Chronicles of a Cunt

Well fuck me hard with a thermos flask and collect and store my juices for scientific research this has been a tough old week and no mistake. I know you may all take a bit of convincing on this one but believe it or not their are folk out there who are even more fucked up then me. ‘Go Bollocks, you sick fuckpig!’ I can hear you cry but it’s true! Exhibit A for my evidence? Some daft twatbag has asked me to be his Best Man?! I mean how fucking insanely desperate would a fucker need to be that they’ve resorted to asking me?! I like desperate, I also like the title of BEST MAN and more importantly I love the idea of fucking  one of the bride-to-bes’ sisters (either would do) so I accepted his request courteously and set about plotting.

First off the bat and being new to this whole procedure I was at first overwhelmed by all the shit that was expected of me. Soon my intrinsic nature kicked in and I managed to dodge all of the boring bollocks which I have no interest in and get stuck into organising the stag night, which apart from the speech and boinking bridesmaids is the only aspect of this fucking circus that I’m willing to get involved in. Now because the only person I really know is the Groom, I’m a little unsure of what type of Stag Event people are expecting. This is easily solved by setting up something that I  would want to do and fuck what all these strangers are bleating about . I set up a  three dayer in Amsterdam amidst worried calls from strange men I’ve never even spoken to and looks of alarmed concern from the future Mrs Knobhead. Even the Groom-to-be is starting to realise he’s made a MASSIVE error of judgement.

Fast forward a few months to last weekend and I’m the City of Sin sat in a pungently smoke filled room with approx twenty unknown, vacantly grinning men. There’s more glassy eyed expressions going on then in an American anal porno. The Stag is nudging me,  he is worried that his father and uncle are not going to make it and insists that maybe me force feeding them two big space cakes each was not a good idea. I’m more worried about myself to be honest, the various mushrooms and weed based products i’ve consumed have left me under the impression that my mate is an actual stag.. and as a concerned, nervous looking stag is quite a comical looking fellow I can’t help but roar with laughter into his bemused, confused face. I pat the bag by my knees making sure that the full leather effect gimp suit I have just purchased is to hand.

I knew what would pick the timid fuckers up and I was bang on right but drinking in Amsterdam is expensive, luckily most of these fucking lightweights are smashed out of their faces after several pints with chasers so it doesn’t completely rob me of all my casheesh. Getting them into the swing of things we soon have the Stag dolled up in his brand new S&M suit, complete with collar and lead. Even Stag Dad and his Uncle Knobhead are perking up as we march him through the streets of Amsterdam, passed slut filled windows and into a Live Sex Show, where we are promised ‘Quality Sleaze and Filth’  The beer is kicking into these typically average British fuckers and their starting to get a bit rowdy in the show, being two feet away from birds having at each other with banana’s probably doesn’t help. Which gives me an even better idea, like a lightening bolt of miraculous epiphany thrown from the fist of  the God of Fucking. I move amongst the crowd, soliciting contributions from those who I feel are likely to be willing co-conspirators.

I’m speaking to a Russian Slut, who’s Bikini is a neon looking Star Trek number, she’s leaning  casually against the door frame letting me ogle her massive tits. Her English is very good and she grins at me nodding as I explain what is required from her, she tells me that she’ll need half an hour to prepare, but no problem. Thirty minutes later and my co-conspirators and I have dragged the Stag who is pretending to be an unwilling victim to his destiny. He sees Russian Titwhore and stops struggling.

We all stand around waiting for the Stag to emerge, like a butterfly from a neon spunk filled cocoon. Five minutes in we hear a startled whelp, I allow myself a grin and waggle my eyebrows at my new friends who chuckle sheepishly like a bunch of schoolgirls. About ten minutes later we are all treated to a horrified yell of shock, swearing and anger filled roars proceed the Stag bursting from the whores window.  He has not pulled his mask back on, tears are streaming down his face, hate fills his eyes as he swiftly scans the awaiting pack. They alight on me. He chases me through the street for at least half an hour, until I loose him. I even had to fucking rent a new hotel room for the night.

Apparently the plastic sheet spread over the bed had not triggered any concerns. The massive pair of milk bags and tight round arse had entranced him so much, that although shocked at the intruding butt plug being introduced into the proceedings, he allowed its’ continued presence. It was the swift removal of the intruder at the point of ejaculation forcing him to crap himself freely and uncontrollably that pushed him over the edge. It moved him to tears, the big bloody baby.

