional” laptop reading this while simultaneously pissing all over yourself like a little girl, then I’m afraid to say that now is probably a tad too late). Wide, well-rooted trees are a good bet, but you probably shouldn’t get too hopeful as Tsunami’s are incredibly destructive and will probably just uproot it and smash you and your lovely tree into the wall of the local deli creating some Tsunami post-modernist tourist related art.

Remember, it’s not over just because you survived the first wave, if you managed to hold onto a tree or get into a high rise building, or inland, don’t stop to thank God, because he’ll probably fuck your shit up for irony’s sake by sending a second wave right up your anally retentive little God fearing ass.

Finally: If worst has come to worst and you didn’t manage to hold on, the Tsunami swept you off your feet and nature is raping you like a big burley lumber-jack raping a lost boyscout then don’t panic and don’t struggle, you’ll more than likely die, but there’s a chance that if you don’t struggle you’ll get swept back out to sea alive, where you can sit for weeks, waiting, in the hopes that somebody will rescue you as you slowly devour your own leg.

If you do manage to survive, and find yourself lost at sea, chances are finally in your favour, it’s at this stage that debris and bloated corpses of your loved ones will start popping up all over the show, use what you can find, and fashion a small boat, you can always use your dead fiancee’s skin as a mast! (It’s what she would have wanted.)

Published in: on 19/03/2009 at 1:09 am  Leave a Comment  
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