I spent the next two days alone. Apparently it was not appropriate for me to arrange this type of scenario. Apparently my services as Best Man are no longer required. Apparently I am sick for thinking of such a thing in the first place. Apparently I will not be fucking two Bridesmaid sisters in two months.                Bastard Cunt.


Filed under Chronicles of a Cunt

14 responses to “Chronicles of a Cunt

  1. wandr

    I want you as Best Man in my next weddings. This way, I’ll know the assholes truly love me.

    But this isn’t about me. I’m sure you’re crushed about that last sentence there. Well, the one before “Bastard Cunt”. I can feel there lies your true and sole disappointment, but it’s nothing a bit of drug won’t fix. I have faith in you. You’ll get the sister, and, I bet, the mother and grandmother too.

  2. wandr

    Fuck me, it’s sisters… with an “s”

  3. wordpervert

    Pictures, or it never happened, mofo.

    Yeah, it’s me. Lamebook and her new retarded baby sister (site) have been pissing me off the past couple of days, so I decided to come and check out your blog (yes, very occasionally, I’ll stalk others). I’m must say I’m impressed (and amused), for the most part, and I’m surprised you’ve not got more people commenting on your insane ramblings. Maybe they’re scared of you, as you can sound a little scary at times. But you don’t scare me, you big teddy bear.

    The registration is a tad tedious, but nothing most of us can’t handle, so as I said, I’m surprised you don’t have more of a (vocal) following. You need to encourage more people to take and look – and join in – with the blogging, that is. I’m not sure joining you in other activities would be a very wise idea.

    Anyway, just thought I’d drop in to say I’m watching you

    • The photos may have to wait, he’s still not talking to me.

      Very glad to have you along, word… I feel that you may add a touch of class to the proceedings…. The girls on here seem fine (in a, ‘their fucking lucky I can’t reach through their screens’ sort of way) but jizzbomb is just what his name implies. He keeps trying to throw his spunk around like an angry chimp. .. it’s him you should be watching…. or is it?

      • wordpervert

        Thanks, mate. Good to be here. Some may disagree with your thoughts about me adding a touch of class, but you and I know better.

        You definitely need to get some more followers, though. We’ll have to see what we can do about that. I’m not sure what jizzbomb is angling for exactly, buddy, but I think he’s rooting for you, nonetheless.

        One more thing before I retire for the evening: I would’ve thought with your furious obsession for semen that it would be semen decorating these walls – not blood! What’s the go there? I figure, though, due to its colour, it wouldn’t show up very well against this white background. That is, unless, we know it as different colours? And with you, I guess that could be possible, you filthy animal 😉

        See you soon…

      • The blood is on a white background word… watcha reckon that is?….. it’s not milk…well it is, but not cow milk.

        I worry that if I start shouting about this blog from the rooftops that i’ll end up sounding like Cuntymc on Lamebook … besides when people stumble onto it by their own it makes the whole process sort of magical… Like the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, but with cum, love eggs and handcuffs.

      • wandr

        Evasive son of a bitch…
        Wouldn’t post the gorilla-banana video either

        Hey word!

  4. wordpervert

    Fuck me. My first comment on here is moderated? On Imamofo’s blog! Oh, the irony.

    • It’s not me I fucking swear it!

      The bastard twat of a machine makes me moderate everbody’s first comment. You can comment away to your hearts content now, without me judging whether or not you’re worthy.

  5. jizzbomb

    Am watching the fucking lot of ya…..
    I got more eye’s than the last parlimentary debate for free S & M sex sesions for all members of parliment was passed, an thats a fucking lot.
    Am sure you sick fucks just want to see what Mofo really looks like… I know I do, what does this person look like…???
    If his looks matches his mind, am goin with John Merrick….

  6. wandr

    Previous shit reply ended up in the middle of nowhere

    What if he doesn’t look like him. Will you stop fantasizing about him?
    I know if he looks even remotely like a Baldwin, I’m outta here!

    • wordpervert

      wandr, I think it’s best we keep fantasising about what he looks like. The reality is never as good as the fantasy, in my experience. And there are so many Baldwins that there is more than a slight chance he could look like one of them, don’t you reckon? We should let this sleeping dog lie.

  7. wandr

    Hey, I’m with you there, Word.
    Seeing Mofo, like masturbation, can probably make you go blind

  8. It’s funny you should mention blind wankers and sleeping dogs you two!… Picture a mixture of the two and you’re somewhere near how rancid my appearance is.

    I have to rely solely upon my, charm, wit and good manners to get me into a lady’s pole trench… that and several illegal substances and a fast car.

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